Stuck in My Evil Twin's Shadow

But no. By the time I got up there, they'd figured out I wasn't their man. I was a John Kelly, but I wasn't the John Kelly. The officer sheepishly asked if I'd brought any tobacco or alcohol with me, then stamped my customs form. I asked if there was anything I could do to guarantee this wouldn't happen every time I traveled. He said no.

As much as I love my name, it isn't really that distinctive. It isn't something like Phineas Shufflebottom or Oswald Montecristo. What I mean is, a lot of John Kellys are probably getting stopped out there.

So, John Kelly, what are you? Al-Qaeda financier? IRA bombmaker? Basque separatist? Eurovision Song Contest finalist?

If you're my evil twin, please write and tell me what it is you did.

Going Underground

When we rode the subway in London, I jotted down some of the signs I saw that aim to make the riding experience there more civilized -- or, I guess, civilised:

Take care getting on and off the train. Please move down the carriage. Please give up your seat to people who need it more than you do. Please keep your feet off the seats. Please keep your music down. Doors that are held open may cause damage to the train and delay your service.

And between the escalators in and out of stations, positioned every 15 feet or so, was a simple message that Washington's Metro regulars probably would welcome: Stand on right.

My e-mail:kellyj@washpost.com