Rerun - The Cowboy Code Chapter 9

Generally, I hate to do reruns, but I am curious for your take on a post I did yesterday about involving your friends in your romantic life. That post was overshadowed, I believe, by the story about the rent-a-dogs. So I'm going to do the unusual and reprint the romance post for feedback.

Never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, send a friend to do your job. Don't even think of allowing a friend to do your job.Your job, in this case, is making your feelings known to a potential significant other or patching things up with a current significant other.

Flash back with me for a moment:

• When we were in elementary school it was OK for Janie to send Susie over to Johnny on Janie's behalf. It was OK for Susie to whisper to Johnny that Janie really liked him - like-liked him.
• When we were in middle school it was OK for Johnny to send Billy over to Susie on Johnny's behalf. It was OK for Billy to whisper to Susie that if Janie liked Johnny she should meet him behind the gymnasium after 5th-period study hall.
• When we were in high school it was OK for Susan and William to argue with one another in defense of their friends Jane and John, because Jane really liked John, but he was being a jerk, and because John dug Jane, but she was being stuck up. And thanks to the two interceding friends, Jane and John usually got back together, if only for another week or so.

But when you're 32 and you can't figure out how to get the attention of the woman you're interested in, you are plumb out of luck, and you should take it as a sign from fate that it wasn't meant to be. Or maybe it wasn't meant to be quite yet.

I have a buddy in Seattle - age 32; how did you know? - who has been pining for a certain young woman for weeks. She is an acquaintance - not a friend, just an acquaintance - of another woman with whom my buddy is friends.

My buddy considers himself to be lacking in game, so he couldn't come up with what he felt was a clever enough way to break the ice and make his feelings known. He and the woman he likes have had casual conversations at the coffee shop where the other woman works. They've laughed. They've talked seriously. But the conversation has always been short and always about something in the news, some current event. Then one or the other of them has to go - back to work, home, wherever.

I suggested he go the direct route with something to the effect of "You know, I have really enjoyed talking with you for a minute here or there. Would you like to grab dinner or a drink some night so we can have a longer conversation?" But what do I know? I'm a married guy whose game has been retired and is awaiting Hall of Fame balloting.

My buddy did not go the direct route. He asked his friend who works at the coffee shop to "investigate" for him, find out if the acquaintance could possibly be interested in him. The friend enthusiastically agreed, taking on the challenge like a spy mission.

Not good.

The next day, when my buddy went to the shop for his coffee, the friend confessed that her enthusiasm was a little too intense and that the acquaintance figured out 10 minutes into the conversation that this was a Johnny-sent-Billy scenario. The acquaintance reacted with scorn, got a good laugh out of the whole thing, and then told the friend that if my buddy didn't have the stones to come to her himself, then he just wasn't interested enough.

My buddy got angry with the friend for botching her delivery. I told him he couldn't kill the messenger, 'cause this was a message he should have delivered himself.

Remember the Cowboy Code. Once you are grown, you are on your own. The most your friends should be doing for you in the romance arena is introducing you to someone else. It's up to you to turn up the heat. And if you can't, get the hell out of the kitchen.

Pet Prostitution

I swear, it is pure coincidence that two other of my recent posts have had to do with prostitution. I have no fixation. I'm just commenting on the news. But have you read this story about a company in California renting out dogs by the hour to people who say they don't have time to actually own a pet?

Essentially, this service is for those people who want to take a dog on a walk but don't want the other responsibilities of ownership, or don't have time for them, or don't have room in their homes for a pet.

I gotta tell you this is essentially animal prostitution. Get your mind out of the gutter. I'm not suggesting anything sexual between these folks and the rent-a-dogs. But I am saying that such an impersonal relationship, purchased on an hourly or daily basis is extremely similar.

If you don't want a pet don't get one. If you don't have room for a pet, don't get one. If you just want to see animals for an hour or two or a day at a time,, go to the zoo. If you want to get up close and personal with those animals, go to a petting zoo. But to rent a dog for short-term, temporary companionship? Those dogs are getting pimped and the renters are sort of like Johns.

And I say this as a non-tree hugger, as someone who knows the difference between humans and animals. But as my grandma would say, this service is triflin'.

The Cowboy Code: Chapter 9

Never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, send a friend to do your job. Don't even think of allowing a friend to do your job.

Your job, in this case, is making your feelings known to a potential significant other or patching things up with a current significant other.

Flash back with me for a moment:

• When we were in elementary school it was OK for Janie to send Susie over to Johnny on Janie's behalf. It was OK for Susie to whisper to Johnny that Janie really liked him - like-liked him.
• When we were in middle school it was OK for Johnny to send Billy over to Susie on Johnny's behalf. It was OK for Billy to whisper to Susie that if Janie liked Johnny she should meet him behind the gymnasium after 5th-period study hall.
• When we were in high school it was OK for Susan and William to argue with one another in defense of their friends Jane and John, because Jane really liked John, but he was being a jerk, and because John dug Jane, but she was being stuck up. And thanks to the two interceding friends, Jane and John usually got back together, if only for another week or so.

But when you're 32 and you can't figure out how to get the attention of the woman you're interested in, you are plumb out of luck, and you should take it as a sign from fate that it wasn't meant to be. Or maybe it wasn't meant to be quite yet.

I have a buddy in Seattle - age 32; how did you know? - who has been pining for a certain young woman for weeks. She is an acquaintance - not a friend, just an acquaintance - of another woman with whom my buddy is friends.

