My boyfriend and I decided to write some goals down instead of giving something up for 2013.
We decided we’re taking this year to ‘Turn It Yes.’
Care to join us?
Hi,
My bisexual friend, ‘Jake the Jerk’ spent some time in rehab recently. Before he left, we had been spending a lot of time together smoking in parks, eating french fries, and watching how dilated each other’s pupils could get. I don’t have many gay friends and it became apparent to both of us that I liked him. I set a (friend) date with him to go see a movie after he came home, mostly so I could gather my balls and the courage to ask him out officially but it didn’t happen. Our cigarettes were lit as I stared into his big beautiful brown eyes, I hugged him, and I ran into my car as fast as I could without making myself vulnerable in the slightest. (I’m an idiot, I know.) Later that day he did some Grindr work and found himself a man twice his age (he is 21, and I am 20) whose cock he has been sitting on since. Let’s call that man Sketchy.
Its not that I have anything against cross generational relationships, its just that these two have nothing in common. He’s gone from being my only queer friend, to practically being a figment of my imagination since I hardly see him anymore. I miss our close friendship. My best friend and I had dinner with Jake and Sketchy the other night and it nearly broke my heart in two. Jake had a shiny new bruise below his left eye and whispered something to me about “being punished” before Sketchy could catch up to being within earshot. He seemed drunk, discontent, and distant. Sketchy insulted my best friend several times at dinner and might have lied about some of his credentials (I did some internet work myself).
I can’t break Jake out of this relationship, I understand that that isn’t my place, but as his friend how do I learn to tolerate this new phase of our relationship? Furthermore, how am I supposed to engage with Sketchy when all I want to do is to punch him in the face repeatedly. Clearly, my conflicted feelings for Jake and my single sad boy lifestyle is making accepting this much more difficult than it need be.
HELP ME,
– Bitter Barry
Barry,
Bitterness leads to stank face, and stank face leads to going home from the all ages club alone. You shouldn’t be bitter. It sounds like your friend is going through a difficult time right now, and doesn’t want you to be part of that. Sure, you’re making him sound like an abuse victim, and I have had my experiences with trying to help abuse victims, but we don’t KNOW that for sure.
Maybe he’s in a very healthy S&M relationship? Maybe it’s co-incidence? We don’t know. You’re right not to judge cross-generational relationships, too.
The point is, we don’t know what his deal is – only that he’s with a man that sets your Spidey sense tingling. Maybe you’re right about Sketchy, maybe not, but let’s mind our own relationship for a second and focus on your friendship. We can’t make someone spend time with us if they don’t want to. We can make efforts to reach out, but if we do that a few times and our efforts are ignored, c’est la vie. He seems bent on self destruction, in any case. Perhaps it’s for the best that he’s not your stoner buddy any longer.
Let’s focus on you. You said you don’t have a lot of queer friends. I want you to take 2013 and change that. Queer people need each other so we can work together to normalize our behavior, so we can get back to what we do best, which is make pals at the all ages club, or in my case doing dumb dumb comedy shows.
I love you.
Michael
Here’s an article I wrote for Thought Catalog. Word.
I guess I’m part of the irony generation.
That feels weird to say. I’ve never admitted that I was a hipster before. So many other hipsters are so much more ‘hipster’ than I am. They’re the ones described in news articles — with the mustaches, and the ill-fitting shorts, the home-brewing, trombone playing, annoying uber Williamsburg attitudes. I’m not like those hipsters (those hipsters are actually quite rare), but I am a hipster. And until recently I didn’t even realize that I was one, or wanted to be one.
But I am. And I think — sarcasm aside — I might be proud.
My hipsterism is what you might consider mild. Yes, I do teach improv comedy and comment on the internet for a living. No, I don’t buy Applewood Smoked Bacon over Oscar Mayer bacon. But only because I’m poor. I have a pretty good idea that locally raised Applewood Smoked Bacon might actually kick the ass of Oscar Mayer Bacon every single day of the week. But, like I said, I’m poor. So Oscar Mayer it is! Did I say Oscar Mayer? I meant off-brand supermarket bacon! Actually any cheap protein, I’ll take. Did I mention I was poor?
