I had hunkered down at S.F. International all night long, since I didn't want to incovenience friends or family to give me a ride at dawn for my flight back to Cincinnati. I also needed to quell a serious cough, lest I be refused a seat on the plane. I felt like an immigrant with TB trying to get into steerage class. So I began at midnight to knock back a capful of Robitussin DM every hour. The first leg of my flight was to Minneapolis, and I sat in a stupor, several hours before the departure time. A nervous fellow with close cropped hair and a little mustache asked me from about thirty feet away where he might be able to smoke. I told him that he'd have to go outside. I remember seeing signs which said the airport was smoke free. To my astonishment, he bolted up about ten minutes later and walked towards me with his sad stained duffle bag. "You'll be around for awhile, right? I'm going out for a smoke." I gave him a raised eyebrow and a piercing glance. He seemed to read me telepathically. "It doesn't matter if they take my bag. There's nothing of value in there." The weight of the world, sad reflections on my former life in the Bay Area, and the serious cough had robbed me of all spunk. Normally, I would have loudly refused his request while laughing in his face.
I gazed intently at the bag for a few minutes after he left, then suddenly realized that a zealous cop could actually consider me to be in violation of law for harboring the property of an unknown person. I reflected on the new standards of trust that had been forged in the crucible of 9/11. It seemed a common courtesy to mind the fellow's bag, yet I was complicit in his behavior, wanton by contemporary standards. I thought of calling my wife, but knew that I'd get a severe tongue-lashing and that my judgement would once again be called into question. I was already in the doghouse for having left a ground level window open--which she discovered a full week after my recent departure. I summoned my mental clarity and stifled the impulse to discuss the matter with another male passenger, who had just sat down a few chairs away. I felt relief and venom when the miscreant returned about 20 minutes later. He casually picked up his bag without speaking to me while eyeing the distant coffee stand. He was about to saunter over there when I gave him the following dressing-down:
OH, NO YOU DON'T! YOU AND I NEED TO HAVE A SERIOUS TALK ABOUT YOUR TOBACCO ADDICTION! MAN-TO-MAN, I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT I'M ANGRY AT MYSELF FOR AGREEING TO WATCH YOUR BAG. I LOST MY MENTAL CALM, BECAUSE YOU PUT US BOTH IN A DANGEROUS POSITION. YOU COULD HAVE BEEN DETAINED ALL DAY, AND I WOULD HAVE GOTTEN ROPED INTO IT, TOO, AND MISSED MY FLIGHT. THESE PEOPLE DON'T SCREW AROUND--IF YOU MAKE A JOKE ABOUT HAVING A BOMB OR SOMETHING, THEY'LL THROW YOU IN JAIL!
At first he was surprised by my tirade. Under normal circumstances, he could have kicked my ass. But he slowly nodded and looked at me sheepishly as I ranted on.
I'M AN OLDER MAN, AND I KNOW ALL ABOUT ADDICTIONS. YOU RISKED EVERYTHING FOR THAT CIGARETTE. WAS IT REALLY THAT GOOD? WAS IT WORTH IT?
Chastened, he walked away and sat in front of a pillar, which blocked my view. I felt alive again, and my voice has temporarily lost that hoarse rasping quality which had vexed me for over a week.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
"TERRORIST" RETURNED TO HOME STATE
(Las Vegas) Henry Pflug, was released from Guantanamo Bay Detention Camp after being confined there for several years, following his arrest at the Las Vegas International Airport. The 64-year-old detainee is being transferred to a medical facility near Sparks, following a brief military court appearance.Pflug had worked for over twenty years at the LVI airport as a nightshift janitor. “When the terms of his union contract changed, he had to be more proactive about getting his meds.” said Bob Lim, Pflug’s lawyer “Like many functional schizophrenics, my client gets lulled into complacency when his symptoms are temporarily diminished. But when the full blown condition returns, he is unable to navigate through the medical bureaucracy, and self-medicates with liquor or illegal drugs.”
