She looks up. "Henry, who's your favorite Beatle?"
"John. Of course."
"Why 'of course'?"
"Well, Ringo is okay but kind of a sad sack, you know? And George is a little too New Age for my taste."
"What's 'New Age'?"
"Oddball religions. Sappy boring music. Pathetic attempts to convince oneself of the superiority of anything connected with Indians. Non-Western medicine."
"But you don't like regular medicine."
"That's because doctors are always trying to tell me I'm crazy. If I had a broken arm I would be a big fan of Western medicine."
"What about Paul?"
"Paul is for girls."
Clare smiles, shyly. "I like Paul best."
"Well, you're a girl."
"Why is Paul for girls?"
Tread carefully, I tell myself. "Uh, gee. Paul is, like, the Nice Beatle, you know?"
"Is that bad?"
"No, not at all. But guys are more interested in being cool, and John is the Cool Beatle."
"Oh. But he's dead."
I laugh. "You can still be cool when you're dead. In fact, it's much easier, because you aren't getting old and fat and losing your hair."