Burnettiquette

Reason #403 that I need therapy

I need help with a prejudice, I think. But don't get your shorts in a bunch. I'm not talking "isms." I don't care what color you are, or what party of the globe your ancestors came from. My prejudice isn't that deep. Besides, generally speaking I love everybody, like a rotund kid loves cake.

Almost everybody. Everybody except hippies. I can't explain why I haven't been able to overcome my lifelong disdain of them. But in the past two days I've had two negative hippie encounters, which lead me to believe I need to go to a camp to learn to be at peace with hippies, or something.

I'll tell you what it is, I think: I love the earth, and I love animals too. But every hippie I've ever met, like most political pundits I've met, can't seem to make a point without taking it to a ridiculous extreme, or without coming off as smug and self-righteous. And that, my friends, is a turnoff and never wins anyone over to your point of view.

Case in point: I met this morning's hippie, while sitting at a coffee stand near the Herald, waiting for a source to show up. She sat down across from me, facing me, but at the next table over.

I smiled and said hello and then quickly went back to my paper and my coffee.

That would have been fine. Peaceful. Pleasant.

But then she had to start talking. First, she commented on the I.D. hanging around my neck.

Her: You a journalist?

Me: Yep.

Her: You know about the Illumminati?

Me: I think my grandfather once test drove one.

Her: No, I mean the secret global government that is using the media to take over the world.

Me: Sorry, I was thinking of Maserati.

Her: Well, whether you realize it or not you're probably a part of their plan.

Me: They'd better keep paying me on time, or I'll expose them.

Her: It isn't funny.

Me: I'm sorry, but I don't know you. I didn't mean to offend you. But we went from hello to you telling me I'm helping bring down the world. Tell you what, I'll just finish my coffee.

Silence

Her: Is that coffee fair trade?

Me: I didn't ask.

Her: You should have. Did you know that lots of countries that produce coffee beans force kids into slave labor to make coffee for people like you?

Me: Thirsty, sleepy people?

Her: No, ignorant consumers.

Me: I see. I'm contributing to slavery...maybe. How ironic. I think I'm going to keep sipping and reading.

Her: And some companies that import pre-ground beans accidentally grind up small animals. It can be cruel, you know.

Me: So my coffee has meat in it?

Silence.

Her: Nice suit.

Me: Thanks. Let me guess. A kid named Pavel who lives in a hovel made this suit for 15 cents?

Her: No, just nice suit.

Me: Thank you. Nice t-shirt. I notice you have lots of drawings on it.

Her: Yeah, this one is my protest to the Christians who think they're going to take over the world. Some historical texts suggest that Jesus didn't even exist.

Me: I thought the Illuminati was taking over.

Her: They are, too. And this is one I drew to say death to the Nazis, man. Nazis would have never let us sit here and have this conversation.

Me: True. We probably couldn't have talked. That would have sucked. What's that one about?

Her: Oh, that one's my protest against capitalism. It's hurting the planet, man.

Me: Oh? You have a suitcase with you. Traveling?

Her: Yes.

Me: Where to?

Her: Spain.

Me: Expensive trip.

Her: My folks helped with the ticket.

Me: They bought it then?

Her: Yeah, something like that.

Me: So they have jobs?

Her: Yes.

Me: In this country?

Her: Yes.

Me: Then they're capitalists?

Her: I could see how you might think that.

Me, as I stand and walk away: This has been real. I think I hear my boss calling me.

Her, to my back: Don't let the powers use you, man!

Me: What does that even mean?

Her: It means the world is ours, man. Don't let them take it from you.

Me: The world is yours? You've been watching Scarface.

Her: Scarface?

Me, to myself as I pick up the pace: stupid hippies.

The Cowboy Code: Delivering Reallllllly Bad News to an Ex

Have you ever hooked up with someone and then wondered later if you did the wrong thing?

Well, according to ABC News, if you get an email from an ex these days whose subject line starts off "You're too hot to be out of action...," don't delete it. It's probably not spam.

That subject line concludes "..."I got diagnosed with herpes since we played."

Yeah, I know. That's a messed up prank. Except it's really not. Seriously. If you have time, follow the link. ABC News profiles this public health Web site that allows people to send cutesy e-cards to former sex partners they may have infected with a sexually transmitted disease or two. The story says that the site grew out of an effort to use technology to help people keep partners informed and so on.