“As Pflug went about his rounds during the wee hours at the near-deserted facility, the relentless security warning tape got to him. You know, that woman’s voice that warns us about accepting packages from strangers prior to boarding a flight? She pushed him over the top.”
Lim’s successful defense purported that the constant warning was a form of entrapment for the troubled janitor. “We may be mildly annoyed by the constant warnings, but a schizophrenic might easily be convinced that the unseen voice is directed at him, repeatedly offering a playful suggestion."
Prior to his arrest, Pflug spent his off-days at the airport on aimless walks. Eventually he planted himself in the entrance way to the United Airlines ticket counter, pestering random passer-bys to take his bowling bag as their carry-on luggage. His scheme was immediately thwarted by Security, who had been tracking the errant behavior. The bowling bag was completely stuffed with filthy boxer shorts. When questioned by authorities prior to his mandatory transfer to the Guantanamo facilities, the defiant janitor said, “What happens in Vegas doesn’t necessarily stay in Vegas.”
Friday, May 15, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
THE BIRTHDAY BASH
SCENE ONE
A white-haired gentleman in paint-spattered blue jeans and a shapely middle-age blonde behind sunglasses are strolling down a long corridor of a well-appointed spa.
Ambient Sound Effects: (Choose Three)
Gurgling Waterfall
Vacuum Cleaner
Chopin Etude flurries
Parrot/Tropical Bird calls
Cell Phone tones
Washing Machines
Man: CAPS
Woman: U & lc
Other characters attributed by name
I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE THAT THIS ISN’T JUST SOME BEAUTIFUL DREAM THAT’S GOING TO EVAPORATE IN THE TWINKLING OF AN EYE!
Do you want me to pinch you?
YES, RIGHT HERE.
Roll up your sleeve.
OUCH! YOU REALLY DO HAVE STRONG HANDS! JUST LIKE YOU DID IN “MARRIED TO THE MOB.”
Ha ha. The writers threw that in when they saw me open a jar on the set.
BUT NO ROLE YOU EVER PLAYED WOULD HAVE PREPARED ME TO COMPREHEND YOUR GENEROSITY OF SPIRIT IN AGREEING TO DO THIS!
It’s for a good cause—getting Obsessive Compulsive Seniors to become more proactive about Colon Cancer Prevention. But honestly, I’m not that altruistic. Both my accountant and my agent thought it would be a good idea to sign on to this campaign.
IS THIS A PERSONAL ISSUE FOR YOU? DID YOU KNOW SOMEBODY WHO WAS AFFLICTED WITH EITHER CONDITION?
Of course, we all do. How did you get involved?
I HAD ONE OF THOSE SUBSTANDARD PHYSICALS LAST YEAR, AND I PASSED ALL MY VITAL TESTS, EXCEPT FOR ONE—WHICH I REFUSED TO TAKE. THE DOCTOR THOUGHT I WAS KIDDING WHEN I SAID THAT I NEEDED MORPHINE AT MY FRONT DOOR IN ORDER TO SHOW UP FOR A COLONOSCOPY.
The AMA and insurance companies would never permit such a thing! But actually, it doesn’t seem too unreasonable a request to me.
ME, NEITHER! SO SHE ENTERED MY NAME IN YOUR INCREDIBLY WONDERFUL CHARITY. I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW THAT THERE WAS A “MAKE-A-WISH” FOUNDATION FOR INDIGENT PHOBIC ADULTS. WHEN THEY TOLD ME I WON THE CONTEST, THE FIRST THING THAT CAME INTO MY MIND WAS TAKING A BUBBLE BATH WITH YOU!
.
You flatter me.
PLEASE, I’M JUST TRYING TO EXPRESS MY GRATITUDE FOR ALLOWING ME THIS PRECIOUS HOUR WITH YOU. THERE’S NO OTHER WAY I COULD POSSIBLY AGREE TO THE HORRIBLE INVASIVE EXAM.
But surely you’ve been naked with other women?