Shit. I’m off topic, and getting ironic. Fucking hipsters. Okay, so:
I keep a narcissistic blog where I harvest my own awkwardness. I do not write for the New York Times, a publication that jumped on the lets-kick-hipsters-in-the-nuts bandwagon about 10 days ago. I wish I wrote for them, but I don’t. The world isn’t clamoring for my opinion, so I turn inward for inspiration. I have found that if I speak to my own self-consciousness on my blog I gain readers. I also gain attention and gain opportunity. Those are important things for a fledgling writer. It’s a powerful moment for me to realize that I can build my own audience.
But I am also a hipster, I suppose. And that’s where the problem is, right?
People are annoyed with hipsters. Because we’re so inauthentic? Ironic? Disaffected? I disagree, but you’re entitled to your outsider’s opinion. I mean, hate sells papers, or gets internet traffic, after all.
But I will say this: Deal with it.
I’m not saying this to be glib, or to ironically detach from the social phenomenon. Quite the opposite, actually. I just mean that you have to deal with it. It’s a part of a society you helped create. You can write articles about how it’s annoying for a while, and they’ll sell (whatever that means in the digital age), but eventually you’re going to have to deal with it — in a real, sincere, un-ironic way. Hipsters aren’t going anywhere. So, you can write hipster-hating blog entries, newspaper articles, Tumblr posts all you want. We’re a social phenomenon. A very weak, very flabby, very nerd-atrophied social phenomenon. And we’re not going anywhere.
But hey –
What if it’s better to examine the cause, than naively complain about the symptom?
What if… just follow me on this for a sec — I’m stoned — What if we actually dared to ask the pertinent question? What caused the Irony Generation in the first place? I think I know the precocious, adorable, twee answer to that question: The 90’s. The 80’s. The 70’s. And every social movement before that.
It’s been heavily debated whether irony is the disease, or the symptom. I think it’s neither, but if we’re going to classify an entire generation into such a simple this-or-that metaphor, I’d have to go with symptom. I think that’s an important distinction, too. Irony isn’t the infection. The digital age is the infection. Globalization is the infection. Outsourcing of American jobs is the infection. Hipster irony is the symptom of those things, manifested in the fabric of pop culture. If you’re going to hate on something for making the world ironic, hate on NAFTA, or Facebook, or the Bravo channel. Hipsters are just a sign of the times. The youth movement is just a reflection of generations before it.
And that’s the thing. Hipsterism is just a reaction to political and economic phenomenons that predated it. The internet, a terrible economy, a culture obsessed with pseudo-reality. Everyone’s expected to run PR on their own lives. It’s easy to point the finger at the manifestation of that — an irony clad 22-year-old on an old-fashioned bike, on his way to marching band practice — but by and large it’s my guess that it’s not that generation pulling the strings. What’s responsible for this?
A few things that I can think of.
A bad economy, for one. It seems we all agreed that globalizing was the best idea for the world in the 90’s. Bill Clinton signed NAFTA and we were all going to run dot coms instead of working at factories. That was fine for about seven to twelve years, until people realized that getting a lot of attention online doesn’t mean an income stream, and that even getting that attention was difficult. Meanwhile, the idea of a union job, or even a corporate one where you could work 20 years then retire has all but dried up.
The hipster generation was financially screwed by the generation that preceded it — our parents’ generation — the same generation that left us home alone after school, and taught us that if we want dinner, we better research good food and make it ourselves. God forbid, though, we respond to a terrible economy in a resourceful way! Don’t start an Etsy, or a locavore butcher shop, or teach improv comedy for a living. Society will call you a hipster! Well, what if I’m just making a living? Is it then okay for me to wear a Diff’rent Strokes T-shirt? Or does that mean I’ve glibly checked out of society?
