Spider-Pig, Spider-Pig, doing whatever Spider-Pig does. . .now that I've planted Homer Simpson's singing voice in the back of your mind, we can proceed with today's column.

What is it about men and their pee-pees? There's a whole industry out there aimed at "male enhancement" which deals with that special moment when a man and his wife conjugate their verb. But what most guys really want is to be able to walk through a gym shower room without being mocked.

Mostly men are trained to ignore other men's pee pees. That's because we're only supposed to see them -- excuse me -- hear them, when there are maybe 20 men standing next to one another at a long line of urinals. Men don't look at other men except in the eyes when standing at a long line of urinals. The politeness of men at a long line of urinals is porceline. American Standard. We stare straight ahead while noticing anyone who isn't. It's a guy thing and it's very normal.

I CHALLENGE ANY GIRL OR WOMAN reading this to recall the last time she lined up with ten other women and peed against the same wall. With guys it happens, or could, every day. Turnpike rest stops, convention hotels, busy bars, seventh inning stretches, Sunday afternoon at the Linc. In crowded public places when a guy's gotta go, it seems there are at least ten other guys who gotta go at the same time.

Somehow men have grown accustomed to this ritualized lack of privacy. When I was a kid I discovered a magical place I couldn't have imagined if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. The girls' lavatory at my grade school. It was colored pink or salmon, and it smelled of fresh paint. The girls had a special room seperate from where the toilets were and on the wall there was a huge thing which I have since discovered has a name: mirror. Girls could look at themselves. Like it was a good thing.

Meanwhile in the boy's lavatory other boys could look at you while you went No.2 because there were no doors on the stalls. I'm sure I'm not the first man to tell you that that's how he learned to hold it in. Nor was I traumatized by it. I just remember it as being really weird and any kid desperate enough to take a dump got a peanut gallery of abuse.

I remember saying something upon discovering that the girls room had doors on the stalls and a mirror on the wall. It sounded like, "D'oh!"