That part is admirable. Don't keep your crotch diseases secret. I get it. But I can't be the only person who wonders about the lack of civility that comes with informing a former partner through email that you may have infected them with something.

Now, as you may know, the Cowboy Code is generally a guide to male friendships with one another and a guide to understanding male behavior in relation to romance with women. But it is also a guide to good sense and courtesy for both men and women in relationships.

And I don't think I need to tell you that there are very few exceptions to when it's appropriate to share any kind of serious news over the Web or by phone with an ex-romantic partner.

In fact, I think that there are only two exceptions:

1. If you and an ex parted ways on reasonably good terms, geographically you and that ex live far apart these days, and you don't keep in close contact with that ex, then it's OK to tell them through email that your mom is sick, or your old dog died, or (this one's debatable) you're engaged.
2. The second exception would be that you simply write better than you speak. I don't know how many of us can say that. But if that applies to you, and it's not just an excuse to avoid seeing your ex, then at least write it the old-fashioned way - with pen, on paper. Be thoughtful, and include a phone number in the letter, in case your ex, after reading your letter, wants to call you and hash it out further.

Barring those exceptions, all serious news needs to be delivered face-to-face, unless you live so far apart that an in-person meeting just isn't practical.

It's bad enough breaking up with someone over the phone. But this takes the cake. If you kiss or otherwise swap fluids with someone, and they walk away with anything more than a warm fuzzy feeling...that doesn't require a shot of something that ends with "cilin," you owe them a face-to-face explanation.

Otherwise, you are guilty of the worst lack of Burnettiquette and are in clear violation of the Cowboy Code.

Borrowing a vice

We all have vices, right? And by vices, I mean things we indulge in for pleasure, not out of necessity, things that we indulge in though they may not be healthy for us.

I know some formal definitions include words like "evil" and "moral depravity," but if those fit you, you need to seek counseling, not read this blog.

So I was just out of the office at an interview. When I arrived at the location I stood on the sidewalk waiting to be buzzed in. A few other folks milled about, all apparent strangers to one another.

One guy was smoking. A woman pushing a stroller approached him and asked to "borrow" a cigarette...if he had one to spare.

He smiled, checked his pack, gave her a cig, and lit her up.

This isn't a new phenomenon, I know. But I'm curious about two things: If you're a smoker, has it always been a part of smoker's etiquette to comfortably and casually ask other smokers to "loan" you a cigarette? And why is it that people don't ask strangers to borrow other vices?

I mean, I have the occasional Cuban cigar. My humidor is practically bulging at the seams, in fact, 'cause I don't smoke 'em often enough. I consider it a vice, in the purest sense, 'cause without going into the medical minutia, our lungs weren't meant to suck in cigarette smoke, nor were our mouths meant to savor cigar smoke.

Anyway, if I was in a social setting where cigars were allowed and I realized I'd left home without one, I don't think it would ever occur to me to walk up to a cigar-smoking stranger and ask him to "loan" me a spare.

What about people who eat frequently at Crack Ronalds, or Wack Arnolds? That stuff is definitely a vice, since it bears ingredients that can clog your arteries, stop your heart, or put bad weight on you.

And yet, if you were in a public setting, hungry, and craving that particular vice - say, a Big Crack with cheese and fries, or a six piece CrackNuggets meal - and you saw a perfect stranger eating those things, it would never occur to you to ask that stranger to borrow a fry or a nugget.

I could go on with the vices, but you get my point. What makes cigarettes so different from other ingestible or inhalable vices, that cig smokers are so comfortable asking strangers for 'em?

Blogging and stuff

Afternoon, friends.

Let's commune a bit over the topic of blogging. You may have noticed I haven't done much of it in the past week-and-a-half.

Whenever I have these occasional near droughts, I inevitably get very kind and concerned emails asking if everything is well.

I usually say - as I will now - that everything is just fine. In fact, if I can borrow a classic relationship cliche: it's not you; it's me!

It's also not my job. I can't complain about my job. Fact is, outside of clergyman, astronaut, parent, teacher, wealthy-but-lazy heir, porn star (kidding!), or overpaid athlete, I have the best gig in the world.

But blogging can be weirdly draining sometimes, when you do it in addition to reporting the news - serious or lighthearted news.

