Conversations with Indie Boy

(Setting: King Kong’s. Food: philly steaks and giant heaps of fries. Music: I don’t know who it was, but it was awful.)

Me: Good god, what is this music? It’s like crappy avant mellow jazz.

IB: Probably one of those new age hacks, like John Tesh. Or Aldo Nova.

Me: You know, I’m pretty sure one of the guys I used to date, Rature Boy*, was into Aldo Nova. I never got it, though.

IB: Ick. Well, I suppose someone has to buy it. But not me.

Me: No, you just buy your Enya CDs.

IB: (Pause, while glaring over his cheesesteak.) Just for that, I’m going to go on eBay and get Sade’s greatest hits, and I’ll time it so that “Smooth Operator” is playing every time you come home. The 20 minute extended version, even.

Me: (Pausing in contemplation.) Well, that’s alright. I’m feeling a musical kick coming on, and I’ll be sure to watch them all on your nights off. Grease, West Side Story, the Sound of Music, the Wizard of Oz…and those are just the ones I own. Think what I could get from Netflix: Oklahoma!, My Fair Lady, Brigadoon.

IB: (Yet another conversation pause.) Never mind.

*Rapture Boy is a long, long story that could fill multiple blog posts. I’ll just summarize by saying that ruining your brain on drugs, drinking cologne, and hanging out in crack houses is bad, and will ensure that prior girlfriends will consistently screen their phone calls to avoid bizarre conversations with your messed up self. Thank goodness we live in different states now.


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