I recently returned from the environs of a book signing by Senator Barbara Boxer, which attracted a phalanx of the types who’ve been disrupting town-hall meetings of late. I didn’t attend the signing, but I watched the festivities from my second-floor studio in the bookstore building where Boxer hawked her book. I’m no fan of Boxer, but most of the 50 or so protesters at this rally appeared to be even less worthy of respect than the senator. . .tiresome “tea party” types et al. As I stared out the window, some of them began chanting at me. The festive atmosphere and the noise precipitated a Mardi Gras flashback, and I found myself chanting, “Show your tits. . .” until one of my studio mates pulled me away from the window.