Years ago I developed a thick skin when it came to critiques of my reporting. I had to or I would have gone crazy. At the time I was the cops/crime reporter for the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel. And most of my reporting had to do with the general woes and growing pains of the city's struggling Northside neighborhoods, where the vast majority of violent crime was committed. I was also writing about the inner workings and office politics of the police department. The kick I got out of reader comments then was that none were on the fence. Either readers would call or write to say they appreciated the light I'd shed on a particular crime or law enforcement issue, or they'd call and write to say a trained chimp could've done a better job telling the truth than me.

But blogging's different. At most mainstream news outlets, reporters blog because its an opportunity they don't have in their news stories to opine on topics they strongly care about. So when your reward leans toward the mental, the emotional, or the academic, as opposed to material, I think you care more about how your work is received.

If you've read my rants for any amount of time, you know there's no single topic for me. I'm all over the place. And I appreciate the feedback, even the crazy stuff most of the time. But for every thoughtful comment - whether in agreement or disagreement with my opinion - I often get an equal or greater number of emails from people whose comments are personal and peppered with venom.

Yeah, I'm grown. And I'm a big boy. And after this post I'll continue to welcome all commenters - even those whose writing suggests they're not all that bright.

But surely you understand that when the debates get mean-spirited for no other reason than an individual can't figure out how to voice opposition in a sensible way, inspiration to share your opinion can be temporarily in short supply.

So every now and then I have to purge myself for a few days of all writing that requires my opinion. I have to do only old-fashioned reporting. I have to make sure my life outside of work is healthy and not on life-support. And I have to re-balance things, get my Zen back in order.

All that being said, I had a good clarification "session" most of last week. And now we have some blogging to do.

For starters, here is an article I had in today's paper. No opinion, just the facts.

Turn it off or take a vote?

So I have a potential ethical dilemma for you. A colleague of mine told me the other day about an issue in the small fitness center of his new condo building.

The center is set up with a music system that allows residents to plug in their iPods and play their tunes over the speaker system while they work out.

Nice setup, right?

Maybe. My colleague says he'd never use the machine. But in theory if he's in the fitness center working out and playing his tunes via iPod through the speaker system, and someone else comes in to workout, he'd be obligated to turn the tunes off or turn them down as a courtesy to the other person.

I agree with him. The one exception might be if I was really into the music I'd ask the other person if the tunes were bothering them, and if they said no I'd leave 'em turned up.

A really self conscious person might not say a word, when the second tenant came in. They might simply turn the music off ASAP, or disconnect their iPod and attach their headphones to it.

Surprisingly though, most of my colleague's neighbors disagree with him. They don't think you're obligated to turn your tunes down or off, or apparently to even ask the other person of the music's a bother. They seem to be taking an "I was here first, so you just have to deal with my music" attitude.

I think the neighbors' take on this matter is extremely inconsiderate.

What say you?

There's always a first time

In the brief history of this blog, I have never once dusted off "Surprisingly sensible celebrities" from my list of categories.

I haven't had much cause to. But I believe in credit where it's due. And since I'm always quick to pull the "Stupid celebrity tricks" category, I should be equally quick to use the "Surprisingly sensible celebrities" category...when there's a reason.

So now I have a reason!

I know there are well-behaved celebs out there who don't take their fortune for granted. And if I'd put more thought into it before today I probably would have christened the "Surprisingly sensible celebs" category on actor/rocker Gary Sinise for his work supporting American troops abroad.

But remember it's not always the big things that are the best example of a kind heart and a good spirit and temperament.

So here's the surprisingly sensible celebrity story: There's a video floating around the Web of Beyonce Knowles's younger sister Solange performing on an outdoor stage at the Stone Soul Picnic in D.C. If you don't know Solange is a singer too, and if you like old-style R&B, then she's good.

Anyway, have you ever been to a concert and seen a celebrity accosted on stage by a fan who made it past security? I have. And that fan got dragged like he'd just been booted off the Gong Show, tackled, flattened, and pounded the way Brett Favre will be if and when he ever faces the Green Bay Packers on the field. Meanwhile the performer stood by giving the poundee a look like "That's what you get for interrupting my show." I mean, am I wrong for assuming that's what most celeb singers - whether A-list or B-list, or C-list, or whatever - would do under similar circumstances?

