Intermission

THE AMERICAN: (while reading something) No shit, Sherlock.

SHERLOCK: Hm? (to John) Was she talking to me? I wasn't listening.

JOHN: You never listen.

SHERLOCK: Mm . . . (beat) What?

XLII: State of the Union

She took us to Washington D.C. for the weekend. And by "us" I mean me and John; after all, it wouldn't be safe to take Dear Jim into the heart of the nation's capitol, now would it?

We stayed near Dupont Circle, which might mean something to some of you, but at any rate the room was quite large and very nice.

It had a vanity area separate from the shower . . .

And even a little table and chairs to eat at.

John was very impressed with the walk-in shower and the kitchenette and such. It really doesn't take much to dazzle him.

Meanwhile, we began receiving these kinds of images on The American's mobile phone:

He is, quite literally, in the closet.

The following day we met up with a friend (of hers, not ours, obviously). There was brunch and gelato and a lot of walking in the heat before we went to see what we'd actually flown all the way out there to see, namely her play.

I wasn't really paying attention, so I can't say much about it except there was air con, which was nice.

After that: more walking. We ate at a place called Elephant & Castle. Did she get bangers and mash? (Yes, it was on the menu. As were fish and chips, shepherd's pie . . .) NO. She got a salad. A salad.

This is the friend. Her name is Ellen. John thinks
she's cute, but then John thinks all women are "cute."

And then ever more walking. We saw this:

And of course had to take our picture with it . . .

(No, John, it doesn't look like I'm trying to escape;
I am, in fact, trying to escape.)

It was unmercifully hot, I must say. Which is why she went and put her feet in the fountain.

Yes. Even though it said not to. But there were so many people doing it, so of course that makes it all right. (Yes, John, that was sarcasm.)

And may I point out her parents are Veterans?

Meanwhile, more pictures on the phone:

(I take this to mean he came out
of the closet at some point.)

Finally, we went indoors again. To a museum. They had a collection of Stradivarius violins. But of course The American was far more pleased with this:

She started talking in a funny voice, saying, "Oh, Kermie" . . . She's not a pig, John, she's actually lost weight . . . What? . . . No, I don't get it.

After the museum we walked a bit more. Stopped to sit here.

Then had dinner and called it a night.

Flew home today and found this:

The little hooligans had cornered him on the light fixture. For once I'm inclined to say the kids are all right.

XLI: Take Me Out . . .

. . . to an non-existant ball game, evidently. We were at a ball park, mind. But we were there for this:

I don't own a baseball cap, so this was the best I could do.

Things like balloon animals happened (somewhat terrifying), and a lot of food. And then music. Or what passes for music in this part of the world.

The above isn't music, it's me being held against . . . my will. Here is a picture from the first act:

They were called "Lifehouse."

Had heard a bit of their music on The American's iPod thingy.

And after that:

This one's name was Jennifer Hudson.

Not terribly interesting until she did the Whitney Houston medley.

(What? No, John, I don't want to dance with you. Why would I?)

And finally:

Bruno Mars.

After much sun and heat and ever more food, we went inside. Where there were ball park-type things like:

And:

(Yes, John, a lot of balls.)

XL: Music

What? I still play it better than that Benedict fellow.

Though she should have gone 1/16.

XXXIX: New Lodgings

We are in process of moving into a new house.

By which, of course, I mean she is doing all the actual lifting and moving, and we are standing here watching her.

The house is very large. I will need to put a bell around John's neck to keep him from getting lost.

(What's that, John? Jesus, no, I don't give a damn if Henry gets lost. So much the better, in fact. But what would I do without you?)

XXXVIII: A Reasonable Defence

I once used this very line of defence with John:

Though he mounted no counter argument, I still had the distinct feeling of somehow having lost the case . . .

XXXVII: El Drisco

We had a mini holiday by staying a night at the Hotel Drisco in Pacific Heights. Specifically, Suite 106, which looks something like this:

A "California" king, plenty of room . . .

And this:

With views of this:

She went out to have a fancy dinner and watch this man sing and dance around:

This Roger Clyne fellow claims to be a mediator
in peace talks of some kind? Not sure how
jumping around helps his cause . . .

. . . Leaving us to amuse ourselves. John spent most of the time in a strange state of paranoia . . .

No, John, I will not hold your hand.

There were a few magazines in the room, but they were all about how proud the locals are their big bridge hasn't fallen down in the 75 years since they built it or something. I'm not exactly sure because I only looked at the pictures. (Meanwhile, John kept looking up like he thought there were spiders on the ceiling. He hates spiders. There weren't any. I'll bring some next time, just for fun.)

She went out without us again the next day, shopping and whatnot. And then packed us up for our ride back in the Town Car . . .

This is how we roll.