My buddy considers himself to be lacking in game, so he couldn't come up with what he felt was a clever enough way to break the ice and make his feelings known. He and the woman he likes have had casual conversations at the coffee shop where the other woman works. They've laughed. They've talked seriously. But the conversation has always been short and always about something in the news, some current event. Then one or the other of them has to go - back to work, home, wherever.

I suggested he go the direct route with something to the effect of "You know, I have really enjoyed talking with you for a minute here or there. Would you like to grab dinner or a drink some night so we can have a longer conversation?"

But what do I know? I'm a married guy whose game has been retired and is awaiting Hall of Fame balloting.

My buddy did not go the direct route. He asked his friend who works at the coffee shop to "investigate" for him, find out if the acquaintance could possibly be interested in him. The friend enthusiastically agreed, taking on the challenge like a spy mission.

Not good.

The next day, when my buddy went to the shop for his coffee, the friend confessed that her enthusiasm was a little too intense and that the acquaintance figured out 10 minutes into the conversation that this was a Johnny-sent-Billy scenario. The acquaintance reacted with scorn, got a good laugh out of the whole thing, and then told the friend that if my buddy didn't have the stones to come to her himself, then he just wasn't interested enough.

My buddy got angry with the friend for botching her delivery. I told him he couldn't kill the messenger, 'cause this was a message he should have delivered himself.

Remember the Cowboy Code. Once you are grown, you are on your own. The most your friends should be doing for you in the romance arena is introducing you to someone else. It's up to you to turn up the heat. And if you can't, get the hell out of the kitchen.

Neighborhood Associations

I am recovering tonight from having attended a 'hood association meeting last evening.

I'm serious. It's something I never would have done as a single guy - 'cause I lived in a downtown apartment building and really didn't give a crap who my neighbors were or how they behaved, as long as it wasn't criminally dangerous and didn't disturb me when I was at home.

But now, married, kid on the way, etc., I'm thinking peace and quiet and property values. And so, Mrs. B does not have to twist my arm very hard to get me to attend these meetings. Still, I hate them.

When I attend, I am Jekyll. I try to sit and listen quietly and not frown too much and keep my arms uncrossed, 'cause I know that's a gesture that suggests tension and defensiveness. But my Hyde, the reporter in me, inevitably fights his way out. And I find myself biting my lip and my tongue and anything else that will prevent me from speaking up and scoffing at some bad excuse for weak city services or booing some piss poor explanation to why police need to study speeders, before actually arresting them.

I know the association means well. I know the police and code enforcement officers who attend the meetings mean well. The fact is, in the two years since we bought a home in this neighborhood they've done a lot to keep the triflin' among us in line...except for the guy who owns the place next to me. He needs a good kick in the coin purse. And my 12.5 boots are aching to "serve the community."

But anyway, last night at the meeting, one of the police officers pissed me off so badly I was bouncing off the wall.

I live in a neighborhood in flux, a mix of single family homes occupied by middle- (me) and upper middle-class (not me) couples and families - some blue collar, some white collar, and condos and apartment buildings of various quality, most occupied by singles...of various quality. It's in a good location though. Huge condo towers are going up that even if ugly, in my opinion, will push property values up at a slightly faster pace. We walk the four blocks from our house to the heart of downtown all the time, for dinners, drinks, tunes, etc. There's a beautiful park in the heart of downtown, a couple of art galleries, and so on, and so forth. I'm told that 10 years ago, long before we moved to Florida anyone with good sense avoided downtown in my city, 'cause it was like nighttime in the movie Omega Man: only the creepies came out at night. Addicts, dealers, pimps, and hos (real hos, not college basketball players as imagined by talk radio show hosts). And it wasn't a pretty scene. Well, things have changed. Downtown is a thriving nightlife zone, w/high end restaurants, lots of traffic, nice places, nice people, etc.

The addicts and hos though? Some of 'em are still around, mostly bothering people who live on the other end of our neighborhood. There were people at the association meeting who live on the other end who said prostitutes have approached them on the sidewalk. Addicts have wandered into their yards. I see the occasional addict and ho when they stray south and are on their way somewhere (I have no idea where). But luckily I haven't had to plant my boot on the behind of anyone who didn't belong in my front yard or anyone skulking around my block. I realize this is South Florida, and hos - real, professional hos - are everywhere. But c'mom! Would some politician propose a hozone already, perhaps somewhere near all the hotels where conventions take place?

Anyway, during last night's meeting the neighborhood resource officer stands up to reassure folks, and tell them that he's sorry but there's really nothing officers can do about the hos unless officers catch the hos in the act with Johns. After all, the sidewalks are public, right? And there's due process through the law. You can't just yank a ho off the sidewalk for doing the stroll back and forth, right? This is the argument the resource officer makes. It just wouldn't be right to roust people for just "hanging out" and walking around.

If that had been my first association meeting, I might have bought that line. But it wasn't my first. And I didn't just fall off the back of the yam wagon. Neither did Mrs. B. She quickly pointed out something curious. Less than five blocks from our neighborhood, on the other side of a major thoroughfare, is an upscale neighborhood. If our 'hood is middle class, this 'hood across the street ranges from waaaay upper middle class to seriously upscale. The homes over there go for anywhere from $500,000 to several million dollars each.

But here's the curious thing: they have no hos strollin' their side of the street. I swear. We walk our dog in our 'hood and their hood. We drive through and past their 'hood on the way to the beach, a mile or so from our house. We drive through and past their 'hood on the way to nights out or to the grocery. No hos.