Social media has made everyone feel both hyperconnected and desperate that they’re missing something. That’s stressful, especially for those who grew up with rotary phones. Could your hatred of hipsters just be a manifestation of you yourself feeling out of touch? Or, perhaps you’re just hating what people have always hated in any social movement? Perhaps you just hate posers. Even that is misguided, though.
Every social movement has posers. In fact, the bulk of any social movement is a bunch of posers. I’m thinking of the people who participated in the Summer of Love, who then became disco dancers seven years later. The people who did cocaine in the 80s and were the first wave of yuppies to hit the urban landscape. I’m thinking of my parents’ generation, and how they changed with the times. Thank goodness they were posers, too. Can you imagine what would have happened if they’d all joined communes? If they never got over doing Angel Dust? Awful. But they changed with the times, as we all are forced to do.
Every social movement also has an older generation, or even members of the same generation looking on and scratching their heads — saying to themselves, kids today. From the beatniks to the American Apparel kids, the hipster types have always been hated. But that’s okay — because part of the mantle of being a hipster is to be hated by some. What is putting on a beret, or a pair of bell-bottom jeans, or a trucker hat, if not a statement of one’s own individuality? To me, it’s an announcement to the world that you’re willing to try being a free-thinker. That you realize you’ve inherited a broken society, but that you’re looking for creative ways to help fix it, or at least fix yourself in the context of that society. Does that make you a parasite? I don’t think it does. Does it make you sarcastic? Again, I don’t think so.
Am I missing something important, here? To say that we should ‘learn to live without irony’ is glib. It’s sarcastic. And it’s unrealistic. It’s a phenomenon created by the older generation. We didn’t create the internet, or reality television, or the economic crisis caused by globalization. We’re just trying to navigate the mess you created. Sorry if my thick glasses frames are annoying you in the process. I thought they were cute when I bought them and I can’t afford new ones. Did I mention that I’m poor? Seriously. Feed me.
And amidst all the muck being slung against the irony generation one important thing is being forgotten. They’re not doing too shabby. I’m thinking of relevant artists, like Wes Anderson, Sufjan Stevens, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Ryan Gosling. These guys are all sincere, and they’re all linked with the term ‘hipster’ quite easily on a Google search. Or let’s look at the more sarcastic side of things — Andy Samberg , Donald Glover, Kristen Schaal, Aubrey Plaza. Are these not brilliant voices that are helping to shape the ethos of a generation? Can you not see the authenticity underneath their adorable fashion choices?
Irony is neither good nor bad. Just as sincerity is neither good nor bad. It’s just a mode of communication. Neither is more effective. It is extremely rare for people to be fully ironic, just as it’s extremely rare for people to be fully sincere. Irony is merely a symptom of a generation that I happen to be a part of. And no. I won’t apologize for that. Why should I? This is human evolution, and every generation has its growing pains. And most importantly — every generation is shaped by the one that came before it. Deal with it.
Yes. Irony is the ethos of the current generation. But rather than teach people how to live without it, I say you’re smarter to teach people how to live with it. It’s not going anywhere. To categorically complain about irony is myopic. It misses the point. There are different types of irony. There’s sarcasm, and then there’s the simple beauty of something being surprising or funny for the opposite reason it’s supposed to be. Have we become so annoyed at society at large that we actually get angry when people without pants start getting on the subway car? Can we look at the authentic emotional intent behind what a flashmob is? Must we run to our ivory tower and type out an article criticizing a movement that simply tried to put a smile on our faces?
Yes, there’s an ugly side to irony. Think of the significance of a 37-year-old man wearing a Diff’rent Strokes t-shirt. Consider — Diff’rent Strokes was supposed to be groundbreaking, in that it was supposed to show us that whites and blacks can all live together as a family. Consider where we are now. Half the country can’t stand the idea of a black president. There’s an irony there, but it’s not an irony my generation created, by any means.
