Author: admin

“Good thing,” he continued, “there’s a piano here.”

“Hey,” she said, “When did they get a piano in this place?”

“And for that matter,” he answered, “When did our waiter start playing it?”

She saw that the waiter was playing a vamp. Smiling with delight, she said “OK, we might as well get started.”

“No use moping, broken hearted,” he let his voice glide into a melody.

She responded back in song. “We seem to be fictional, merely depictional,”

“Yet here we are, it’s very contradictional.” He rose from his chair.

“Why don’t we take a chance?” she smiled and stood up as well.

He held out one hand, “Darling, won’t you join me in a dance?”

They began to glide around the coffee shop in time to the piano music, both of them surprised to find they could dance together with an ease that usually comes only after long practice.

For the next few minutes they simply gave themselves over to the music, letting their bodies sway and glide together in time to the lilting beat.

Just as they were finishing their final twirl around the room, a man walked into the coffee shop. The waiter immediately took his hands from the keyboard, a sheepish look on his face. The man and woman stopped dancing and turned to face the door.

“Oh my god!” she said, “It’s you. What the hell are you doing here?”

The writer looked briefly at the waiter, who hurriedly excused himself and dashed back to the kitchen. The writer then turned his attention to the man and woman. “I could ask you two the same question.”

It was one of those holiday weekends when everyone leaves town, and they had the little West Village coffee shop all to themselves. They both kept their voices hushed, although there was nobody around to hear them but the waiter.

“He really had no right to cut it short like that,” she said. “Who the hell does he think he is? It’s like he’s playing God.”

“To be fair,” he responded, “from our perspective he is God.”

“Writer, God, whatever. It still stinks. We were on a roll.”

He nodded. “Like I said, I was having a good time. But what can we do? The way I see it, our options are limited. Now I know how Harold Crick must have felt, or Donald Kaufman.”

“Or Betty Parker, for that matter,” she added. “We should unionize. What are they going to do, throw us all in jail?”

He shook his head dispiritedly. “We should be so lucky. It’s like being an illegal immigrant in Arizona. If you’re fictional, then even all your kids are stuck being fictional.”

She blushed. “That almost sounded like a proposal.”

He smiled shyly. “Well ma’am, we haven’t known each other very long.”

“That, my dear, is his fault. Anyway, having a fictional child would not be very productive.”

“Was that an intentional pun?”

“Don’t blame me,” she said, “You know what he’s like. I’m just the messenger.”

“Aren’t we all?” he sighed, “It seems so unfair, when these days even corporations get to be real people.”

“Sociopathic people, but still, I see your point.”

He chuckled. “You know, there is something we can make, as real as anyone on the outside can make.”

“And that would be?”

“Songs. We can write songs.”

It’s very exciting that recent experiments at CERN have revealed the existence of a particle roughly consistent with the properties of the long-sought Higgs Boson.

But I am confused by this weird tendency for some non-physicists to call it the “God particle”. I know the term dates to Leon Lederman’s popular physics book with that phrase in the title, yet Lederman himself has said that he really wanted to call it the “Goddamn particle” because of all the trouble the elusive particle has caused, but the publisher objected.

Peter Higgs, who by the way does not believe in the existence any gods, says he doesn’t like the term because it “might offend people who are religious”. But isn’t he worrying about offending the wrong people? Aren’t non-religious people the ones who are being offended here?

There is a word in English — “blasphemy” — to describe the act of offending the sensibilities of religious people.

Perhaps there should be a word to describe the act of offending the sensibilities of non-religious people.

“I said ‘I don’t think I ever told you, but I have a boyfriend.'”

He hesitated, a thoughtful look on his face. “That isn’t very good iambic pentameter.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I guess you’re disappointed.”

“Well, it does throw off the whole rhythm, if you see what I mean.”

“You know,” she said brightly, “sometimes unexpected rhythmic variations can help a collaboration.”

He smiled ruefully, “A collaboration is kind of like a relationship.”

“You’re not going to start talking about sharks, are you?”