What gives?

The stupid side of me says there must be an invisible force field up around our 'hood that compels the hos like ghosts trapped in a haunted house to wander the streets of my neighborhood...for the rest of their lives. And if they stray even 10 feet outside the boundaries of my 'hood their 8-inch pumps and sequined skorts will burst into flames and the hos will turn to dust.

The cynical side of me says that the cop was being disingenuous. Could it be that people in the upscale 'hood who pay more property taxes a few blocks away put their collective foot down and told the cops to get rid of the hos? And could it be the police complied and chased the hos out?

C'mon, hos just stroll our neighborhood, but have no interest at all in walking much wider streets, with much brighter lights, and slightly more lush lawns just a few blocks away? Right.

And yet, the association did nothing. But what could it do - demand the same ho-control plan the folks in the upscale 'hood have? Progress is happening. But that cop - very nice guy - was full of...disillusionment.

Sidewalks are public? Fine. As a "favor" to my northern neighbors, I'm gonna spend the rest of the weekend placing directional signs on every corner in the northern part of my 'hood pointing Southeast and bearing written instructions to the hos on where to find the most comfortable, easy-on-the-bunions sidewalks to stroll in the upscale 'hood.

Now, if you'll excuse me I'm gonna take a non-ho stroll to my kitchen, where I plan to retrieve a can of James-brand champagne and toast the great tradition of suspects' rights, while working on my great American novel.

Grim Kitty

Run if you see this cat coming. He is the Reaper, predicting imminent death among nursing home residents. Fans say Oscar the Cat provides invaluable company to sick people on their last leg.

Researchers say Oscar has a perfect track record determining who's about to die. Usually two - four hours prior to death he goes and hangs out bedside in the rooms of sick residents until they pass away. He is currently featured in a medical journal article about his prognosticating abilities.

I've had a problem with cats for years. I don't believe that whole black cat superstition. And I do have my own cat at home now, and half the time she's fun to be around. But as I've written before while I've never been attacked by a dog, I had my forearms shredded as a kid by a neighbor's crazed cat. I was like 8 or 9. I was walking down the sidewalk enjoying a Popsicle or ice cream cone, or something like that. And the cat came tearing off the neighbor's porch, claws out, fangs bared - jumped on me, and proceeded to swat and scratch away. Left me bloody, terrified, and running like OJ through the airport in a Hertz commercial. Not a good scene. I laughed later, but it took a few days. And my laugh, upon recalling the memory, was more like the shrill cackle of Miss Havisham.

So I say Oscar, the Angel of Death, is a glass-half situation. If you believe he just goes to these sick patients' rooms by divine ordination to comfort these people and "escort" them to the other side, then the glass is half full.

But, if like me, you suspect Oscar may be wearing a figurative black cape and carrying a sickle and sending the nursing home residents to the other side, then the glass is half empty.

Either way, unless you're certain, don't turn your back on Oscar.

How offended is too offended?

Finally, here is definite evidence that jail is apparently meant to be one of the worst places on earth, behind Hell, a smoldering pile of tires at your local municipal dump, and possibly East St. Louis, on the top 10 list.

I'm kidding. I'm sure East St. Louis is a fine, fine representative of the Illinois experience.

Anyway, I will assume you visited the link above, at this point. If you didn't though, here's the rundown: An inmate in the Broward County (Florida) Jail was convicted yesterday of misdemeanor exposure of sexual organs and sentenced to 60 days in jail.

What does exposure of sexual organs mean? In this case, "handy" self love. If you need further explanation, you don't deserve to eat fresh food or look both ways before crossing the street.

Now, this guy was "no saint (ha ha, pun intended)." He is a violent weasel, who is already serving a 10-year sentence for an armed robbery conviction.

But a female deputy at the jail saw him on video surveillance loving himself in his cell, more than 100 feet away from where she sat in a control room.

She was offended by what she saw. She said other inmates are a little more private about their self love. So this inmate was charged. A jury convicted him on the premise that his jail cell is not a private enough place to make self love in the open an acceptable act. He now has two months more to serve, in addition to the 10-year robbery sentence.

I am all for punishment. I say they should have locked him up twice as long for the armed robbery. But prosecuting this sort of act almost seems mean. Or am I nuts for thinking so? I mean, better he loves himself than a cellmate, right?

Besides, jail cells are semi-public places, a standard the jury considered in convicting this guy. Having worked as a jail counselor in the past - in my pre-reporter days - I can assure you that what you see on TV of jail cell toilets is accurate. Any inmate who uses the can does so in a sort of public manner. It can't be helped. There are no doors. So their naughty bits are bound to show sometimes. If a deputy happens to look up at the security monitor and see an inmate taking it out to relieve himself, the deputy will still see it. So is seeing it worse when the inmate is enjoying it than when he's whipped it out to perform a chore? Inmates lose rights and privileges when they get locked up. They should. On the flip side of that, when you sign up for a job "watching" convicts behind bars, I'm thinking you might see a few things you wouldn't see while working in a cubicle in an office tower somewhere.

But seriously, at what level of offense do we draw the line? So a college kid gets arrested for disorderly conduct for picking a fight at a bar. He's in the drunk tank. He and another inmate start chatting. The kid swears like a sailor in his conversation. A religious deputy overhears him and is offended by the cursing. Will that deputy be able to issue additional charges for public profanity or even more disorderly conduct? You're sitting on the phone at a sidewalk cafe, describing to your best buddy your sexual prowess from an encounter the night before. It's certainly distasteful. But what if a passing police officer hears you and gets offended - can he arrest you and recommend you be charged for being disorderly?

