Dear Joe

Years and years ago, my father hired a little-known graphic designer for a freelance job, and when the material didn't quite work out, he fired him, and threw away the sketches. The designer's name was Andy Warhol. I point this out for the benefit of my good friend Joe Keohane, who one day will be telling people at parties about the time he fired me.

Anyway, Joe was nice enough to leave a comment on my recent post explaining why bicycles are the Devil's mode of transportation in which he raised a number of important issues.

First, he is entirely right to point out that the T is an entirely horrid mode of transit. In fact I have often reflected that the most obvious difference between the subway and the sewer system is that they do not charge you a fare to flush the toilet. I will refrain from commenting on the buses because I am entirely happy to report that I have not been on one in years. As Margaret Thatcher sagely observed, any man past the age of 30 who rides the bus to work can count himself a failure. The fact is that the T provides mobility for a great multitude of people who, as Joe's comment suggests, really have no business leaving the house.

Second, Joe says that I cannot be right because he cuts a most distinguished figure riding around town atop his velocipede. In so arguing he demonstrates a skillful command of the converse accident fallacy. I would no sooner question Joe's dignity than my mother's love, Scarlett Johannson's pulchritude, or Madonna's dietician. The mathematical proof is too complicated to present here, so, like Fermat's Last Theorem, I can only scribble in the margin that it can be proven that Joe could be videotaped and YouTubed mud-wrestling the Holyoke rugby A-side while wearing a tutu, and still win election as chairman of the chamber of commerce in Birmingham, Ala. with nary an eyebrow raised. Just because he can do it does not mean others should dare.

All of which brings us to our last and most important point, which is his statement about my "fondness for garish Hawaiian shirts...." In so saying, Joe joins a long and undistinguished list of hecklers who, confronted with the unassailability of my position, are left sputtering about my shirt. Whether striped, checked, or lush with tropical gaiety, my sartorial splendor is sufficiently imposing that few try to imitate it. And for Joe of all people to say so is rich beyond delight. I have heard it said that Joe wears sock-garters while running on the treadmill, and has several pairs of wingtips solely for use while showering. This is above and beyond the fact that if that crazy Arizona sheriff Joe Arpaio required inmates to wear shirts and ties like Joe K's, it might be considered a step too far.

That being said, I respect Joe's opinions highly, so if he is willing to be seen wearing one of my bolder shirts, then I would allow myself to be photographed on a bicycle.