We joked about it for months. Open season on riceboys. If we wanted to find a ricer, we knew where to look: no further than opening night of "2 Fast 2 Furious." It stood to reason that the kind of person who would see that movie on opening night would also be the kind of person who got their jollies showing off their car in the parking lot for everyone else who had nothing better to do than to obsess over the vehiculage of others. In other words, I could get all the laughs and snaps I wanted, without even having to buy a movie ticket.

I've got just the one question for ya, baby. Tell me why. Oh please, please, please, tell me why.

First, a set of two photos from Megan of rapunzellstower.com. I haven't asked her permission to quote this letter yet, but I'm hoping she won't mind too much, as she summed things up better than I probably would have:

Every few months, I feel compelled to turn the mailbag over, shake it out a bit, and blow out the crumbs. Every now and then, a letter actually falls out. Most of the time, I forget to answer it; those that I actually remember to answer are rarely answered in anything resembling a straightforward fashion.

I won't sport with your intelligence any more - let's get to the mailbag.

Jay, of parts unknown, writes in response to my rice-rice-baby entry "Turn down the stereotype; we can't hear you":

Motto in this house: "Stupid people are everywhere, and they always take their car with them."

We went for dinner tonight with friends and, at the last minute before leaving the house, I grabbed my camera. I wasn't expecting anything to photograph, but every now and then, the residents of Huntsville surprise me. We agreed to head back to our house for an evening of socialization. Since Byron didn't know how to get back to our house, Jeff offered to ride with him.

I would take the car back by myself.

Atlanta. Three-point-five hours of driving to get to the geek farm, where newborn goats were cuddled and cooed over, and dragon*con staff meeting was attended.

It rained. Of course.
I managed to get lost in Atlanta. Of course.

When we pulled up at the restaurant to meet the crew for Sean's dinner, everyone who was already there ran toward my car. "PLEASE tell us you brought your camera. We all forgot ours. You've GOT to see this Saturn."

"Uh-oh," I said. "Where's the car?" They pointed me off to the left. Before I even saw the car, I saw the glow.Glow is a bad sign. It's the ricer equivalent of a cancer symptom. The appearance of a glow indicates severe ricer issues - ones that, as we well know, can only be dealt with by liberal usage of a digital camera.