I understand that jail is not supposed to be fun. But, funny and absurd as this incident might be, this conviction bothers me.

My baby's no saint

I don't have any babies...yet. But whenever I hear those words in that sequence - "my baby is no saint" - a red flag goes up.

That is the passive aggressive disclaimer of a parent in denial.

There was a girl I kicked it with in high school who was arrested, charged, and convicted for being an accessory to murder when she was in college. Her parents said she wasn't a sain't. I knew a kid in elementary who liked to hurt things, small animals. He's probably living like Hannibal Lecter somewhere right now. But I remember his parents defending him with the disclaimer that he was no saint. If I'd been wiser as a kid I would have explained to his folks that he left sainthood behind back when he was just stepping on ants. What they should have been saying about him was "Our kid was actually born human."

Last I heard the "no saint" disclaimer, a mother was speaking defiantly in a television interview about an angry letter a Cleveland, Ohio, city councilman had written to the woman's son. The councilman, Michael Polensek, lashed out at Tonya Lewis's GROWN son, Arsenio T. Winston, 18.

Winston was recently arrested and faces charges for allegedly dealing drugs at a convenience store in Polensek's neighborhood. It isn't his first run-in with the law. And according to Polensek, Winston, who doesn't even live in the neighborhood where he allegedly works as a sidewalk pharmacist, has a reputation for coming around that 'hood to hang out with gang bangers.

Polensek told Winston in the letter that he is a "thug," a "moron," a "crack-dealing piece of trash," and more. He also told him to straighten up his life or he would end up in jail or a cemetery.

So here's the deal. Polensek may have missed the class on choosing the best words to express your emotion. But his sentiment in this case is 100% right! I completely sympathize with the man and can't say I wouldn't have done the same in his position. There is nothing more infuriating than someone coming to your neighborhood to do dirt and then going back to their neighborhood to sleep.

I understand that Winston has not been convicted of anything with this latest arrest. But let's drop the pretense for a moment. Do you really need a criminal conviction to be able to ID the "thugs" in your neighborhood...if you have any thugs? I don't. The thugs are the cats who sit in front of other people's houses and bump vile music loudly and not care. They're the guys who will not-so-subtly send scantily dressed women (hmmm, prostitutes maybe?) strolling down the sidewalk next to a park where children are playing. They're the guys who will glare at you, when you give them that look for shadily skulking up and down your block, even though they don't live there.

You know what infuriates me most about this whole thing though? The alleged drug dealer's mother was more upset with the councilman than with her son. She called Polensek's letter racist and life-threatening, and said that the councilman was trying to usurp the legal system by declaring her son guilty before a trial. That "racist" accusation is bogus. Winston should be thanking Polensek for that letter as a dose of reality, because statistically the councilman is right: the average young, troubled, African American male stands a 1-in-4 chance of landing behind bars. And don't write me about how fair (or not) the justice system is. That's a different discussion. But seriously, a 25% chance of going to jail, and this kid's biggest problem is that he was called names in a letter?

And then Winston's mom said it: Her son is no saint.

Do you ever notice that no parent utters those words after their child has been accused of something small like stealing a cookie off the neighbor's window sill, or after their child is disruptive in class, or after their child failed to complete his chores? You only hear that phrase after a "child" has been accused of something really bad. That my friends, is proof of denial. At the point your "child" is accused of dealing drugs or being a gang banger or assault, or murder, etc., you are waaaaaay past "My baby's no saint."

A couple of weeks ago in Palm Beach County, Florida, a woman was gang-raped allegedly by a bunch of teenage boys wearing masks and (some) brandishing weapons. The boys allegedly also assaulted the woman's 12-year-old son and forced him at gunpoint to perform a sex act with his mother. When police captured a couple of the suspects, one of their fathers told a reporter that his son couldn't have done it because he is really "shy." Keep in mind that the boy has not been convicted of anything, but investigators supposedly have DNA and fingerprint evidence linking him to the crime.

Shy? Newsflash, dad. If your kid did this, he's not shy. Wearing a mask doesn't make him shy. And if he didn't do it, what the hell's he doing hanging out with the kind of young men who would do this sort of crime?

Instead of "My baby's no saint," or "My kid couldn't have, 'cause he's shy," how about something more realistic that doesn't make excuses, something that makes your kid take some responsibility? How about "My baby knows better.?" In fact, how about "My baby knows better. And even if he didn't do this, he needs a better set of friends, and he needs to straighten up his life. He's an adult and needs to act like it."

I'm not naive. I realize that admonishing words will just bounce off of many true thugs. They're going to do what they're going to do. But there's hope for some. And for those who still have a smidgen of decency buried deep down in their hearts it would go a long way toward their "cure" if parents would quit making excuses for them.

Forget the courts, forget nice words and mean words. Forget thin skins. If your kid is attracted to the "thug" life go upside his head. And if he resists your authority throw his punk-arse out of the house. And if he will give you the time of day after that tell him again, and again, and again to straighten his life up. And if you're soft-hearted and inclined to help, offer to help steer him to a secondary education and/or a job, provided he works hard. And if after all that he still acts up, denounce him. Speak out against his activities. Those will be the kindest words you ever say to or about him.

This is about heading off your "kid's" troubles at the pass, stopping the "infection" before it spreads.

