This weekend while I was visiting my art studio in North Hollywood, I had the auspicious luck to meet a member of our Homeland Security team.

The house out front of the studio is for rent. It costs about 2,000 dollars a month, which in NoHo is outrageous considering we have no pool, and a half yard for 10 or more tenants. However, the landlord has redone everything, down to the energy saving electric range with a nice little digital timer.

I want that house. It has a cute little attic I could use as an art studio and even a basement for storage. The landlord picked out this divine little green mexican tile for it too.

Lo and behold, the open house for the house I'll never afford was this Sunday. And guess what the realtor dragged in.

As my dog was scoping out the potential new neighbors, she barked at someone she didn't know. I brought her inside, and went to the door to apologise and offer them a tour of my garden.

Out comes a strapping, princely blonde in khaki, with a shorter portly goth like woman.

We chatted, they said they had a few dogs of their own, we smiled. Then came the question I wished I had never asked. "What do you do for a living?" "I work for the department of Homeland Security," he replied.

The next words out of his mouth really turned my stomach for a second. "They call us the Gestapo," he laughed, I think more than once, while I winced.

"Isn't that unamerican," I almost whimpered. "Yeah but the pays great," he joked, "and the benefits, like if I get pulled over speeding."

That was enough to send my heart racing through boiling point and beyond. I hate tickets, I hate traffic court, and this guy was not only draining my social security, but getting off on tickets!

I told him I believed in MLK, in peaceful non-violent resistance. Then he came at me with complaints about the protesters at the port of San Francisco. As if I was stupid he tried to say they started it. I recalled to him that not one independant eyewitness had backed that account of the story, where innocent workers were shot in the back with wooden dowels.

I asked him if they handled Rampart Corruption, he said nope, not us. I asked him why so many corporate crooks are getting away with murder, he said, they're not. I asked him why Bush and family were making so much money off this war and terror crap, he shut up. He's making money too. Enough to afford the house I can't afford because of taxes.

His homely wife said she grew up in North Hills. I had a hard time believing this dapper young man would date this girl, who wore a pentogram and had her hair badly goth dyed. She said her neighborhood was the speed capitol of LA, and no offense to her, I could tell by her outfit, he said his department wasn't the DEA either. He basically said they just handle people like Al Qaeda, and the IRA, but his wife threw in PETA as well. I said that I was concerned that they wanted to target civil liberties, peace groups and dissent against Bush. I knew who Tom Ridge was, and what this guys job was, what the most recent reports about the DHS's failures have said, and I think I threw him a few curveball questions.

I shouldn't resent this guy, or his wierd wife.

I souldn't even be angry at all because he did his time in some military function and then signed a five year contract to work for the DHS.

But I am sooo mad about those speeding tickets, I mean I drive like a saint because I put political stickers on my car and don't want to give cops any other excuse for pulling me over.

As for the house, I kind of hope they move in, provided she never finds out how I bashed her style in this article. I have so many more questions to ask him. And maybe, just maybe, if the DHS is listening to what I think about the world, something good may come of it. Besides, what better way to keep an eye on the DHS, than to have one as your neighbor. Hell, I should let the ACLU set up in my house and monitor him.

I tell you one thing, if I can talk him into doing his job right so no one in our neighborhood blows up, we may have something here. Anyway, at least he wasn't bad to look at. And his wife, well I'll have to offer her a makeover and some yoga lessons.