July 2011 – Page 2

Him: I’m sorry I’m late.

Me: Stop it, you look gorgeous.

Him: Ha. Thanks. So what’s your deal?

Me: What?

Him: Yeah, so you make these pies or what?

Me: Oh. My site. Yeah, I make a lot of pies. I got good at them and it’s taken me a lot of places.

Him: So, what? If I start dating you you’ll just be obsessed with pie the whole time? You’ll just bake pie and feed it to me? I get to eat all the pie? Where is it? Did you bring pie here?

Me: We’re taking a walk in the park in the middle of the day.

Him: I’m joking, stupid. I thought you said you do comedy?

Me: Um. I do.

Him: So?

(pause)

Me: You’re a buyer for Macy’s?

Him: Yeah, I decide what does and does not go into Macy’s. I have so much power. Just kidding.

Me: I bet you have a certain amount of power.

Him: Not really.

Me: Oh. Okay. Admittedly I don’t understand it. So…

(pause)

Him: So what is it? I’m confused. You’re giving me all these different stories here.

Me: What’s what? Huh?

Him: You bake pies?

Me: Is this a real conversation?

Him: No, yes. But you said you write music and do comedy. But which is it? Who am I talking to right now?

Me: Me? My name is Michael?

Him: But what do you… which Michael am I speaking with? The comic or the baker or the guitar player?

Me: I don’t… All of them? None? How am I supposed to address that?

Him: I want to hear your music. Is that your guitar?

Me: No, this is a baritone ukulele. I just came from practice.

Him: Ukuleles are smaller than that. That’s almost a guitar.

Me: Okay then, it’s a small guitar. But the guy who sold it to me said it was a ukulele.

Him: I want to hear a song. Do you have a recording?

Me: Yeah, there’s recordings of us singing, but I could just sing something for you now. Nobody’s around.

Him: Oh God no. No. I’d like to hear a recording. Alone.

Me: Alone?

Him: Well, if it’s terrible, what am I supposed to say?

(pause)

Me: Lie.

Him: Lie?

Me: Yeah. If I play you a song, and it’s awful, you lie and say it’s great.

Him: Why would I do that?

Me: Because, we live in something called a society. It doesn’t work unless we lie to people about certain things.

Him: I’d rather hear a recording.

(pause)

Me: I’d rather you did too.

Him: Ew! You just said you don’t want to play for me anymore.

Me: That’s correct. That’s what I just said.

Him: Ew. You’re supposed to convince me that you’re good.

Me: I am?

Him: Yeah. You’re supposed to convince me that you’re worth listening to.

(long pause)

Me: I don’t think I am going to do that.

Him: What??

Me: Look at it from my perspective: I meet a guy online. He thinks I’m cute. He invites me to meet him for a walk in the park. I say yes. When I get on the date he seems annoyed at my choice of professions. He even fringes on ridicule. Then he cringes at the thought of listening to a song that he, himself, asked about. Then he challenges me to convince him that I’m not terrible before I sing to him, because he’s so incredibly sensitive! He couldn’t possibly be called upon to dredge up a compliment for my shitty, shitty song….

Him: Ew. You make me sound bad.

Me: It gets worse. You then try to make me sell myself to you, and convince you I’m not terrible, before you will deign to hear me play.

Him: That’s your job as a performer.

Me: My job as a performer is to perform. I have put the work in. I have written and re-written and performed. And performed. And you know what? After more than a decade here in New York, it’s finally my job.

Him: I guess you’re sensitive about that?

Me: I guess I am. Are you sensitive about your job?

Him: Not at all.

Me: Really? It was a shitty line you sported this spring.

Him: NO IT WAS NOT.