magicbeans. nothing if not awkward.

'Hey, what's up?'

'So have you finished cleaning? Or are you still not allowed to leave your house?'

'I'm not done. I have to separate a whole bunch of loose change from cat hair and my hair and months worth of dust.'

'Fun.'

'So I'm not going to be able to make it out for brunch. But are you planning on going to Jessie's show later?'

'Yeah, I was.'

'I guess I'll see you there.'

'Have fun with your change and hair and dust.'

The show in question was the product of the sketch comedy writing/performing class that Jessie has been taking at The PIT. Comedy is a tough nut, and live comedy has a wide potential to fall anywhere from very funny to very, very unfunny. I think it's much easier to fall much flatter in comedy than in maybe any other performing art. But, that said, Jessie's group did put together a largely successfully funny show. They also successfully sold out the house.

Drinks afterwards at the Triple Crown, one of the three horse-racing themed bars on that two block stretch of 7th Ave. And after that at Siberia, where Jessie talked our way passed the (thoroughly unrealistic) $10 cover, by claiming (more or less truthfully) to be bringing a party of 20+ who would all be drinking. And after that, with the party splitting up, and a large contingent heading back to Park Slope, Chris and I kicked around midtown looking for somewhere else to drink.

'Down one of these blocks is the Ginger Man, Under the Volcano, and that other bar that we had our Idiotarod planning meeting at.' 38th Street was not it. 'The last time was there was that meeting, and the only other time was the night I was the most drunk that I've ever been.'

'What about that fake Irish pub?'

'Probably as good as anywhere.' Although they were charging a cover too (albeit more realistically, as they had live music). 'Sorry,' I told the bouncer, 'we're really just looking for somewhere to get a drink.' And back on the street, 'Let me see your phone's keypad. What numbers spell GOOGL?' A text message too and from, a pretty cool service I had never used before, and, '36th Street.'

'Aren't we on 36th?'

'No, 38th.' Two minutes later, we're in the right place. The Ginger Man looked crowded, Under the Volcano not as much so.

We talked about comedy, the subjectivity and difficulty of humour in general. 'I tend to find normal interaction with people that I know funnier than the spoon-fed comedy of TV or movies.'

'The funny people you know. People you know telling jokes. Stand-up or improv or sketch comedy. Then TV and movies. Each step is more refined to fit into a box labelled "funny", but in so doing can come across as more forced or less spontaneous, and also can veer further away from what any individual might actually find funny.'

I had one more beer, eight on the night, I think. Chris was done. 'You've got to know by now that you're always going to have one more than I am.' And, to be expected, talked of girls.

'I think what would be really nice,' I said, 'is if I were dating someone who lived in Park Slope but was willing to spend two or three nights a week in Inwood.'

'That's not going to happen.'

'I know it's unrealistic. The boy almost always ends up staying at the girl's place. Provisionally because it's air conditioned or closer to work, but mostly just because.' I don't know how Caitlin's name came up. Chris may have suspected I was talking about someone specifically in Park Slope. 'She and Jesse broke up?'

'Yeah, you weren't there when Julia was talking about it.'

'No. But I'm not talking about Caitlin..'

'Liza?'

'Or Liza, or Lydia. Or anyone. A hypothetical girl who lives in Park Slope.' And it's not that Park Slope is even one of my favourite parts of Brooklyn, I still prefer the Crater, or (aside from the transportation issues) Red Hook or right up along the river in Greenpoint. But thoughts about moving back (or becoming attached in some other form) to Brooklyn are largely socially predicated, and the largest concentration of the people I tend to do social things with live in Park Slope.