A conversation.

“Permission to speak candidly.”

“Permission to speak candidly unaccepted. Be respectful. It’s been a while.”

"How about I be respectfully candid?”

“The way you speak candidly is akin to a hippo trying not to splash water in a zoo. You haven’t spoken to these idiots in a while, show them a little bit of gratitude for a change.”

“Them? Gratitude? You just called them idiots.”

“Good point, but no. Besides, what have you been doing this whole time. Squandering attempts at writing a novel and being rejected from graduate school?”

“Actually, yes.”

“Sorry. I… didn’t know? What is it you wish to opine over this time, the way a dog looked at you once?”

“No. The topic of conversation a lot of people romanticize over. I’m sure a nice lightly toned essay about it could make people laugh and change your mind.”

“Alright, well, what is it?”

“It may, or may not, have to do with… Christmas.”

“Oh, god. Come on. Really?

“Yes.”

“It’s so yesterday, though.”

“Actually last week.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Everybody says that.”

“What possibly could you bring to the discussion that hasn’t already been said a million times?”

“About the spirit, you know. How it goes from being a joyful, romantic holiday that could be appreciated by so many religious and non-religious to a cache of ingenuous hypocritical…”

"Wait… what? You can’t do that candidly. You see that Jon Stewart on the television? He could do it. He can do those funny faces and weird gestures. He’s perfect. A Jew with a sense of humor. An impeccable resume.”

“You don’t buy into that clown do you? I thought only adults whose  senses of humor hasn’t developed enjoy him.”

“I do. He had an author on last night. Very good. I think I’m going to buy his book.”

“I bet it was gripping and self-indulgent. So, should I draft something up, have you read it and then tell me if you like it?”

“No. Don’t even do that. Even if you make sense on the subject, you’ll sound like a religious dork with a strange sense of humor, hell-bent on getting his so-called Christian values revalued by a society ‘lost.’”

“You haven’t even read anything yet.”

“I don’t need to and don’t want to. In the event, while nearly impossible, that you’re brilliant writing, just so happens, to persuade me enough to buy into this Christmas essay I’ll know it shouldn’t be published even in your stupid blog.”

“ How can you rush to judgment so fast? You’re like all those people standing outside the Rhode Island state house trying to get the Holiday tree renamed.”

“Yea, I guess I am. Either way you suck.”

“Who are you anyway? Why am I asking you to write this anyway. You’re no editor. I don’t have to listen to you.”

“I’m your conscience.”

“My conscience would never, ever like Jon Stewart.”

“That’s the thing about Jon Stewart. Even though you don’t want to like him, you do. You know why? Remember twelve years ago? That’s you sitting in your dorm room laughing. Oh, and those faces he makes are adorable.”

“That was before he was political, though. Everybody knows everything changed when he went political. He’s like Eddie Murphy before kids movies. Why am I arguing with you anyway. Jon Stewart sucks and so do you.”

“Because you need me. Without me, you let caution fly to the wind. Grow up a little. Candidness is only fun to your friends because they wish they could say what they want like you do, but they have careers and family members that will never talk to them again if they said the things you have said. Besides, you’re not edgy anymore. You see that Dane Cook guy? He’s edgy… and hilarious.”

“You’re kidding me right?”

“Remember twelve years ago? That wasn’t me walking into Newbury Comics to pick up….”

“Alright, I get the point.”

“Are you giving up?”

“No.”

“Let me put it like this. Twelve years ago you loved Dane Cook, Jon Stewart, ska bands even, not to mention all sorts of other terrible things. Remember the meatloaf at the Iona College cafeteria? You used to grab seconds of that. You have Dane Cook jokes memorized. You’ve never memorized anything like that in your whole life.”

“That was some good meatloaf, man.”

“No, it wasn’t. It was just better than any other you ever had. My point is that the opinions you had twelve years ago are different than now. If you had candid conversation about Christmas today, it would be no different than it was twelve years ago, a hundred or two thousand; it’s never going to be a popular subject to go after. Some things change, but opinions on the way people act around Christmas time will never. Even if some miracle occurred, the second coming of Jesus, and he ascended on earth in peace, to see how we were doing, and you somehow got the opportunity to speak with him one-on-one, and you were to ask, ‘So, Jesus, what do you think about the way your birth is being celebrated these days?’ He’d likely say, ‘blah, isn’t there something else you want to talk about.’ It’s either boring, super religiously angled, not funny, or regurgitated. Unless you’re Jon Stewart.”

“True, I guess.”

“Wow, finally listening to your conscience. How does it feel?”

“Good I guess.”

“Now stop wearing sweat pants in public.”

“That’s not happening.”

“It was worth a try I guess.”