“No,” he laughed, “I was just going to say that in the long run, both benefit from honesty.”

“True,” she nodded. “Oh dear, it appears we have arrived at the subway.”

They looked at each other for a long moment.

“I had a good time,” he said.

“Me too.” she smiled. “Perhaps we will write this musical.” They hugged, then she turned toward the subway entrance and was gone.

He stood for a long moment, gazing at the space where she had been, feeling the silence of the city around him.

It was late, and time to go home. He began to sing softly, the words and the music coming to him as he walked. “Sweet Popcorn Gal, stay here awhile. I’m lost in your smile when you’re near…”

Finis

“Brilliant theme for a musical!” she said. “Relationships are all about conflict. Gives us a lot to work with.”

“Absolutely.” he said. “Maybe we can describe all of the reasons that relationships fail us.” They were now back out on the street, and he was walking her to the subway.

“Or perhaps,” she replied, “all of the reasons that we fail relationships.”

“Yes, that’s much better,” he agreed. “In iambic pentameter. You start.”

“All right,” she said. “But whatever I say, you have to rhyme.”

“You’re on.”

She took a breath. “I prefer to live alone because I snore throughout the night.”

“Oh, that’s good.” He thought for a moment. “I do not like to cheat, but then you never know — I might.”

“Ha!” she said. “I shower in the morning, so by night my feet can stink.”

“Wait, give me a second,” he said, thinking, “I don’t close my eyes when kissing … but I have been known to blink.”

“Nice!”

“Thanks,” he said. “OK, now it’s your turn to rhyme. Ready?”

“Yes!”

“When we meet up for a movie, I am always running late.”

“Hmm,” she said, “When we’re dining on the town I pick the food off of your plate.”

“Touché,” he said. “How about this: When things are going well, I am convinced it all will end.”

“I can top that one,” she said, “I don’t think I ever told you, but I have a boyfriend.”

“Wait,” he said, “What did you just say?”

He thought this might be a good time to change the subject. “Would you like to have a coffee?”

“Why yes,” she said, “I would.” They ducked into a charmingly grungy East Village coffee shop.

After the coffees arrived, she noticed he was staring into his mug, as though there was something he wanted to say. “What’s up?” she asked.

“Nothing serious, just a little thing,” he shrugged. “Not sure I should even mention it.”

“It’s ok,” she said. “Honesty is not one of the things I’m scared of.”

“Well, I was just thinking. John didn’t write ‘Maxwell’s Silver Hammer’ — Paul did. So it’s really Paul who should get the credit for bringing pataphysics to the masses.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Technically yes, but do you really think Paul would even have known a word like ‘pataphysical’ if not for John? Lennon was in bed with the art avant guarde, and I mean that literally.”

“You mean Yoko, right?”

“Yes, quite. Ono was at the top of her game, a leading light of the Fluxus movement. She was changing the very face of art itself, a true heir to Alfred Jarry. Then she goes and weds beneath her station. Royalty marrying a commoner — a pop singer, no less. Imagine the scandal!”

“You have an unusual perspective on things,” he said.

“Would you rather collaborate with someone who had a usual perspective on things?”

“No,” he replied emphatically, “I would not.”

“Which brings up a question,” she said, leaning forward. “What will this musical of ours be about?”

“The same thing,” he said, “that all musicals are about.”

“And that is?”

“Relationships.”

“That was quite an intense movie,” he said, as they wandered out into the street.

“Oh I don’t know,” she said. “My theory is that they make those movies to take everyone’s mind off of the really scary stuff.”

“Like what? What are you scared of?”

“Well, snakes, for one. Imagine if we knew there were snakes in the theatre, crawling under our feet. I’ll bet we wouldn’t even have noticed whatever was on the screen.”

“Point well taken,” he said. “Snakes are scary.”

“And butterflies of course,” she continued.

“Butterflies?”

“They look all pretty, but up close they’re just creepy crawly bugs with fancy wings. Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed.”

“Um,” he said, feeling a little lost.