I say, lets enjoy our subway ride. If people start walking on with no pants, we can get through it. Maybe they’re not making fun of us. Perhaps they’re just orchestrating a poetic moment? This generation isn’t without its problems, but every so often it surprises me. Every so often I think, hey, these kids are on to something. Every so often I even get inspired to be part of it. And that’s not ironic. That’s sincere.
Did I mention I’m poor?
Me: Talk about overcoming shame about your body?
Him: Eventually you realize [porn] is not having sex with someone you want to have sex with. It’s a job. It took me a while to get past those anxieties. Now it’s like, maybe I’m concerned with how my body is positioned for the camera.
Me: (to the photographer) Adam, speak to this. A model must be both aware and unaware of their body at the same time. True or False?
The Photographer: Yeah, but it’s about their generosity too. Of spirit and the quality of person that they are. It’s not about looks. When you’re good at it it’s because something generous about yourself translates. There’s something shared that you experience in the person. Caught in a moment. That’s the engaging part of a photograph.
Him: I think you really have to let go, and that’s a difficult thing to do.
Me: You shoot high fashion right?
The Photographer: I shoot – I don’t call it high fashion, but I do shoot highly commercial work. The thing that I became really good at was always photographing somebody in a way that they were flattered by, and kind of built them up and made them feel better. Somebody said that I try to look at people the way they would look in the eyes of someone in love with [the subject]. I’ve been very lucky.
Me: There was a moment in the shoot where you made us switch aprons. What was that about?
Him: Just to reassert myself as the alpha male.
(laughter)
Me: That’s the thing about being gay that I love. There can be four gays in a room and we know that each of us will have our moment to be alpha. With straight guys that would end up as a fight. It wouldn’t – there’s always one guy in a group of straight guys who’s a dick but ‘that’s his thing.’ Straight guys have that issue because they can’t [have sex with] each other. I wish they could! Wouldn’t they be perfect?
(laughter)
Him: Some of them do.
Me: How did you come to pornography?
Him: I just graduated college and curious and had trouble finding a job. I submitted pictures one night thinking they would tell me no, and they said yes. I felt like I had to do it, because it had happened.
Me: Just to let everyone know, he’s getting a hug from his boyfriend right now.
Him: You know, like when you’re afraid of heights and you climb a mountain. I had to do it. I had to push myself to that point.
Me: Why did you like to do it? Because you like to push buttons. You like to fuck with your mom and dad.
Him: No! It’s not about that. I like to fuck with my self, and challenge myself.
Me: Would you agree Karl Marx?
His Boyfriend: Oh of course. He hates nostalgia, and sitting on his laurels intellectually. He’s always looking for something new. He’s so focused on challenging himself artistically and intellectually. That’s why I fell in love with him. He’s so good at working against it. Entropy is always the enemy.
Me: Entropy is always the enemy and it always wins eventually. So we have to fight it.
His Boyfriend: While we’re here we have to fight it, but he’s a great person to ride behind, because he’s constantly pushing against it.
Me: I fucking love that.
Hey fags.
I directed a show at The Magnet Theater.
It’s part of the Director’s Series. Once a month they ask a seasoned comic to direct a show on Thursday nights. December is going to be my month. Shows will be tonight, the 13th and the 27th. Tickets are 7 dollars.
Here’s some pretentious shit I pulled out of my ass for the Magnet blog:
“Rather than doing an improvised musical, we’re doing a musical that is improvised. This means that we’re going for compelling stories with high stakes emotional conflicts to underwrite our funny moments. Audiences should expect a wild ride. Certainly there will be laughter. Possibly there will be tears, and definitely one actor will be in the driver’s seat calling the shots for a completely realized musical narrative.”
What an asshole, right? At least the cast is good. Not only are they hilarious (duh, I taught them) but they’re all damn good actors. Come check it out. I’m proud of the work we did. Jerks.
Me: You are polyamorist?
Him: I have been, yes. I’m no longer practicing necessarily, but I believe in it.
Me: Oh wait a minute – are we putting our relationship on monogamy lock down?
Him: No, but there’s not an other. Just one right now.