So when a guy runs on stage and starts cavorting around Solange's backup dancers, what do you think she does - call for the beat-down squad? Nope. She keeps singing, and smiles at the guy, probably recognizing that he was mentally disabled. And when the apparently sleeping security finally come on stage and try to drag the guy off, Solange tells 'em to back off 'cause the guy isn't hurting anyone. She even dances with him for a sec, and at the end tells the crowd his name and asks for a round of applause for him!

For that Solange gets the inaugural "Surprisingly sensible celebrity" tag from Burnettiquette. Again, it's not a huge deal, but it's a very cool act of kindness on her part.

Here's the video. The scene I described starts at the 3:23 mark.

Score one for the dumped on....sorta

For three years now, between this blog and my old one - mostly on my old one, I have ranted and raved about one of my biggest "pet" peeves: stupid humans who let their dogs crap on neighbors' lawns and don't pick it up and who cop attitude when you catch them in the act and ask them to pick it up.

As you may recall, I once threatened - before Christian Bale made super heroes cool again - to take my Louisville Slugger outside and declare myself Batman to any and all such offenders in my neighborhood.

Alas, I remain too pretty to go to jail. So I never became Batman.

Anyway, earlier today I read with great interest this story from the Washington Post about a former Maryland woman who was arrested, shackled, and later charged with trespassing for repeatedly letting her two little dogs wander into a neighbor's yard and, according to the neighbor, do their business.

My pledge to be honest compels me to admit I nearly cheered when I caught the gist of this story. I'm pretty sure I pumped my fist like Judd Nelson in The Breakfast Club.

But then I kept reading and my cynical side saw that the alleged victims in this case were a Maryland State Trooper and his wife. And the alleged suspect in this case was arrested by Maryland State Troopers.

Coincidence? Probably, but it makes me slightly uncomfortable. And unfortunately, the way of the world sort of demands that even if your cause is righteous you should make every effort to avoid the appearance of impropriety.

But I'm wandering off on a tangent. In principle I'm thrilled with what the authorities in Maryland did. Too many people don't give a crap - ha ha, get it? - about the crap their dogs leave on other people's lawns.

It ain't cute. And contrary to popular belief it doesn't turn your lawn greener. It gives you stupid yellow and brown spots in your grass. And, all joking aside, I think it's one of the greatest signs of disrespect you can show to a neighbor.

The suspect here insists her dogs never crapped on the neighbor's yard. Maybe they peed once or twice, she admits, but nothing more. Hmmmm. She also insists her arrest and handcuffing was overkill.

What do you think of the criminal charges against her? I don't think she should be jailed. And I actually agree that an arrest and handcuffing, and possibly the charges were over the top. But I like that authorities tried a creative way to address this problem by using trespassing as their hook.

So, my bottom line: I don't like that it went this for, but if Johnson is convicted she should get 100 hours of community service, roaming her former neighborhood with a bag and a scooper.

The scent of incivility

Have I ever recommended you guys revert to kindergarten occasionally and exercise a flexible sense of humor?

If not, and you don't already, try it sometimes. The ridiculous can be as therapeutic as scripture sometimes.

Don't believe me? Keep reading.

There are few behaviors or actions, even minor, silly stuff, that if we wanted, we couldn't assign a minimum standard of behavior to.

Think about it. You approach a door at the same time as another person? You exercise the baseball standard, as in "tie goes to the runner," and you give way to the other person (or not, if he's a jerk).

You bump into someone in a crowd? You smile and say "Excuse me."

Someone compliments you? You don't disregard their words. You say "Thank you."

You belch? You pardon yourself.

And so on...

So clearly, the alien woman Mrs. B and I encountered in a department store Saturday afternoon hadn't heard the rules about farting in public.

We were strolling down an aisle looking for a rug or something like that. When we rounded the corner to head up the next aisle, the woman was exiting that aisle and didn't see us.

I mean her head was down as she pushed her cart. But even if it hadn't been down, she couldn't have seen us. 'Cause three steps later when we crossed the spot where she'd just stood, we smelled an unbelievably foul odor. I'm certain it was the foulest odor I've ever come across. And keep in mind back when I was a crime reporter I spent time in the morgue. And I even came across a couple of crime scenes ripe with the smell of recent death.

This is why I call the woman an alien. No human could emit a smell like that unless they sustain themselves on a diet of charcoal and brimstone, or unless something - like an alien? - crawled up inside 'em and died.