S-SURE, BUT THEY PALE BEFORE YOU! MICHELLE, WE HAVEN’T EVEN ENTERED “THE GOLDEN STATE,” BUT I KNOW THAT I WILL N-NEVER--
The conversation is cut short by the sudden arrival of “Charles,” an attendant. He is the space age equivalent of the Philip Morris “Johnny,” bearing towels and a basket filled with bath items: a loufa sponge, a long massage brush, ointments and a bottle of champagne.
CHARLES: Right this way to the atrium folks. Don’t worry, Miss Pfeiffer. There are no paparazzi here. For the rest of the morning, only staff will be on hand—including a full kitchen—and, of course, Security.
WOULD YOU BELIEVE THAT THIS IS MY 63RD BIRTHDAY? WHAT A WAY TO CELEBRATE!!
I just want to remind you that you are now legally bound to get that colonoscopy. Charles, do you have a copy of the forms?
Charles reaches into his lapel and pulls out a business envelope, which he hands to MP.
I just want to make sure. Here it is…Good Samaritan Hospital in Cincinnati…Sept. 19…7 am. I see that it’s notarized. Very good.
OKAY, OKAY! I SAID I WOULD!
Oh, my. Do I detect a note of anger?
Charles reaches for his cell as though it were a weapon, but he is restrained by MP with a gentle arm motion.
N-NO. SORRY!!! PLEASE, LET’S GET GOING. THIS DOESN’T COUNT AS PART OF MY HOUR WITH YOU, DOES IT?
SCENE TWO
The bath basket rests atop a squat marble column. In addition to the towels from the gift basket, there is a tall rack stocked high with others in pastel colors ,all thick as cereal boxes. The paint-spattered jeans are visible in the background, hanging from a hook. A spacious black marble Jacuzzi tub is sunken into the floor, flanked in elegant terrazzo. The man and woman are submerged in a bubbly froth, facing each other with legs intertwined. The loufa sponge is conspicuous, like a cigarette butt on the perimeter of a giant ashtray.
HOW CAN YOU STAND THE WATER THIS HOT?
It opens the pores up. But if the water is too hot, how can you stand it?
BECAUSE YOU’RE IN IT?
I see. Well, you’ll get used to it.
MAY I MASSAGE YOUR FEET?
I suppose that would be alright.
Oooh, that’s so nice. How did you get so good at this?
Because I just do what I know would feel good for me. my feet are in constant agony! One of my guilty pleasures is sitting under a tree and massaging my aching pups, even though People gawk. There’s something about doing that in public, even at a state park, than annoys ‘em.
“’Pups?’ That’s quaint.”
IT IS? OH, THAT’S RIGHT…YOU WERE BORN IN ’58. THAT WAS ONE OF MY FATHER’S EXPRESSIONS, AND HE WAS BORN IN ’09. BY THE WAY, HE WAS BATBOY FOR THE CHICAGO WHITE SOX THE YEAR THEY WERE CALLED “THE BLACK SOX”--BECAUSE THEY INTENTIONALLY LOST THE PENNANT RACE!
How did you find out my birthday?
I GOOGLED YOU AFTER I WON THE CONTEST. I HOPE YOU DON’T THINK I’M A VOYEUR.
I’m not too sure about you, but you certainly know your way around my arches. All those years in high heels have taken their toll.
YES, MY ORTHOPEDIC SURGEON TOLD ME ABOUT THE LONGTERM EFFECTS OF HIGH HEELS ON WOMEN. I ILLUSTRATED A MEDICAL TEXT BOOK FOR HIM BACK IN ’92.
No kidding? Well, let me do your Achilles tendons while you do mine.
NO, THAT’S OKAY. PLEASE, DON’T. REALLY I’D RATHER THAT…
Eek! What’s wrong with your big toes? They don’t have any nails!
IF YOU MUST KNOW, I HAD THEM PERMANENTLY REMOVED. FOR ALL THE PAIN THEY BROUGHT ME, I WISH I’D HAD IT DONE WHEN I WAS CIRCUMSIZED.
What kind of pain?
