Tom takes Scott and Ginger to dinner at the famed steakhouse Peter Luger, and it’s a dream come true for a kid from Brooklyn who had never before eaten there. Even the space age technology of the “doggie bag” was impressive, especially since Tom and Scott didn’t get into a tugging match that spilled over into the entire restaurant, with the patrons on their hands and knees vying for the precious scraps of steak that fell out of the bag during their tussle, which thankfully did not happen.

Thanks to a crumbling retaining wall at Tom’s house, Scott learns the difference between cement and concrete, and vows to share his newfound knowledge with the free world.

A trip to Kaaterskill Falls in the Catskills used to require traveling by a horse drawn carriage offering a bumpy, unpleasant ride. Now Tom zips up the Palisades Parkway in padded luxury in just 2.5 hours. Why isn’t this travel breakthrough on the front pages of every major metropolitan newspaper?

Our kind of town Chicago is, as Scott sings its praises from his visit earlier this week. Our theme is once again “time”, as Scott devises a plan to not lose an hour sleep when we set the clocks ahead. Tom tells the story of his first elevator ride ever, at Marshall Field, which we hope to rescue from the clutches of Macy’s and return to the city and its people. For that, we would happily accept two keys to the city, but in key card format or on the phone app.

Why do pundits refer to what a President says in the State of the Union speech as a “laundry list”, which is something that doesn’t exist. Plus, we would like to see a State of the Union where a couple addresses Congress about the state of their relationship, a different kind of Union, with a rebuttal after the speech by the other partner. And Scott would love to be the opening act for the speech, which he imagines would elicit hearty laughter and back slaps from both sides of the aisle.

We won’t ask you to answer a brief survey after you listen to this episode. We imagine a dystopian future where the typical survey for your Amtrak ride forces you to compose a 5,000 word answer that details your every thought as you stare out the window from Penn Station to 30th Street Station in Philadelphia.

This leap year’s February 29 didn’t make the front page headlines, but we’re thankful for the bonus extra day, which gave us the gift of time. We propose, in addition to our previous call for an eight day week, to put February 29 on your wall calendar every year. Why? It’s about time.

We slide into the baseball jersey and pants controversy, as Scott is a uniform “expert” going back more than 30 years. Will players someday ask to be traded to a team with colors they like? If the authentic jersey is so thin, will the replica jersey be made of tissue paper? Plus, how to deal with agents who go to a coffee shop after playing basketball, wearing long, baggy shorts that look like dresses?

We’re the first to propose that our nation’s Poet Laureate be elected by the voters of the US. This will necessitate a campaign with candidates reading their poetry at diners and rallies across the country, complete with negative ads.

Tom’s breaking news makes us throw out our planned scripted opening, and do an entirely improvised episode. Our second attempt to have a dinner party with Sandy and Ginger is postponed when Tom takes a nasty fall at a coffee shop. He’s happily on the mend, but the question remains. When will the dinner party actually happen?