Perhaps the Bunny Will Satisfy Your Needs

Sorry I haven't been writing, B&E readers. I've been too busy writing! So for now, I offer this pleasantry. Enjoy.

Something Good Has Come of All This (So To Speak!)

So it's tax day, and in response, some right-wing nuts threw a bunch of "tea parties." As I've mentioned before, fortunately these nuts have embraced the term teabagging.

The protests are stupid, but at least now everyone on the planet will know what teabagging is. I mean, once David Gergen gets the reference, surely we've reached some sort of teabagging tipping point.

B&E is very pro-sex education.

On a separate but related note, earlier I scrolled through a few dozen photos of various teabagging events around the country, and I'm sure you'll be surprised to hear that I didn't see a single non-white person among the teabaggers. Boy, we whiteys sure are a privileged bunch of tax-haters.

I Still Got It, Baby!

I've been at my current job for about two-and-a-half years now. I figured out early on that commuting via the Brooklyn Bridge was a Very Good Thing To Do, even if it took an extra fifteen minutes each way. It's a walk that keeps on giving, B&E readers.

I'm a people-watcher. New York is a great place for the activity. Walking down the streets, I tend to look people in the eye. Very few look back. It's a guarded city that way.

So after two-and-a-half years of walking the Brooklyn Bridge most weekdays, there are dozens of faces I recognize. Most of those people who belong to these faces wouldn't recognize me in a lineup because they walk in their own worlds and block out the world around them. I do it sometimes too, so I get it.

After all this time, then, there are exactly three people I now greet in the mornings. Two I see almost every day. The third I think might be a seasonal walker. Or perhaps she's among the throngs of the laid off, because I haven't seen her in months.

Greetings vary. One gets a smile and a wave. The other gets a simple mouthed "good morning," because why should we bother to actually speak when we're both wearing headphones on a very loud bridge?

A little bit of human and humane interaction adds a warm touch to a cold commute.

Yesterday, Smile & Wave Girl handed me a note. Dude. A note. It's the fifth grade all over again!

It was simple just-wanted-to-introduce-myself fare, but it also said something about hoping she hadn't embarrassed herself. And she included contact information. So it was pretty clear she was fishing - fishing for the bald specimen that is this hunk of effectiveness.

I wrote her from my work email, figuring she'd troll our site and find my bio, which mentions the missus. Even though it was probably safe to be presumptuous, I didn't feel right just saying, "Thanks for the note: I'm married."

She wrote back with an "Oops! Didn't know you were married. Sorry!" She said she'd tried to see if I had a ring during the note hand-off, but I think I was holding my hat in my left hand (the hat is the single most important element in body temperature regulation, B&E readers).

And that's pretty much it. I don't mind telling you, faithful B&E readers, getting a note from a random lady boosts the ego tremendously.

The people with whom I've shared this story admire the cojones on this woman, and I share their admiration. Seriously. Good for her. If I were single, I'd go on at least one date with her because of my deepest respect for her initiative.

The missus, by the way, is being very good about letting me bask in the glory of another woman's fondness. And I'm being appropriately insufferable about it.

Dude! A chick totally hit on me while I was walking by her on the Brooklyn Bridge!

But I'm sorry, ladies. I'm afraid I must inform you that as much as you might like to ride the elevator to the top of B&E Tower, the observatory is the sole property of the missus. You'll just have to enjoy the shiny architectural mastery from a safe distance.

Rowr, B&E readers. Seriously. Rowr...

Liddy Hates Jesse

North Carolina Senator Elizabeth Dole made an attempt to honor the late Senator Jesse Helms by adding his name to an HIV/AIDS bill.

Those of us paying attention in the 80s and 90s might remember Jesse Helms as the man who fought tooth and nail against any bill that provided any sort of funding for any sort of HIV/AIDS research, care, education, etc. Jesse Helms believed that the gays deserved the AIDS plague and fuck them for screwing monkeys. Or something like that. It was hard to figure out how that twisted mind of his worked.

So when Liddy Dole added an amendment to the recent HIV/AIDS bill to have it named after Jesse Helms, there was really only one possible explanation: Elizabeth Dole hates Jesse Helms and wants him to spend eternity spinning in his grave.

The bill passed without Jesse's name attached.

A Sporting Time in Kansas City

It is decidedly awkward to use the term "negro" in front of someone of the African-American persuasion.

I went to Kansas City this weekend. The missus had a music therapy conference, and I thought I'd use it as an excuse to see ma. And while there, I went to the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum.

As I hopped in a taxi, I noticed the cab driver was black. "I'd like to go to the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum, please" I mumbled awkwardly.

"EXCUSE ME??"

"The, uh, Baseball Museum?" I asked meekly.

He sort of stared at me in the rearview mirror.

"I think it's at 18th and Vine?" I said, as I rolled onto my back to show my submissiveness.

"Oh, OK," Black Cab Driver said, finally understanding where it was I wanted to go. My lack of assertiveness, I suspect, kept him from hearing me.

But seriously, you try saying, "negro," even in a totally innocent context, to the face of a black man, and you'll understand the anxiety. Black Cab Driver was perfectly nice, and we chatted the rest of the way to the museum.

And the museum is great. Don't go to Kansas City without seeing it.

That didn't end our sports excitement. Ma, ma's man, the missus, and I went to a fancy-pants steak place that happened to be in our hotel (the Hotel Phillips), and seated at a long table in the middle of everything was Larry Brown.

Larry Brown was, of course, the Knicks coach that got canned after last season, but I still think of him more as the last coach to lead Kansas University basketball to a national championship. Next to Larry was legendary North Carolina coach (and Kansas native) Dean Smith. Then there were a bunch of people I didn't recognize. Then at the end of the table were the longest legs I'd ever seen in my life. Even with his back to us, I immediately recognized him as Bill Russell. A couple seats from Bill was Oscar Robertson.

The following day, Dean, Bill, and Oscar were being inducted into the NCAA Basketball Hall of Fame, and Larry was introducing Dean. So they were eating some steaks to celebrate.

Bill Russell has the greatest high-pitched, joyful laugh you'll ever hear.