HANG NAILS. IMAGINE TRYING TO DISLODGE A TOENAIL THAT’S MADE DIRECT CONTACT WITH THE NERVES AROUND A NAIL BED! IT’S AGONY TO EVEN WEAR SOCKS!!
IT STARTED WITH THE RIGHT FOOT. HMMM. NO, IT STARTED WHEN I BROKE MY RIGHT FEMUR WHEN YOU WERE JUST A LITTLE GIRL. THE LEG NEVER SET PROPERLY, AND SO MY FOOT CANTED SLIGHTLY INWARD. THAT CONSTANT MISSTEP PUT RELENTLESS PRESSURE ON THE LEFT SIDE OF THE NAIL BED.
What about the left foot?
THAT ONE STARTED AFTER A TERRIBLE LADDER ACCIDENT ON FATHER’S DAY, 1990. MY HEEL WAS CRUSHED! LUCKILY, MY WIFE FOUND THAT SURGEON WHO WAS WILLING TO PERFORM AN OPERATION THAT WAS NEW BACK THEN.
HE WAS ABLE TO GIVE ME A NEW HEEL THAT HAD BOTH TRACTION AND MOBILITY BY GRAFTING BONE FROM MY HIP. OF COURSE, THE OPERATION WASN’T PERFECT. THE LEFT TOE NAIL STARTED TO “GO SOUTH” (YOU KNOW THAT EXPRESSION? GOOD) FOR SEVERAL YEARS.
I TRIED TO DO PREEMPTIVE SURGERY WITH XACTO BLADES, BUT FINALLY I SCRAPED TOGETHER THE 300 BUCKS NEEDED FOR THE TOTAL NAIL REMOVAL.
Oh, we forgot to peg the time! Charles!?
The unseen attendant’s muffled voice: Yes, ma’am. Is everything all right?
How much time do we have left?
CHARLES: Exactly 41 minutes.
Would you be a dear and give us a ten minute warning before the session is over?
CHARLES: No problem.
HEY, I DIDN’T REALIZE WE HAD AN AUDIENCE!
Don’t worry, he’s sworn to secrecy. Besides, he’s heard it all. Oh, c’mon, don’t sulk. Just soak! A frown is so unattractive on an old man. Just kidding. Ew, what’s that?
What? You haven’t seen varicose veins before?
No, that!!!
THAT, MY DEAR, IS A BUNION.
Oh, I always wondered what one looked like.
ACTUALLY, MINE IS RELATIVELY SMALL. THEY CAN BE AS LARGE AS CUE BALLS. UH, HEY, IS IT TRUE THAT YOU’VE BEEN PAINTING ALL YOUR LIFE? WHAT SORT OF STUFF DO YOU DO? WHAT MEDIUM DO YOU PREFER?
I certainly did get a good Googling from you. Yes, if you must know, I paint.
MAYBE THERE’S SOMETHING I COULD SHOW YOU! I’M ONE OF THE FEW PEOPLE AROUND WHO STILL USE A MAHLSTICK. IT’S AN ANCIENT TOOL THAT WAS ABANDONED WITH THE ASCENDANCY OF MODERN ART. BUT IT WAS CONSIDERED TO BE ESSENTIAL FOR CENTURIES. YOU CAN GET SUCH GREAT CONTROL! I EVEN USE IT FOR PEN AND INK SOMETIMES!
Oh, yes. I wondered what that little stick was. I’ve seen it in several old self-portraits.
THAT’S RIGHT! SOMETIMES IT’S CALLED A “REST STICK,” BUT THAT’S NOT WHAT IT TRULY IS. IT ALLOWS FOR AMBIDEXTROUS HANDLING OF THE BRUSH OR PEN. REALLY, YOU SHOULD LOOK INTO IT. HEY, MAYBE I COULD SHOW YOU?
Let’s be realistic. We have only have now. I have enough trouble finding time to paint without worrying about some new method or tool.
BUT, BUT
What are these sharp ridges on the bottoms of all your little toes? How strange. It’s like you have a little flesh zipper under each toe.
