Yesterday, on a blanket in Central Park, strewn with red grapes and fresh figs, a friend said "I just don't get musicals. Never liked any of them. My neighbor is like 'You can't be gay. Let me play this one for you.' and then he puts on some cast album with his favorite diva in it,and he starts raving about Patti-Lou this and Patti-Lou that, and I'm like just not feeling anything."
"What did you say is the name of the diva he likes?"
"Someone named Patti-Lou Pone."
When I enlighten him, he says "Oh my God. I can so never make fun of my mother again when she talks about Gore V. Dahl."
Later in the afternoon, he informs me that, relieved to find them available, he has secured two website names: wealthyBritishtroll.com and daddyofnoconsequence.com.
He also describes his Friday night as having been a long one, at the Eagle, and with significant beer. He says "Apparently, I made guacamole when I got home."