Most rules of letting one rip are pretty much common sense. But in case you, like this woman, have a serious gastro problem and absolutely have to pass one in a public indoor place, like a department store, then make sure you're in an isolated part of the store - a part of the store where the products are covered with dust, giving you a good indication that people rarely go there. And whatever you do, and wherever you do it, look UP!!!! Look up and around first to make sure the coast is clear. It's the best way to avoid embarrassment - though this woman tried to pretend "it" wasn't hers, and the best way to avoid being grossly offensive.

This act, my friends, was high on the list of poor Burnettiquette. Silence is no excuse, and certainly no mask.

Anyway, if that hasn't made you giggle or scrunch up your nose uncomfortably enough already, the whole unpleasant incident that made my eyes water and I swear induced a minor asthma attack for me, reminded me of this beeper commercial featuring the start of a blind date:

Friday Round-up

It's that time of the week my friends, time to weigh in on all that makes the world a depressing uplifting place with a bright future.

Let's get right into it.

• I try not to do corny that often. It occurs naturally enough for me, without me putting effort into being corny. But occasionally it gets me. Like the way I can sing along with every song in The Sound of Music, or the way Notting Hill made me almost weepy at the end when Hugh Grant and his teeth finally win over the girl. Not proud of these moments, but sometimes I can't avoid 'em. Anyway, I was at work at the butt crack of dawn today 'cause I had to get prepped for a segment on a radio show, and I while driving in I was listening to a local radio guy talk about seeing a hair band concert last night here in South Florida. The show included Journey and its newest lead singer Arnel Pineda. I'll include the CBS Sunday Morning story on Pineda at the end of this post in case you have a few minutes to watch it. But if you don't, here's the abbreviated version: Pineda is a young Filipino man, whose mother died when he was 13 and whose father apparently put him out of the house when he was a boy, because he couldn't afford to feed young Arnel. Pineda was a homeless kid. But he had a gift. His mother taught him to sing. And he sang and he sang and he sang his way off the streets and into a cover band. Neil Shawn, founding member of Journey, saw video of Pineda's cover band on YouTube. He reached out to the band to get hold of Pineda. The rest is history. So the guy on the radio this morning reminded me of this story. I try not to do corny, but when I watched Pineda's story, it almost made me weepy again. What can I tell you? I'm a sucker for comebacks. Seriously, if you can spare a few minutes at the end of this post, watch the video.
• From inspirational to beyond disturbing, the number one excuse to drive yourself everywhere you go, high gas prices or no: You could live longer. A Canadian man is in police custody today, after he whipped out a butcher knife on a Greyhound bus yesterday, aerated the sleeping passenger next to him, and then calmly decapitated that passenger, while fellow passengers looked on in horror and fled.
• If you listen to public radio and live in or near Hoopa, Ca., Atlanta, Kankakee, Ill., New Orleans, Boston, Baltimore, Jackson, Ms., Grand Forks or Bismark, Nd., New York City, Athens, Oh., Stillwater or Ketchum, Ok., Salt Lake City, or Everett or Seattle, Wa., you might have heard me this morning on The Takeaway, a new morning drive time show produced by Public Radio International's flagship station, WNYC. We were talking about yesterday's Burnettiquette blog post on cohabitation among non-married couples who eventually plan to marry and how recent studies show its more accepted these days and can cut down on the likelihood of divorce later. The Takeaway has a live, fast-paced format, something akin to Morning Edition, but more light-hearted and conversational. Check your local public radio listings. The show is adding cities every month and could be coming to your area soon.
• I have a cool supervisor. I'm not saying that to earn points, 'cause frankly he doesn't give points. And it's not my style to do anything with my nose but seek out fresh air. But if you have a sense of humor and are familiar with The Onion, then you'll understand why I had to give a disclaimer before linking this story. BTW, if you're not familiar with The Onion, don't have a conniption. It's a spoof newspaper and it's almost all satire...or is it?
• Finally, some of you asked me to do an update when a motive came out to why the wife of Fort Lauderdale, Florida's new police chief took his service revolver and fired "in his direction" as he slept several weeks ago. She missed but was arrested. Surprisingly - to me anyway, she wasn't charged with attempted murder. Local prosecutors only hit her with aggravated assault with a deadly weapon charges. Chief Frank Adderly quickly paid her bond and tried to brush the "incident" aside. She wasn't feeling well. It was a family matter, etc. Well, the Miami Herald learned yesterday that Mrs. Adderly pulled the trigger 'cause she was stressing over an affair hubby'd had several months ago. A piece of advice, my friends: If, as Mrs. Adderly did, your significant other sends you a text message asking where your gun is, don't answer. Just run and hide.

