The Mystical Hiring Committee of Life

Actually, it's hard to imagine how Richard and I thought we could write a book together when we disagreed so much. We debated for years, literally from dawn to dusk, as we worked together at the gcn office, went out afterward for dinner to the whole-wheat pizza place on Charles Streetwhere you could bring your own jug of red wine and where I more than once pretended I didn't see a little gray mouse leap across the floor and disappear behind the baseboardand called each other on the phone as soon as we got home. It's a curious thing about Richard: in any particular group, he's always perceived as the voice of the establishment. This has nothing to do with what he says. Maybe it's his heightsix foot five. Or his booming voice. Some people are surprised when he tells them he sings bass, like they expect all gay men to be countertenors. Richard used to sing in the choir at Memorial Church in Harvard Yard, and every year we'd have a major argument about his Christmas concert, which he insisted I attend even though he knew I was fed up with Christmas, probably because of my experience in elementary school, where it dominated the entire curriculum from September through New Year's Day. The rabbi would tell us little Jews, "Don't you sing those Christmas carols!" while my mother's philosophy was, "You're a child, you like to