Me: And Karl Marx is your boyfriend.
Him: You might want to ask Karl Marx that question.
Me: Carl! Just say yes. Everyone wants YOU TO LOVE COLBY!! It really is the JFK and Jackie O of our generation, so just let it happen!!
(laughter)
His Boyfriend: I lift my sunglasses and I nod politely.
Me: OH! So Jackie O. Now we know who the bottom is. Right? So why is polyamory good for a society?
Him: I don’t know if it’s good for a society.
Me: You’re so diplomatic.
Him: Because it’s not for everybody – I believe that the worst possible thing is to think of the world in terms of your own self interest. From one central egotistical position. And relationships whether it’s with one other person, right? You no longer are single entity. You’re seeing the world through someone elses eyes. It’s good to challenge ourselves that way – to expand what it means to be human and I think we do that by seeing the world through different eyes. Expanding that franchise can do that, but it’s difficult. It’s harder than it is with one other person. Three people is harder than two people. Four people are harder than three people.
Me: I had two boyfriends. Can I make that confession?
Him: I think you just did.
His Boyfriend: Did they know?
(laughter)
Me: It didn’t work. They weren’t attracted to each other and I was obsessed with this idea that I couldn’t have two boyfriends if they only wanted monogamy with me. Cause then, like, I’m a dick or something… Can you speak to that?
Him: I think they both thought I was a dick.
Me: We broke up. They both wanted me to be their boyfriend. The guilt that I felt. Not being able to give anyone what they wanted. Including me. I wanted us all to be boyfriends. We tried. We went on vacations together.
His Boyfriend:There are successful throuples and for me one of the biggest frustrations was that I wasn’t impressed with the other person. What hurt more than anything was that I didn’t like the other person.
Me: That made it harder. They liked each other and were friends.
Him: Right. Well. In our case there’s a lot of jealousies there and preconceptions… If you guys would have developed a friendship…
His Boyfriend: We interacted several times over the course of years and we never had a strong connection emotionally as friends. I don’t think that matters. We just weren’t compatible as friends. I was torn between still being in love with this amazing person (indicates Colby) and still not understanding what he was getting out of this other situation.
Me: What were you getting out of it? That’s a hard question. Are you mad?
Him: It was a lot of things. It was an intellectual connection. A sexual connection. If anything we’re almost too much alike. I see myself as much more introverted. The only reason I do a lot of things like this is because of Karl Marx.
Me: Have you topped Colby?
His Boyfriend: Yes.
Me: How do you climb mount bottom? He is a hunk of meat.
His Boyfriend: Yeah he’s a big person.
Me: Do you feel powerful? “I am climbing mount bottom. And now I’ve reached the summit. And now I plant my flag?”
(laughter)
His Boyfriend: I’m not sure. I don’t think about it in that context, no. I don’t feel a sense of accomplishment. It’s just the way we have sex.
Me: I feel like sex is a form of communication. I think monogamy is a selfish idea. I think it’s akin to slavery in the sense that [people are thought of as] property. I don’t think it’s good for society and I’ll tell you why. Because it doesn’t work for straight people, so why should it work for us?
Him: I do think that if you do love someone then you have their interests at heart. If Karl meets someone and decides that he wants to spend time with that person and be in a relationship with them I love Karl to the point where I accept that.
Me: That’s healthy.
Him: And I’ll be jealous, but that’s my shit. I own that shit. It’s not his shit, it’s mine.
Me: That’s fucking awesome.
Me: Yeah. And the definition of a nice Thanksgiving is one where I don’t show up and ruin things. So yeah, I didn’t speak to you after that, because you proved to me that you don’t care about me anymore. I decided right then that I wasn’t going to reach out to you again, until you reached out first. Ha. I guess you called my bluff! Cause a year has gone by and you didn’t even know I was hurting over it. But it doesn’t matter anymore because the ficus is dead. It’s dead and it’s not ever, ever coming back and you don’t get to know about that!
(pause)
Me: You run away from everything.