OK, I'm all out of cliches. But you get my point.

Senator Vitter

Where to begin, where to begin.

Are you familiar with the name Vitter? If not, Vitter is a Louisiana senator who recently admitted that his phone number was found in the so-called black book of the D.C. madam because several years ago he apparently paid for sex with one of the madam's "escorts."

Everyone makes mistakes. But Vitter shot himself in the foot by crying from the mountain tops over the years that the sanctity of marriage and the strength of traditional family "operations" were crucial to the strength and development and character and moral fiber of the United States. He made those positions an integral part of his political personality. And then he went out and hired at least one hooker.

Here's the thing. I don't care what political party Vitter belongs to. It really doesn't matter to me that he's a Republican. Plenty of Democrats have had affairs over the years.

You're going to think I'm being frivolous, but what I'm more curious about is why Vitter paid for it. It.

I know that in theory we all pay for it. Women, as your romantic relationship with a new guy develops from caution to passion, you pay by patiently spending countless hours either listening to him talk about guy things and his job, watching him ignore you (and pretend not to) while you talk, or watching (and pretending not to see) his primate-like qualities, like butt-scratching, "other" scratching, belching, etc. And guys, you pay by patiently spending countless hours listening to her talk about girl things and her job, watching her obsess over "the little stuff" like a hair being out of place or an outfit not being quite right. You both pay by buying him or her gifts, meant to please them, and if you think about it, meant to ingratiate yourself to them.

So I get it. We pay.

But literally paying cash for it? That's a different story. Vitter's not a bad looking guy. Does he really have to pay cash? I notice on old reruns of Cops or in the occasional - lately sort of freqent - news reports about prominent figures getting caught in prostitution stings it's always a decent-looking guy who seems like he'd have game who gets busted.

Why? Seriously, getting a prostitute is not easy. I've heard/seen those guys explain after the fact that they did it because it was easy to arrange - a simple exchange of money for a service.

That's a crock. I don't know that because I've tried to hire a hooker. I haven't. I wouldn't. Aside from that whole loving my wife thing, I'm much too cheap to offer cash for it.

But having covered crime as a reporter, and having met my share of Johns and hookers while lurking in the shadows of cops on the street, I'm telling you hiring such an "employee" ain't that easy. Unless you're in Vegas or something where the prostitutes get all dressed up and trawl the casino floors looking for suckers, you have to go and find them. You have to go to a crappy neighborhood and look for them the same way you might go looking for illegal drugs. You can put your life in jeopardy looking in the wrong place, all for a few dollars and few minutes worth of intimacy. The danger exception might be what Vitter did - hiring a temporary sack friend from an escort service. Even then, you don't know the background of the person coming to meet you at your hotel room, or your office, or wherever. She/he could be a serial killer, who chops up Johns.

Sorry, the jokes about it being easy can't be right. I've seen too much to the contrary.

In the mean time, I hope Vitter gets it together. Whether in the Senate or not, I don't care. He doesn't represent my district. And if the good folks of Louisiana want him to rep their set, more power to 'em. I hope his kids aren't too traumatized. And I hope his wife learns a valuable lesson about the looooooooooooooooong "memory" of videotape - she was caught on tape several years back joking about Bill and Hillary Clinton RE Monica Lewinski that if her husband, Vitter, cheated on her she wouldn't forgive/embrace him, she'd turn into Lorena Bobbitt (the woman who chopped off her allegedly abusive husband's penis) on him - and from here on out takes a "there but for the grace of God" attitude about other people's human shortcomings.

To pay or not to pay

A buddy called me this morning and shared this scenario:


He met a new woman recently. He likes her. She apparently likes him. They've been dating long enough that her parents, while visiting the city where my buddy and his soon-to-be girlfriend live (soon-to-be, because they're dating, but haven't really formalized anything), decided it would be a good idea that they all go to dinner. My buddy liked that idea, except he doesn't have very deep pockets.


So he went into to dinner with the plan of just paying for him and his girlfriend-to-be. But when the bill came, neither of her parents made any move to grab the check. Not wanting to be conspicuous, my buddy quietly laid down enough money to cover him, his girl, and their half of the tip. Her parents still made no move to even look at the check.


There was a stalemate. After several minutes, her father, in a huff, picked up the check, studied it for a moment, dug in his wallet, and tossed the balance of the check onto the table. Later, my buddy said, dad told daughter to drop the bum - that he wasn't worth keeping if he couldn't or wouldn't treat his sweetheart's parents to dinner.

"What would you have done," my buddy asked.

Very tough question. Very tough. As a Monday Morning Quarterback, I like to think that I would have simply told soon-to-be girlfriend something to this effect: "Listen, I'm really looking forward to meeting your parents. And I'd love to have dinner with them. But with me wrecking my car last week and my main computer (he's self-employed) crashing, I'm unexpectedly broke, and I will be for another week or so. So why don't we do this - I'm not completely tapped out. I can buy some nice gourmet groceries and a nice bottle of wine, and you and I can prepare dinner for your parents right here at your house...or at mine?"

Option two - and a very undesirable option it is - would be prior to the dinner, when they were all hanging out at soon-to-be-girlfriend's apartment, if I was feeling particularly nervy, I would have pulled the dad aside, reiterated to him that I care deeply about his daughter, yadda, yadda, yadda and then said something to this effect: "I'm looking forward to dining with you and your wife this evening. But circumstances over the past week or two have left my pockets a bit thin. My car was wrecked. A necessary, but expensive piece of computer equipment in my business (he's self-employed) needed to be replaced. I can pay for your daughter and myself, but I'd appreciate it if you could get the other half of the tab. I could charge it, but I don't believe in using credit cards lightly. And one of the things (daughter) and I have in common are smart spending habits."

