I'm Brian to my friends, Brian Green to aquaintences, Dad to my daughter, Uncle Brian to my nieces and nephews. I'm that guy sitting next to you in church and court, smiling, for the most part, in either case. I'm the one in front of you in line at the supermarket that you think looks familier, but you're not sure where from enough to strike up a conversation. I'm the one that you looked at coming out of a movie we saw individually, but laughed mutually, at inappropriate times. I made eye contact with you when you slipped on something in the darkness of the marsupial house at the zoo. I too hate possums. We glared at each other, inadvertantly,during a traffic jam when we discovered it was just a car pulled over. Remember the look on your face when you ate that "we-dare-you-to-taste-it" flavored ice cream, I do. I touched your hot dog at the Cubs game. You made faces at my daughter in that restaurant, she lauhged... I had the curious urge to hold your hand on the elevator and my face said as much. I held the door while you took out your garbage. When you were walking toward me in the mall and I stared, briefly, at your t-shirt trying to decipher it...I was looking at your breasts. I also checked out your butt. Nice! I noticed that tear in your eye at the Humane Society. That's the only time puppies and kittens make us sad. You gave me the nod on the pair of black jeans when indecision was keeping me company... I'm Brian, and we've already met.