Shamed by my own writing on the decline of civic associations and the rise of virtual communities on the web, I decided to throw a block party to get to know the neighbors better.

Husband and I plotted about how to organize such an event. The problem is that our block is so damn fertile. 17 kids spilling juice on the carpet doesn’t sound so fun. Husband thought the party might work best in the summer time when the kids can be outside.

A bar-b-que block party in the suburbs? Cool. Husband will be at the grill with a “Kiss the Chef” apron. I’ll come out with fruit salad. How many movies and TV shows have shown that scene? I suggested making it a theme party.

The <a href = "Edward Scissorhands Bar-B-Que. The wives would all have bouffant hairdos. Dogs would be welcome. Food would consist solely of brightly colored towers of jello with pineapple slices and ambrosia.

A Wisteria Lane Block Party/Wake. Hot pants and pumps, of course, for the women. And rolled up T-shirts on the guys to show off biceps. There would be a casket in the corner. Food would be largely inedible, but no one would care because everyone’s on the water and cabbage diet. Ritalin and botox for all.

I put forward several other suggestions. (There was also a great backyard party in Welcome to the Dollhouse.) But in the end, husband told me to forget it. He didn’t think the block would find it funny. So, I’m back to reading the blogs.