Should have posted this last week...

but I was distracted. More about that in another post, later.

One morning last week (Friday?), husband and doggy and I left the house to walk to the subway. (I was walking to the subway, they were along for the ride.) Parked in front of our house was a guy in an SUV. As we closed our front gate, he said to us "Hey, did you guys see your neighbor?" Not knowing what he was talking about, we shook our heads. "It's this guy!" he says, and show us the front page of the New York Post.

We don't know who the naked man on the cover of the trash-rag is. We shrug. The dude tells us that Naked Guy lives across the street from us, and even though everyone's pretty sure he's in Bellvue Mental Hospital, SUV guy was hanging around to see if he could get some pictures.

Okay... the freakin' paparazzi is in front of my house. In Greenpoint. Granted, there's only one guy, but it's the guy who took the photos for the Post. He told us, proudly, that he took those cover photos. "But don't tell anybody you saw me!" he added.

So, yeah. Don't tell anyboy.