For Christmas, everyone will get a small parcel of swine flu delivered into our bloodstreams.

Oh yes, I mean, IF we are already sick. And IF we get in line early enough. And because only 140,000 doses of the bug are sitting in Serbian vials, by a rough calculation, there is one shot for every 57,142 people.

This is terrible.

As much as the city is being held in the grip of Nature and the adamantine grip of her snow, so do I - after having resisted for several days - feel inexorably pulled into the Snow Trap. I have to write about the snow. I do not WANT to write about the snow! I rebel against its banality in subject matter! I push against its encroaching walls!

Yet here we are....

When the loan officer at the bank offers you a load of carrots instead of cash, you will know that this is a Crisis.

Business is booming for the Prognosticators of Doom these days. All I am hearing from all sides is that the End is Near, speeches about the Demise of Consumerism abound, and that we are sliding into a time of feudal lords, manor houses, indentured servitude and mediaeval bartering.

Somehow I never thought that I would never miss JAT.

Jugoslovenski Aerotransport, or JAT (1927 - 2013), presented the traveler with a very clear set of rock-bottom expectations - bare minimum of operations, reasonably functioning if less than confidence-inspiring aircraft, fairly bad attitudes both on the ground and in the air, and disproportionately high prices.

That was JAT - it used to be nearly the only way in and out of Yugoslavia - and we loved to hate it.

September is now upon us.

We are getting back to work after a long and protracted holiday (even if we did not take one, everyone else seems to have done so). Streets are busier. Shops are crowding up slowly again. Supermarkets may even begin to stock the shelves once more. The fall season - in a way very different from the burgeoning of spring - is all about new beginnings. Schemes

It is responsible for everything and accountable for nothing.

It is the System. It is what we blame when things go horribly wrong and when it is not the fault of any one individual. It is a force to be reckoned with in Serbia, but it is equally powerful in all corners of the world.

When anyone deals with public administration and its inherent bureaucratic labyrinths, we blame the System. When anyone is admitted into a public hospital and is treated like a piece of meat on a slab, we blame the System. The System is most often used to explain away the arcane and the unacceptable and most usually pertains to the large behemoths created by big government and big business.

Filming has started on Belgrade's last and greatest foray into the "willing suspension of disbelief," the epic saga under the working title of The Belgrade Waterfront. The avant-premier is scheduled for May 1, 2045, giving the publicists barely 30 years to get ready for the grand event. Half of the budget will be allocated in 2035.

None of the principle actors have arrived yet on the set, nor has the director - citing some unease about getting paid for half of it in 20 years - but the producers (Sheik Ali Xander & Associates) have so far put on a spectacle worthy of Metro Goldwyn Mayer.

There I was, just about to close down my factory and send the workers home for the holidays, when it suddenly dawned on me. I could get Bailed Out!

My factory has for years produced the best possible Bicycles for Tropical Fish (BTFs). We had no rivals in any market! No one made a better BTF in the entire world. Rightfully, we were very proud of this achievement and our factory output surged with Pride in Workmanship, a Strong and Healthy Work Ethic, and most of the other jingoes which the US auto industry Nawabs were singing over the last few weeks. The thought of getting the US Congress to bail me out has lifted my spirits greatly!

Elvis lives there. He is 76 years old. Jim Morrison too. And now Osama Bin Laden.

For reasons of confidentiality, I am unable to reveal the whereabouts of The Home. Suffice to say that it is a rather large and stately affair ensconced in a semi-rural area, detached from the rest of the world, where the residents live out normal lives far from the prying eyes and fingers of fans, paparazzi, and prosecutorial investigators.

And it has a very nice sound system, too. Oldies mostly.

PRACTICAL TIP: In a yes or no question, the answer is almost never "it's not my ice cream."

Had I known that, I probably would not have experienced this afternoon's cerebral implosion. As it happens, I walked up to the kiosk and asked my question, anticipating a no, hoping for a yes. And that is what I got.