conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a story titled Getting Over Homer about Monahan, Getting, Homer with the genre: Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual & Transgender Books, Literature & Fiction.. End with the sentence ') Monahan ekes out a living playing piano and writing doomed musicals, while his twin brother, an actor, suckles Hollywood through a long-running sitcom.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: the author, the funniest writer you've never read, is the proud father of Getting Over Homer. In 193 pages percolating with wordplay, the story charts a romantic odyssey through the gay demimonde of New York City. Your faithful narrator, Blue Monahan, is a songwriter and self-described "alien on Earth." (Actually, he's a Midwesterner in Manhattan, which is just as bad.) Monahan ekes out a living playing piano and writing doomed musicals, while his twin brother, an actor, suckles Hollywood through a long-running sitcom.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first three paragraphs for this story.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Getting Over Homer
  He leaned over and kissed me, then closed his eyes again. After a minute he said, "I'm not a tramp or anything. This has never happened to me before."
  I brought him some juice, and we met each other again. He had been in New York barely a month. I was intrigued by the fact that he was born the year "Love Is the Answer" was a hit. "Maybe it was playing on the radio when your folks conceived you!" I joked.
  I saw my own idealized midwestern decency in Teddy. As a child he'd gone to Central America with his parents to help rebuild churches there after an earthquake, and as a teen in his hometown of Luxor, he'd joined a church youth group called True Love Waits, all intentional virgins. "We promised to save ourselves for marriage!" He grinned. "It was a whole lot easier for me than for the other guys!" He'd dropped out of Buckeye State, and although it is way at the bottom of Ohio, on the Kentucky border, that still made him partly from my home state, and, anyway, Kentucky is even more sentimental a concept than Ohio. With that added southern liqueur, it must be more wholesome than gray, metallic Cleveland! Stephen Foster suffered there. And, of course, Buckeye is where Red went.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me four more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I was thrilled at Teddy's forthrightness, but it was lost in the mundane buzz around us, and Randy's concentration had already moved on. "Great!" he bayed.
  Teddy seemed self-conscious and drank more bourbon and Cokes. While waiting for him to return from a bathroom visit, I saw Milla Korones across the room, grinning and ablaze in blue sequins like the Mediterranean in midafternoon.
  We embraced and yelled like we'd just won the game show. My favorite: Communion. The party had gotten loud, and our overacting went unnoticed. Her Russell called for her, and Teddy came unsteadily back, his tipsiness a gesture of surrender and defiance at once.
  I followed him out there, where a breeze tousled his hair as if to calm him, and beneath us a thousand lights twinkled, troubled lives seen from an enchanting distance.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last paragraph.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Last night I went to see Milla at the Keyboard Room. Now that she's used to the thrill of her son enough to leave him with baby-sitters, she's gone back to the cabaret circuit. She's had her long, wild hair cut in a sleek pageboy, and someone decided she was incomparable, so she has all the work she wants—that long, tall vulnerability of hers offsets her evening gowns nicely. I sat with her Russell, the sound man in both senses. By the end of the evening she seemed relaxed, as if singing Jerome Kern had unburdened her of a painful secret.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Last night I went to see Milla at the Keyboard Room. Now that she's used to the thrill of her son enough to leave him with baby-sitters, she's gone back to the cabaret circuit. She's had her long, wild hair cut in a sleek pageboy, and someone decided she was incomparable, so she has all the work she wants—that long, tall vulnerability of hers offsets her evening gowns nicely. I sat with her Russell, the sound man in both senses.