“Exactly!” she said, taking his silence for agreement. “All those stories about butterflies coming out of somebody’s mouth. It’s enough to give you nightmares.”

“I guess they…” he started, almost relieved when she cut him off.

“And don’t even get me started on Mickey Mouse. Absolutely terrifying.”

“Mickey Mouse?” he said weakly.

“Well, of course. Have you ever noticed that however he turns his head, those ears are always facing you? I’m telling you, it’s demonic.” She turned to look at him. “Are you ok? You seem a little pale.”

“What if,” he said while they were walking to the movie theater, “the title of our musical is something that describes itself, maybe an acronym.”

“Can you give me an example?” she asked.

“How about ‘My Enchanted Theatre Adventure.'”

“Nice!” she said, impressed. “Very meta indeed.”

“Thank you kindly,” he said. “Your turn.”

She pondered in silence for a bit. “OK, I’ve got it. ‘Endless Parade Of New York Melodies.'”

“Of course, an eponym! Clever.”

By this point they had arrived that the theatre, and he noticed that there was no line at the concession stand. He asked if she wanted any popcorn.

“Where I come from we have sweet popcorn. I never really had a taste for the other kind.”

“A scary movie without popcorn?”

“Sorry,” she shrugged. “I guess I’m just a sweet popcorn gal.”

That made him laugh. He was still smiling when the movie started.

The film was surprisingly good, much better than the average horror movie, but also a lot more intense than either of them had thought it would be.

During one particularly scary scene she clung to him instinctively. That was the moment he realized they would name their musical “Sweet Popcorn Gal.”

Afterward he asked for her number, and gave her his. They parted saying it would be fun to collaborate.

Walking home, he wondered what the odds were that they would actually follow up. People run into each other all the time in New York, have fascinating conversations, then never see each other again. All part of life in the big city — a million sparks, only rarely catching fire.

He found himself thinking about what kind of musical they would have written together. Or had that just been a way of having a conversation? Maybe their musical would itself be destined to remain a fiction, like Tom Riddle’s diary or Liebkind’s “Springtime for Hitler”.

He was still musing on this when he noticed a woman pass rapidly by on the street. It took him a moment to realize it was she. He called her name, she turned around.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I felt like taking in a movie,” she said.

“There’s one I’ve been wanting to see,” he said, improvising. “It’s playing a block from here.”

“What kind of movie?”

“A scary movie, but it’s supposed to be a good one.”

She hesitated for just a moment. “Okay.”

“Minimalism, that’s the key,” he said.

“Exactly!” she nodded. “Imagine a musical with no songs. It would be perfect.”

“Well you could go the other way,” he mused. “Throw everything at it. Amp up your theatre. Big actions, big emotions, hearts threatening to burst right up there on the stage.”

“Right,” she said, “Crank it up. Go all pataphysical.”

“Pataphysical? You know Alfred Jarry?”

“Well yeah”, she said, “but only because of the Beatles.”

“Wait,” he said, looking confused. “The Beatles?”

“Yes, of course, silly. ‘Joan was quizzical, studied pataphysical science in the home.’ John Lennon led me to Jarry, Ubu Roi, Baudrillard, all that stuff.”

“Oh, I see,” he said, “The Beatles. It’s always good to start with the classics. Good old Maxwell Edison and his silver hammer.”

“Yes,” she smiled brightly, “The boy certainly had his demons.”

He thought it would be easy to get lost in her smile. “I believe,” he said, “that was the other Maxwell. James Clerk.”

“Why couldn’t you combine them?” she asked. “Maxwell’s Demon and Maxwell’s Hammer — a tale of two British fictional creatures, both dedicated to breaking the laws.”

“We could call it ‘The Demon and the Hammer'”, he said, warming to the theme. “Perfect name for a musical.”

“A metaphysical musical!” she said.

“Yes, a Mephistophelean metaphysical McCartney-esque musical. Would it have a love story?”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “We’d have to think about that.”

“You,” he said, “are fun to talk with.”