Download these handy dandy cards,perfect for any overbearing cell phone interaction I am a voyeur. To be a good artist you must be willing to observe and listen. It's not hard when you take public transportation every day. As an art career move, my transportation from the isolation of LA freeway driving to the close contact of DC's subway has been a boon to my artmaking. Hence the creation of The Theatre of the Barely Socially Acceptable. As an artist I am stealth. When I hear fellow commuters' private yet very public cell phone conversations, I surreptitiously reach for my Moleskin notebook...

In this month's Theatre of the Barely Socially Acceptable office politics meets low carb but tasty recipes. March madness: cell phone monodialogues® from the subway underground: We've got to nail this guy! If we don't we'll be knockin' on doors. Yeah, tomorrow at the latest. Wait a minute, I forgot to tell you. I had the best cauliflower at Janet's last night. Yeah, amazing. Well, you cut the head into little florets. And spread them on a cookie sheet. Preheat the oven to 450. Yeah, it's gotta be hot. Brush on double virgin olive oil And bake for 20 minutes. Are you writing this down? Then just salt and pepper to taste. But for the best...

In this month's performance from the acclaimed Theatre of the Barely Socially Acceptable--monodialogue® cell phone performances from the Washington subway--showbiz lobbies for better government. Ladies and Gentlemen, The Theatre of the Barely Socially Acceptable, Act 3: What's up? I had a good time too. Hey thanks. Yeah, I've been working out. Twice a week at Homeland Security. Ah huh, the gym's in the basement. An old bunker. Abs and upper body. Tom Ridge? Never. Not just a stud, a nipple shield. At the gym? Yeah, I hear stuff. [A woman nearby abruptly shuts her Clive Cussler novel] They're putting Bush on a tape delay. Just in case. 5 seconds? No, 5 minutes. Not enough. What's he...

Last month, after a particularly grueling day at work I founded The Theatre of the Barely Socially Acceptable. Each month I would perform underground cell phone conversation tableaus to the apathetic minions riding DC's subway system, the Metro. The response to our premiere performance was fantastic. No one suspected a thing and no one took notice. Today, my theatre troupe debuts the second in its series. Speeches this week by two diametrically opposed politicos (both in tone and in temperament) provide the muse for this month's production: Hi, yeah it's me. Let me --wait a minute. Wait a minute. Wait. Nah, I don't think...

After a particularly difficult and emotionally heart wrenching day at work (is there no other kind?) I was listening to my iPod's special "Get Over It" mix on the subway home, prepared especially for days like this. While undoing I looked around me and observed a man I often see on this train. He reached into his pocket for his cell, popped his earbud into his ear and began to talk. As always with these devices people look like they're speaking to themselves. They smile and react to someone unseen. It's not as if the unseen person is "there." The cell...