A little name recognition goes a long way ... and if you don't believe me, just ask "George," a Friendly Local who made the scene at 7th and Montana this morning looking for a place to sit. "Mind if I join you?," he asked. "Of course not," I said, "I take it your name is George." "Why yes, it is," he replied, "How on Earth did you know that?" "You're wearing a name tag," I said. He was dumbfounded. "I am?!? ... Are you sure?!?" I pointed at the name tag on his chest. "Hmmm ... How did that get there?," he replied. He eventually figured out that someone at his church must have slapped a name tag on his shirt when he wasn't looking, but by that point lots of complete strangers were stopping by to introduce themselves. The strangest of them all took a seat next to him and began talking non-stop, as if he were on a continuous loop. "Howdy, George," he began, "Mind if I join you? You seem like a friendly sort. Perhaps you recognize me? My picture has been in the Los Angeles Times. They call me the worst slumlord in all of Los Angeles but trust me, it's a bum rap. I bought a bunch of buildings ten years ago with no money down and spent millions ... millions I tell you ... fixing them up. And what do I get in return? Jail time! That's the kind of system we have around here. But am I bitter? No, I am not ..." George smiled through all of this, and, for some reason, left his name tag on, despite the fact that it was attracting the worst kind of riff raff. I guess it could have been worse ... someone could have slapped a "Kick Me" sign on his back ...!