Back when I was a kid, growing up on the mean streets of Mahopac, New York, we returned home from a day at school and did (always in this order) three things: First, we had a snack (long story, but my mother hid the treats in the trunk of our '80 Datsun 510, leaving my brother and me a choice of plain graham crackers, carrots or -- dear God -- homemadeyogurt).