Him: You. Left. Me.
Me: You left me a long time before that for your drunk ass writer friends.
Him: You wanted me to be a writer!
Me: NOW YOU ARE ONE. Are you happy?
Him: Yes, Michael. I am. I’m very happy, actually. I love my house, and I love my car and I love my boyfriend. And you’re passive aggressive, but I love you too. I just can’t be around you all the time anymore, or maybe even at all. AND I DON’T OWE IT TO YOU TO EXPLAIN WHY.
Me: That’s fine! But I don’t owe it to you to tell you when the ficus dies.
Him: That was a metaphor for us!
Me: It still IS. Our relationship, and I mean our friendship – died. It died in the past year as you turned your back on me and slowly cut me out of our circle of friends. Have you ever seen August Osage County?
Him: No. Why?
Me: Tracy Letts writes a line for one of the characters, about how people are always complaining that America is dying, but the truth of the matter is that America died a long time ago, while Americans were focused on other things. Curling irons. New Cars. Televisions. I’m paraphrasing.
Him: So?
Me: So that’s us. We’re the ficus. It’s dead, and you didn’t even know it was dying. And because of that you don’t get to deserve to know.
Him: Do you see how passive aggressive you are?
Me: You don’t know the half of it. Talk about passive aggressive – you’re imaginary!
Him: What?
Me: I’m making you up. I’m not really saying this to you. This is just what I wish I could say to you. You’re a fantasy Carson.
Him: GOD YOU’RE SO…
Me: Passive aggressive? Maybe you’re right, but at least I’m real, and you’re not, so haha. Anyway, you got all our friends in the breakup so you can console yourself with that.
Him: Hm. Well. In that case…
Me: Yes?
Him: Since I’m a fantasy Carson, I can’t get a hangover. Should we have another beer. Talk this out some more?
Me: I go in circles with this, but I always wind up forgiving you.
Him: Aw you’re sweet. Do you forgive yourself?
Me: I’m starting to. It’s hard. That’s the hardest thing.
Him: Oh, shit, sweetie – I just realized.
Me: What?
Him: Jason’s coming back with cigarettes.
Me: No he isn’t. This is my fantasy and he doesn’t exist.
Him: Oh no! I love him though. Plus I really wanted a cigarette.
Me: You mean like the cigarette you have in your hand right now?
Him: Oh wow. You can do that?
Me: It’s my fantasy.
Him: That’s neat. But why not just make a version of me that doesn’t crave cigarettes?
Me: Because I like your flaws sometimes.
Him: Why?
(long pause)
Me: Because I love you. What are you drinking?
Him: Stella.
Me: I’ll go to the bar and get two Stellas then.
Him: I’ll be here when you get back.
Me: No, you won’t.
Him: What? Why?
Me: Because it’s my fantasy. And because the ficus is dead.
(a very long pause. we stare across the bar and survey the crowd. we don’t make eye contact)
Me: The ficus died.
Him: What? Why didn’t you tell me? What’s wrong with you?
Me: I didn’t think you deserved to know.
Him: What the. You’re so passive aggressive. Of course I wanted to know about that, Michael. I gave you that tree on our first anniversary. I always thought of it as a metaphor for our relationship.
Me: That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you when it died. I didn’t think you deserved to know.
Him: Explain.
Me: It died last winter, dumbass. It was horrible and I was unemployed and the landlord wouldn’t turn on the heat so it was freezing.
Him: Did you forget to water it?
Me: No, I water the plants once a week and the apartment is always clean now. It was a bad time, though, you know how I get in the winter, very sad.
Him: Yeah.
Me: It went completely bald in the space of three days. I freaked out but I couldn’t save it, Carson. I tried. It wouldn’t take water anymore and even after it was dead I kept watering it hoping that it would come back.
Him: That’s not how things work. You taught me that.
Me: There’s that narrator’s contempt I mentioned.
Him: Did you throw it out?
Me: I kept it, dead and brittle. For like 3 more months. I was angry about it dying and I was angry at you and eventually I snapped it in half and set it out on the curb.