I KNOW. I SOMETIMES TRIM THEM WITH MY NAIL CLIPPERS. IT’S A CALLOUS THAT YOU GET WHEN YOUR FOOT DOESN’T HAVE THE PROPER ORIENTATION TO THE GROUND. EACH STEP IS AN IMPACT THAT FORCES THE UNDERSIDE TO COMPRESS. YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY: THE JOURNEY OF A 1000 MILES BEGINS WITH ONE STEP.
Oh, where did you see that one—in a fortune cookie?
(singing) “YOUR SMILE IS MUCH TOO WISE, YOU’RE DANGEROUS.”
I don’t know that song.
DAMN, I KEEP FORGETTING WE’RE THIRTEEN YEARS APART (actually 14 between April and July). BUT YOU SEEM LIKE SUCH AN AGELESS WOMAN TO ME.
Perhaps you’d rather bathe with a woman who knows all the old hits and show tunes?
NO, NO, NOTHING OF THE SORT! I WAS JUST REMARKING ON OUR AGE DIFFERENCE, THAT’S ALL.
I wonder if we should order a little something. Are you hungry?
You’re calling out for lunch? You know, my absolute favorite lunch is a minute steak with little wedges of tomato on the side—both heavily peppered. That’s what mom served me after a grueling Boy Scout camp out more than fifty years ago. (STRANGELY, THAT’S TED KENNEDY’S FAVORITE LUNCH, TOO.)
Would you believe it rained the entire time and we pitched our tent over a latrine that had been dug by a previous jamboree?
But I’d probably have a heart attack, eating my favorite food with the most beautiful woman in the world, stark naked.
Please don’t get all worked up. I was thinking of something very simple, like fruit salad and a baguette. We do have that champagne, you know.
YES, PERFECT.
You know what these toes remind me of? Did you ever see “The Creature from the Black Lagoon?”
.I DON’T APPRECIATE THAT.
Oh, it was really quite sweet, the way that he pined for his prey—Julie Adams.
YEAH, BUT IT WAS KIND OF KINKY WHEN HE CARRIED HER OFF TO HIS UNDERGROUND CHAMBER. WHAT WAS HE GOING TO DO WITH HER ON THAT WEIRD ALTAR?
I don’t remember that part.
BUT I BET YOU REMEMBER THE SOUNDTRACK. REMEMBER WHENEVER HE APPEARED THERE WAS THAT THREE NOTE VOLLEY: da da DAH! da da DAH! da da DAH!
Stop splashing me.
da da DAH! da da DAH! da da DAH!
Stop it!
CHARLES (from unseen intercom): Is everything alright?
Yes, don’t worry, Charles. Thanks for asking, though.
WHAT? YOU CAN’T TAKE A LITTLE HORSEPLAY?
Perhaps I was being a bit ageist. I wouldn’t have minded if you were about 20 years younger. But you did give me a start. You were so…convincing.
THANKS A LOT.
Ooh, c’mon. Cheer up. We only have a half hour left. Then you’ll never see me again. Shall we order now?
YOU GO AHEAD. I’M NOT TOO HUNGRY.
Charles?
CHARLES (immediately): Yes, dear?
Could I get some of Andres’ famous hummus dip with a vegetable and fruit platter with a lemon parfait and…(she deftly twists one of the old man’s nipples)
UH, UH, A BAKED POTATO WITH PLENTY OF BUTTER AND CHIVES
…and a baked potato with plenty of butter and chives and a Minute Steak with tomato wedges…and some freshly ground Sarawak peppercorns.
CHARLES: i’m on it.
WHAT IF IT GETS HERE AFTER OUR TIME IS UP?
Oh, I won’t be such a stickler if you promise to behave yourself.
THANKS, I APPRECIATE THAT. AND DON’T WORRY, NOT A DROP OF BATHWATER SHALL TOUCH YOUR LOVELY HAIR.
It better not. By the way, what are those speckled patches on the tops of both feet? It’s like you’ve got spats tattooed.