Option two is probably a deal-breaker though, and could make dad think you're a loser. So that would be equivalent to the Hail Mary pass.

So as Monday Morning backup Quarterback, I think I probably would have just gone to my closest guy friend, my best buddy, and borrowed a couple hundred bucks from him. That way we could have had a smooth tension-free dinner, I could have paid for it all, as was apparently expected, and no one would have been wiser about the situation. And my buddy/benefactor and I could work out how quickly I'd pay him back, without anyone else having to know.

I don't envy my guy. It's tough being in a position you want to be in, but not being able to afford it temporarily.

For the record, I told him I would have gone with option one, hands down.

How would you have handled it if you were him?

A reminder about words

So I'm watching a debate on Hannity and Colmes on FNC between the Rev. Al Sharpton and Harvey Levin of TMZ.com.

Sharpton is upset that TMZ.com, in poking fun of singer Beyonce Knowles' gold-colored, robotic-looking outfit from the recent BET Awards, referred to the outfit as a "robo-ho" outfit.

Sharpton says that all jokes aside, TMZ.com shouldn't have called Beyonce any sort of "ho."

There are plenty of real ho's out there who deserve the label. I'm not just talking females. I have buddies I call hos. They know it. Sure, I speak in jest. But I mean it when I call them that. Why? They're promiscuous.

Harvey Levin says Sharpton should lighten up. He says that it isn't a matter of TMZ.com thinking Beyonce is a "ho" or a "whore" or a "prostitute." It's just a joke.

I don't often agree with the Rev. on anything. But I think he might be right in this case.

On the one hand TMZ.com backpedaled on the site and suggested the use of the word "ho" is wrong in any case. On the other hand, Levin says it was OK to call Beyonce's outfit ho-ish because the site has also called Britney Spears, Paris Hilton, and Lindsay Lohan, among others, hos for their alleged promiscuous behavior. Sharpton agreed with the Web site on one thing: that "ho" shouldn't be used in any case.

So if the standard TMZ.com uses for doling out the label "ho," is one based on ladylike vs. promiscuous behavior, then Sharpton was right to object to the Web site's using it in reference to Beyonce. She does not have a promiscuous reputation as do the young women Levin referenced in defense of the word.

I have to confess I read/watch items on TMZ.com regularly. I don't recall them calling singer Kylie Minogue a ho or her outfit ho-ish, when she began a concert last year in a similar sexy, robotic get-up.

Where both TMZ.com and Sharpton are wrong is in saying that "ho" should never be used. Once again, such a declaration takes us dangerously close to censorship for the sake of sparing everyone's feelings.

They don't need to be concerned about sparing everyone's feelings. They need to be concerned about not lumping groups of people together with slang and labels. It's the same place Imus got himself in trouble.

If he'd watched a documentary film the night before he went on the air that fateful morning that featured interviews with prostitutes and then mentioned on the air that the film was full of hos I don't think he'd have gotten himself in so much hot water. Instead he called apparently decent young women hos and that pissed people off.

Language lesson of the day: don't be afraid to critique, criticize, or analyze. But when you do, if you want to avoid grief make sure the adjective you use to describe your subject is accurate, or be prepared to demonstrate that you were just joking.

Moral of the day: It is true we all need to lighten up again. When people become so afraid of offending that they steer clear of jokes, even racy jokes, then we widen the fissures between different cultural and social groups. And that's the last thing we need in this country right now.

Intimate Knowledge

How long and how well you have to know someone before you develop a serious-toned relationship with them?

I don't mean how quickly you sleep with a new flame, though that's part of my query. I mean how intimate does your knowledge of the other person have to be?

I ask because I've been thinking hard the past couple of weeks about Jessie Davis, that 9 mos. pregnant Ohio mom who was murdered, allegedly by the unborn baby's father, days before she was to give birth. If you recall, the father, who has been charged with the murders was a cop in Canton, Ohio. He is also the father of Davis's toddler son.

Also, I've been thinking about Nancy Benoit, wife of pro wrestler Chris Benoit, who murdered Nancy and their young son and then committed suicide a couple of weeks ago.

I would never blame the victims for being killed. The only people to blame here are Chris Benoit and Bobby Cutts Jr., the cop (if he's proven guilty).

However, I wonder how far in advance of these murders these women were aware of their men's shadiness. And I wonder if they knew enough to raise red flags in advance. I don't intend to be mean. You have to admit it's a fair query. And if you don't think so, tell me with a straight face that while you watched the news unfold about these cases on television you didn't talk to the screen and say things to the effect of "I'd never have let him treat me that way!" or "Why didn't she leave his sorry behind?" If you're willing to say or even think something like that then you're admitting that you believe you wouldn't have been in a similar relationship to one of these.

I understand that many academic studies show that women in abusive relationships often don't leave - sometimes because they fear their spouse/significant other, sometimes because they've so emotionally beaten they don't even recognize their desperate situation, and sometimes because they're in denial about how they're being treated. I've read studies that say that sometimes women in such relationships are unaware of their significant other's dark side or they don't have the means to leave.

