A Conversation
Do you think this sweater looks ok on me? It doesn't make me look fat, right? I bought it in Coral Gables, after I dropped you at the airport. It was in this store where everything is from Spain. And the clothes were gorgeous. I mean, why buy Ralph Lauren when you can buy Adolpho Dominguez. But I mean, it's 75 degrees outside and they're selling merino wool sweaters. In Florida! No wonder it was marked off 70%. I still paid the most ever for a sweater - it came to $90. That's like a $300 sweater. Look, do you see? It has this hood, what do you think of that? And these little buttons? I can wear it zipped up or unzipped. See? Look how sleek the zipper works. Are you sure it looks OK on me?

Movie Night
Two of my best friends are emigrating. They began the process four years ago and they've progressed through the paperwork -- references, exams, medical records, employer sponsorships. They've bought a house in British Columbia. A month or so ago they heard they had passed through to the final process and that acceptance would be 'any day now.'

I made the trip to spend one last time with them before they left. We watch movies and drink. Black Cobra, a 1980s blaxploitation film. Tommy with Roger Daltry and The Who, Lisztomania, made the same year as Tommy and by the same folks, also including Roger Daltry, only glam rock-ier.

Since I saw them last, they've sold their rentals and dyed their hair. "What shall we drink?" they want to know, and I say You have your choice: I've brought wine and gin and beer. We end up drinking it all.

"What's the way to make a Gimlet?" I want to know, "I thought it was 3 parts Gin to 2 parts Rose's Limewater," and we look on-line for recipes. It is unclear. It can be 2 to 1, or 5 to 2. We settle on 4 to 2, and I am comfortably numb as Ann Margret wallows in baked beans and sudsy detergent.

My one friend says: "There is no such thing as people who choose to believe in God. There's people who just believe."

"But what about people who question God and then still believe," I say. "Don't they choose to believe? Isn't that what they call Faith?"

"'Belief.''Faith.' Is there a difference? I don't see any."

"I'll have to think about that one," I say.

With My Ex
My Ex takes me to a new club, and by 'new' that means it's new for me. It's been open for about two or so years now; it's big draw is that it's smoke-free. We go on an off night. There are only about five people total in the place.

"I was sitting at the table with my brother and my mother goes, 'you believe in GOd, right? Right? Don't ya? You do believe in God, huh?' and finally my brother goes, 'yeah, I guess so,' and I'm glad she didn't ask me because I would have said 'I don't know.' And I was thinking about it and I realized I didn't believe in God. But then, after a few days, I was so depressed about it that I decided I believed in God after all. Because then I wasn't so depressed."

The bartender, a guy who looks like he's barely fifteen, interrupts, "Are you guys here for karoake? C'mon do it! It'll be so much fun!"

My Ex takes up the selection book. "No! You can NOT be serious!"

"Oh c'mon, it'll be fun. There's no one here. We'll do something by.... by.... here! Let's do this one as a duet!" and he scribbles down something and runs off.

He's returning when the DJ announces, like a circus barker: "And now. Hugshyhermit and JD will sing 'People.' By Barbra Streisand."

AAUGH!!!!!!!

The colors start running across the lyrics on the screen.

"You're singing off key!" he hisses at me.
"You're singing off key!" I hiss back.

In the end, our rendition sounds a bit like Sinatra. (So the bartender says.)

"You hogged all the attention," my Ex says.

(It's just like when we dated.)