Him: I’m sorry, but I’m getting a little pissed off. Why didn’t you tell me about this?
Me: Do you remember our last conversation?
Him: No? When was it? I always mean to check on you but I get busy sweetie.
Me: It was a year ago, Carson. A whole damn year went by and you didn’t even so much as txt me on my birthday.
Him: You know I’m forgetful.
Me: Well I’m not. The last significant correspondence we had was a year ago, when you invited me to Thanksgiving, and then took it back, because you were so fucking worried that it would make Jason feel weird. It didn’t matter to you that it was Thanksgiving and I had nowhere to go, just that your squirrely boyfriend wouldn’t have to feel slightly jealous once or twice in the evening.
Him: I’m sorry… I was just trying to have a nice Thanksgiving.
Me: Yeah. And the definition of a nice Thanksgiving is one where I don’t show up and ruin things. So yeah, I didn’t speak to you after that, because you proved to me that you don’t care about me anymore. I decided right then that I wasn’t going to reach out to you again, until you reached out first. Ha. I guess you called my bluff! Cause a year has gone by and you didn’t even know I was hurting over it. But it doesn’t matter anymore because the ficus is dead. It’s dead and it’s not ever, ever coming back and you don’t get to know about that.
Him: Oh hey.
Me: What? Shit. Hey! Happy Thanksgiving.
Him: Happy Thanksgiving sweetie. Are you here alone?
Me: Yeah. I went to a few friends. Now I’m here. I don’t know why. Where’s Jason?
Him: He went to get cigarettes, he’ll be back in 20 minutes or so.
Me: Ugh. You guys are still smoking? I thought you almost kicked that when we were together…
Him: I never really stopped. I just only had 2 or 3 a week.
Me: I know. I smelled it on you, from time to time. I didn’t always mention it.
Him: I knew you knew.
Me: I knew you knew I knew.
Him: I knew that too.
Me: We were very passive aggressive towards each other.
Him: We were. You are.
Me: Okay, okay. Thanks for saying hi!
(pause)
Me: I understand you and Jason bought a car and a house together.
Him: I guess word travels fast.
Me: I hear things. We’re both in comedy. People talk.
Him: It’s funny, I’d never think to say that. “I’m in comedy.”
Me: You are. The bulk of your money comes from comedy.
Him: I think of myself more as a writer.
Me: Yes. You’ve gotten very good.
Him: Oh, have you read?
Me: Yes. I follow you online, here and there, when I can stomach it.
Him: Ouch.
Me: Oh stop. I’m sure you don’t read my blog.
Him: That’s correct – I don’t.
Me: Okay so, fine. Well I read your stuff sometimes. You’ve gotten quite good.
Him: I’m glad you think so.
Me: I mean, I’m not nuts about reading about myself, but it’s very good writing, so that’s flattering, I guess.
Him: I don’t write about you. I write fiction.
Me: But some things are based on me.
Him: Some elements of some of my characters share parts of your behavior patterns or point of view. But I wouldn’t say I’m writing about you.
Me: No, of course you wouldn’t. But even so, it’s funny that as soon as I start recognizing myself in your writing, the very next thing I notice is an attitude of contempt from the narrator toward the ‘me’ character. It’s not my favorite thing in the world.
Him: You’ll never believe this, but I don’t write about you.
Me: I don’t write about you often, either. It’s good writing, Carson. Congrats on getting published. That’s huge. And I heard about the grant too.
Him: It’s political. I’m good at politics.
Me: You’re a good writer.
Him: Well thank you.
Me: You’re welcome. And you’re right. I’ll never believe that you’re not writing about me. We lived together for 8 years. I worked you through grad school.
Him: Let’s not start down this path again.
Me: Of course not. It’s a holiday, and in any case I have no regrets.
Him: I’m glad to hear that. Neither do I.
Me: How big of us.
(a very long pause. we stare across the bar and survey the crowd. we don’t make eye contact)