Unless some earth-shattering news breaks, that's all for me today folks. I'll try to post over the weekend, but no promises. In the mean time, if you have a few minutes let me encourage you again to watch the video below for a very inspiring story.

Pull 'em up, in the name of the law!

G'day, friends.

Back in the saddle after a long, but waaaaay too short weekend. I had to work on a story about an elusive but fascinating musician. Here's a couple of hints. He is a talented violinist with savant-like skills. But he's homeless and battling a variety of problems from physical disabilities to addictions. He plays on street corners in a tough neighborhood, 'cause he has no other stage. In elementary school teachers predicted he'd be with some major symphony by the time he reached his 20s. I'm not quite done. But when the article's complete, trust me, it'll move you. Also, Mrs. B and I spent the weekend getting prepped for our new dog. I assume he's meeting with Rev. Jackson, right about now, because he has to have that below-the-belt snip snip before we can bring him home this evening. I'll have pics of him tomorrow, assuming all goes well today.

On to business, then.

You know I've written in the past that one of my biggest pet peeves is too-baggy clothes on young men and boys.

Well, it's back in the news. Newsweek, to be exact. The magazine has an "exclusive" story about a push by David Dicks, Flint, Michigan's new police chief to criminalize saggy pants.

Dicks has ordered his officers to start arresting "saggers," as these young men are called in the Newsweek article, because they are a national nuisance. He says their style is "immoral self expression" and deserving of jail time and/or fines.

This is a tough one for me. I love the spirit of what Dicks is doing, 'cause I think the saggy style is stupid. I'm not dissing hip-hop culture. I love elements of hip-hop culture. I'm one of the billion different faces of Gen-Xers who grew up to the tunes of Run D.M.C. and Public Enemy and MC Serch, and all the other artists whose clothes fit.

Just an aside, coincidentally, I did my occasional Q&A for today's paper with my buddy Joe Gannascoli AKA Vito Spatafore from The Sopranos. And when I asked Joe Soup to share with our readers his biggest pet peeve, he cited the saggy trousers.

Anyway, as much as this style annoys me, I'm bothered by it being criminalized. Unless saggers' butt cheeks are showing - not their boxers, but their actual cheeks, or their front set of naughty bits is showing - again, not their boxers, but their actual bits, then this is one "crime" that can't be enforced without, at a minimum, drawing cries of classism.

Think about it. If you criminalize baggy sagging pants and arrest guys who dress like that, then you're gonna have to start arresting young women who wear tight, low-riding pants that reveal the tops of their undies.

Which is worse? As a guy who loves women, naturally I say the man shorts showing is a much worse offense. But my bias is blatant. And if I was a defense attorney in Flint, I'd have a field day with that question.

In the realm of pop culture, tasteless as it is, this is a legit style, albeit one that often has young men with perfectly straight legs walking bow-legged to help keep their pants from falling down around their ankles.

The style has caught on in the punk music culture scene, as well.

Regardless, it's dumb. And I'm not saying that as an old fogey. I like to think I'm a relatively stylish guy. And I know that young people often dress differently than grown folks. But there's nothing creative or interesting about that particular style.

And I seriously doubt that most of the young men who subscribe to it - from the 'hoods to the corn fields - realize that it originated in prison. Ask an old, gray inmate or former inmate who can talk about being behind bars and they'll give you two versions of the origin of saggy pants: one says that pants sag on male inmates, because often they can't have belts, for fear they'll hurt themselves or someone else with the belts; the other version says that male inmates who have been designated "girlfriends" are compelled to wear their trousers saggy, so as to indicate that their man cheeks are in play, so to speak.

I've heard people try to defend the style, saying it developed in urban communities where poor kids had to wear over-sized hand-me-downs. But that's a crock. I'm sure there are poor children in poor communities who wear hand-me-down clothes that are too big. You do what you gotta do to get by. This style isn't about poverty. If you don't believe me, check out the brand labels on the next pair of jeans you see sagging below the butt-cheeks.

Anyway, again I applaud Chief Dicks' intentions, but I don't think it's the government's place to be fashion police, unless those fashions are literally obscene.

What do you think?