And that brings me back to Nancy Benoit. She had been involved in pro wrestling for years, like her husband. If it's true that he had been exhibiting steroid rage before he killed her and their son, why didn't she recognize the symptoms? Since the murders, retired pro wrestlers have been coming out of the woodwork, telling cable talk hosts that 'roid usage was always rampant when they wrestled. She was in the business. She didn't know? I had a friend using 'roids in college. We used to work out together. I never took anabolic 'roids, but I took things close to 'em. And I scared the crap out of family and friends who wanted to know how I packed on lean weight so rapidly. I went from 185 pounds to over 260 pounds in about three months. My friend, who took steroids, had even more dramatic results. And along with his muscle gains he started getting inexplicably angry at little things and would lash out at people smaller and weaker than him. He eventually stopped and got help, but not before a lot of friends broke off contact with him and steered clear 'cause they saw the signs. I stopped taking my non-steroid (but still stupid and potentially dangerous) supplements. And now I'm flabby, but that's a different story. Again, back to Nancy Benoit - could she have seen it coming? Maybe?

Then there's Jessie Davis. When she first began dating Cutts she apparently didn't know that he was married. She learned as much later. Still, they had a child. She also learned later he had other affairs and at least one other child with someone who wasn't his wife. And yet, together they conceived another child - the one she was carrying when he allegedly killed her. She may not have known that Cutts had a violent history too - having been convicted of a crime related to kicking in the door of another ex-girlfriend. So what did she know about this guy?

Several years ago a popular pastime of the single women I know was to go onto their state's circuit court Web sites and try to put the names of potential boyfriends in the search engine in order to find any available dirt on the guys. Often they were successful. I have female friends who after they'd meet a guy in the club or the bookstore or church or the grocery or the gym, or wherever, would run his name through the court site and find that he was two years behind on child support or that he had been charged three times with drunk driving or that he had been convicted of some other felony. It was such an easy search. And it seemed like a smart thing to do. Dudes can be crazy nowadays. So can women, but women are not violent as often as men in relationships. I know of a woman who looked me up. I was initially offended, when she told me. I wasn't worried she'd find anything negative. She didn't. Still, when I calmed down I knew she was smart to do it. Can't be too careful. So again with Jessie Davis - what did she know about Bobby Cutts Jr? Was it enough to give some advance warning? And if she knew nothing about his troubled side, why didn't she know?

If neither woman knew anything about the dangerous side of their men, then this conversation is moot. But if they knew about Benoit's alleged 'roid-fueled temper and Cutt's multiple affairs and sometimes violent behavior? Why did they stay?

I am so torn about this whole thing. Maybe it's a difference between men and women. Guys often lack patience. We'll leave a significant other for "nagging" us or for raising her voice at us or for gaining an ounce. We're shallow that way. Women seem to give guys - especially guys who don't deserve consideration - too many breaks.

Or am I all wet in my speculations? You tell me.

One more time though: Even if these women knew everything about these guys in advance they are still not to blame for being murdered. That's silly. And anyone who suggests as much is a knucklehead. Don't blame the victims. But do learn from their mistakes...if they made any.

Catchin' up with Scooter Libby

Sorry for the absence folks. I've spent the week working on a a writing project that pretty much kept me away from home and any sort of computer access.

Basically I spent the week with a family in a tough neighborhood, one of the roughest I've ever seen. The gist of my story is exploring the struggles of "good" people trying to tow the line and live to high standards in a "bad" situation. I don't mean to be cryptic, but that's all I can really give away until I finish writing the project. I hope to finish writing it next week.

Anywho, I'm catching up on news. Really. I haven't paid much attention to what's been happening around me because I haven't really been in a position to listen to radio or catch a TV newscast and I didn't have my laptop with me 'cause it might have been stupid for me to have that thing where I was hanging out. I've called my wife each afternoon to see how she's been doing and I've been hearing about things like kids getting kidnapped and Lewis "Scooter" Libby getting his prison sentence commuted.

My first reaction to the Libby thing was annoyance. But it wasn't fueled by any partisan feelings. I just have a deeply ingrained distaste for even the appearance of impropriety when powerful or powerfully-connected people are involved. I confess if it was Average Joe getting a commutation I probably would have shrugged it off, unless he was a (fairly and honestly) convicted murderer, rapist, etc.

My second reaction was that however distasteful an action, it was the president's legal right to commute Libby's sentence. Most US presidents, at the end of their terms have commuted sentences and issued pardons to dozens - even hundreds - of people at a time. Plus, it's disingenuous for critics to act as though this was unheard of. Former President Clinton was impeached - tried by Congress - for lying. It really isn't a partisan issue.

Still, my third reaction was that it was a bad PR move on the part of President Bush, because he'd made such vehement promises early on in the investigative process to punish any member of his administration found to have played a role in the leak of former CIA operative Valerie Plame's identity. Libby didn't play a direct role. But prosecutors believe he lied about having knowledge of other people's roles. A jury agreed. Now what?

Finally, I think the president should have let the appeals process play out. If an appeals court - or a new jury, upon a new trial - declined to spare Libby then President Bush could have stepped in. Jumping in at this point in time under the pretense that Libby's prison sentence was too harsh sent a very bad message to impressionable kids.

While people on both sides of the political aisle blustered about partisanship influencing the president's decision and Libby's punishment being too harsh or too light, or just right, I believe they ALL missed the point that this commutation sent a message (just like Congress did w/Clinton) that high government officials are not important people to this country. They're not saints. They're not super heroes. They're not even necessarily nice, or good-looking, or smart in some cases. But we've always held ranking officials up on a weird sort of pedestal. Even if we knew nothing about them we respected their positions, their titles.

