There is a delightful chill in the air. My favorite season is upon us. T-shirt and jeans weather. Foliage watching a picnic-having weather. Pleasant breezes blowing through tree branches. Cool evenings with cuddle-friendly overnight temperatures.

And horse crossing signs everywhere.

Seriously, the Manhattanites were up here in droves this past weekend. Route 9G had cones out with traffic stops manned by typically diminutive state troopers with their Mountie hats and Napoleonic bearings. Love to see those tax dollars at work, running an ersatz protection detail for the progeny of the elite, blowing Wall Street bailout money on riding lessons, breeches and stable rentals.

One of the Little League parents I befriended calls the weekenders “City-ots” as in idiots from the city. Interestingly enough, I used this term frequently a few years ago when one of my clients was Citibank…but I digress.

Honestly, I don’t mind the weekenders too much. They do flood Stop & Shop with doe-eyed cluelessness, but their patronage surely helps keep that satellite Dunkin’ Donuts in the black, and as long as the D&D is rockin’ out, I don’t have to worry about the black smoky stink of Starbucks rolling in.

Anyway, the city-ots remind me of a minority of students from my college days, the privileged, douche-nozzle legacies that were confused when I, the salad bar guy from the dining hall, showed up in New German Cinema.

She: Are you auditing this class?
Me: [confused expression]
She: You don’t, like, go here, do you?
Me: Um, actually I do.
She: But you work in the dining hall, right?

Plus, I did go to High School in NYC, and then worked there for a number of years, so the coiffed nouveau yuppies are a pretty familiar breed.

And man, it is a pisser to see their faces when they see signs for a turkey shoot.