Everybody Say Yeah, Yeah!

Completely unposed:  Tim and John at First and Hope

On Sunday, I arrived at my brother's house at 10 a.m., which seemed a little early for our outing downtown, but now and then, I like to do what I'm told, so I stood there at the door, waiting, obediently.  Finally John  appeared, in his robe and slippers.  "Come in, don't let the dog out, I'm not ready."  "I like what you're wearing."  "Funny."  Off he went, presumably, to put clothes on for the long day ahead.  And I do mean long.  But I'll get to that in a second.  Then Tim came out and gave me a hug.  "The Timmy!" I said.  I can't remember when I started calling him The Timmy, but they've been together 10.5 years now, so I think he deserves an official title; he is the miracle that walked in and made John's life 150 percent better (and vice versa, John would want me to add).  A moment later, John reappeared.  "Okay, I'm ready, let's go."  I turned around and there he was, still in his robe and slippers.  "Kidding," he said, and disappeared again.

At some point, he lost the robe and slippers and the three of us headed downtown, to brunch at First and Hope, a very nice place where the waiter made us guess his nationality.  "You're from Belgium," John said, not missing a beat.  The waiter looked shocked.  "No one ever guesses it right."  "Do we win anything?" I asked.  Again, he looked baffled.  "There needs to be a prize," I told him.  He went off to figure it out, and was so fermisht, we never saw him again.  During brunch, we dissected the latest tabloid gossip.  "All true," John said, and explained why Demi and Ashton broke up, why Jada and Will almost broke up, and shared other highly entertaining scoops.  My brother just knows stuff.  Tim blushed throughout, for John loves to paint a vivid picture of the Hollywood elite.

Later, we went across the street to see "Fela!" a big, strange, colorful, very long musical about the famous Nigerian musician who got thrown in jail 200 times.  They had us up on our feet immediately, to shake our booties (a favorite activity of mine), and shout "Yeah yeah!"  It was a little misleading, setting us up for a joyous celebration that quickly turned dark and disturbing.  On the ride home, we couldn't remember a single song from the show, so we substituted other show tunes.  "Hello, Fela, well hello, Fela, it's so nice to see you out of prison again."  "How do solve a problem like Fela?"  "There's no Fela, like our Fela, like no Fela I know."  Needless to say, we were laughing and behaving very poorly after such an important show.  But can you blame us?  We just wanted to sing yeah yeah.