So when we consider that a plastic-filled rapper like Lil' Kim was "important" enough to receive a year-and-a-day federal prison sentence after being convicted by a duly seated jury of lying to grand jury investigators about her knowledge of a shootout outside a New York radio station involving members of her entourage and members of a rival clique. I think she ended up serving 10 months of it.

I'm kidding about that "important" tag, of course. When some school kid in a Jetsons costume opens a 1990s and early 2000s time capsule 50 years from now, I assure you Kim's CDs will not be in it.

But then there was Martha Stewart. She was "important" enough to serve five months in prison and six months of house arrest for being convicted of lying to the government, among other things.

Again, I kid with the "important." Martha Stewart seems to be a smart business person, and powerful, and hard-working, etc. She makes some mean silverware and dishes too. But, like Lil' Kim, nothing Stewart has ever done has involved the operation of the highest offices of government.

In both Kim's and Stewart's cases, as in Libby's, prosecutors emphasized the importance of the defendants doing some prison time so that a message would be sent that lying to Uncle Sam is not kosher.

So, regardless of which party is your favorite and how many past presidents of both parties have pardoned bad people and commuted prison sentences, if a rapper and a domestic business powerhouse are important enough to do time for lying to investigators and prosecutors isn't an aide to the Vice President of the United States at least as important?

BTW, fellas, once you pass the age of 50 it's time to lose nicknames that end in "er" or "ie." My fam quit calling me Jamie by the time I turned 16. I wish they'd quit sooner. I had a boss at a college job whom everyone called "Rickster." I had a co-worker at that same job called "Boomer." Both men were over 50. It ain't cute.

Burnett 4.0

First, I promise that this will be the last post for... at least a week in which I am celebrating some personal milestone.

Second, Burnett 4.0 isn't some new software I've created. It's better.

Remember a couple of weeks ago when I wrote that Mrs. B and me (pictured below not all that long ago in Aruba) had hit the two year matrimony mark?


Well, I learned at that time that Burnett 4.0 (pictured below in a tiny, tiny still from an ultrasound done on Friday) was on the way. How cool an anniversary present was that? The doc says in that pic that Burnett 4.0 is "about the size of a diamond ring." That's a direct quote. I don't think that analogy would have occured to me. But then again, I'm no doctor.


So for the past couple of weeks I've been biting my tongue, 'cause Mrs. B (and both our mothers, the doc, his nurses, etc.) said the first trimester can be a hairy one till it reaches a certain point. He seemed to think by Friday it had reached that point. Do you know how hard it has been to sit on this one? I'm generally pretty good at keeping secrets upon request, but this one nearly killed me to keep. I did tell my editor, 'cause if ever on some random day I jumped up, grabbed my backpack, and bolted from the newsroom like OJ through the airport in a Hertz commercial I wanted my ed to know in advance that I wasn't crazy and was only running 'cause Mrs. B was having some sort of complication.

Burnett 4.0 is due in early '08. We're not sure on a name yet, though I've suggested James IV, whether its a boy or girl. For some strange reason that suggestion got a lukewarm reception, at best. Perhaps if I'd suggested it just for a boy's name. I won't give away the possible girl-only names, partly because I don't want to jinx anything and partly because I wasn't paying attention to those suggestions. I was too busy shouting some variation of woo-hoo! and celebrating with an eight-inch Padrón 1964 Anniversary Series smoke and a can of James-brand champagne (pictured below). I'm like Will Smith, btw, when it comes to good smokes. He said in "Welcome to Miami" that he never lights his cigars. He only sports 'em for show. If it's one of my good ones, as is this Padrón, I only chew the tip a bit. Then it goes back into the humidor. Unlike Will, one of these days I'll light mine.




I have to tell you that one of my early reactions to this news was relief. I could leave it at that and you would assume that I was relieved that Mrs. B and me are able to procreate. And you'd be partly right. Every couple, if kids are in their plans or dreams, hopes to have that option, right?

But the all-man half off my brain was relieved specifically because my soldiers apparently do march. There is something in how a guy is wired that makes him think he might not be "whole" until it is demonstrated that he is lethally armed. Why do we call them soldiers, anyway? Why not my "postal workers?" I mean, they did deliver. I've heard 'em referred to as "my swimmers," but I don't like swimming so much. So that one was out. I've heard 'em called "my boys," but in my vernacular "my boys" is a simple slang for my buddies. And I would just as soon run into traffic screaming and poking my eyes out - that includes my mind's eye - than picture my buddies as my boys.

And by the way, you hippies out there, "we" are not pregnant. Mrs. B is pregnant. I helped. And we'll do the nine months (total, of course) together, like Bonnie & Clyde, standing on our heads. I'll be there every step, etc., etc. But "we" are not pregnant. I hate it when I meet a guy and he's like "we're pregnant." Are you kidding me? "We?" I'll bet you're one of those guys who ties a pillow to your belly so you can further share the experience. How's this - I'm a distant member of the royal family, and "we" are not amused. Be real, guys. this is a first for me, so I'm no expert yet. But the pillow ain't cutting it. I plan to be supportive and helpful, but I won't know what it feels like. And for that I'm grateful. Even I'm smart enough to know that in the end the only thing I'll be squeezing out is sweat.

Till tomorrow, my friends.

PS. I tried to get Mrs. B to do that guest post, but she doesn't wanna. She says she'll stick to reading your comments. So leave lots of them. We don't want her bored.