OH, THAT? I THINK IT WAS FROM A SIGN JOB IN 1984. IT WAS AN AUTOMOTIVE GARAGE IN SAN FRANCISCO. IT TOOK A WEEK TO FINISH, AND ONE NIGHT I LEFT MY BOOTS THERE. WHEN I CAME BACK THE NEXT DAY, ONE OF THE CEMENT CREW WAS WEARING ‘EM. I WAS REALLY PISSED, BUT THE GUY ACTED LIKE IT WAS NO BIG DEAL.
NOT ONLY WERE THE BOOTS RUINED, BUT HE WAS A VIET NAM VET AND HE HAD SOME KIND OF FUNGAL INFECTION THAT HAD NEVER HEALED. FOR THE NEXT YEAR MY FEET KEPT ITCHING AND, ON TOP OF ALL MY OTHER PROBLEMS, THE RASH NEVER COMPLETELY HEALED.
I see.
WHERE ARE YOU GOING?
Uh, I need to go to the “Ladies Room.”
I WILL NEVER FORGET THE SIGHT OF YOU EMERGING FROM THE BATH WITH SUDS SLIDING DOWN YOUR ASTONISHING BODY. CALL ME OLD FASHIONED, BUT, I’M SO GLAD THAT YOU DON’T SHAVE DOWN THERE.
You’re old fashioned, and possibly a pervert.
HEY, WHERE ARE YOU GOING? WE HAVE A LUXURIOUS BATHROOM RIGHT HERE.
It’s not private enough for me. Don’t worry, you old Billy goat, we’re off the clock.
YOU MEAN WE’RE IN THE ETERNAL PRESENT?
SCENE THREE
The old man is now alone in the spa. He tries to figure out what the various nozzles and handles do. He alternately laughs and curses with each new discovery. Finally he settles on a configuration and reclines back, arms cupped behind his head. Close-up of his face, which now radiates a Buddha-like calm. At the sound of the following dialogue, however, his eyes open wide and his countenance abruptly changes to the enraged shock of a Silent Film actor.
I thought you people were supposed to screen the applicants!
CHARLES: We did…his hospital signed him off when they processed the colonoscopy form.
Does it say anything about Jungle Rot? If I catch his Cooties, I’ll never get another bedroom scene.
CHARLES: Sweetheart, face it—that Bruce Willis flick was probably your last one. OUCH! That hurt!! Dammit, now my nose is bleeding.
I let you off easy. Look! I want a reputable doctor from Cedars-Sinai to check out these whack jobs. Not some charity ward out in the boondocks!
CHARLES Okay, we’ll 86 him!
He could make trouble for us. What if he squeals to the press?
CHARLES: Now you’re starting to sound like him. There is no more press.
Okay, then--You Tube?
CHARLES: Are you kidding me? Guys like that use their computers like typewriters, if they can even figure out how to use them.
What if he sues us?
CHARLES: Believe me, the guy will be more relieved than insulted, because now he doesn’t have to get a colonoscopy.
Okay…I guess. Call security. Where is that salad, by the way?
I’ll have him bring it on his way down…with a First-Aid Kit.
At some point during the above conversation, the old man emerges from the pool and grabs the first garment he finds—an ill-fitting pink robe which he quickly ties above his potbelly. This splays out the sides in an A shape, revealing his genital area. The dialogue that he hears has a slightly muffled quality, but every word is clear. From his body language, it is clear that the sound is coming somewhere from the ceiling. He is erratically placing around the edge of the Jacuzzi, shielding his brow, nervously inspecting everything above him.
We now hear a distinctly African American voice, booming: ONE ORCHARD HARVEST SALAD FOR OUR MAKE-A-WISH QUEEN. AND SOME COTTON
BALLS FOR POOR CHARLIE.
(jubilantly): Jonah?
A massive Af-Am wear in a stylish “power color” suit with a gleaming badge over the lapel is now in the room.
JONAH: How you doin’, sugar?
Where have you been. How have you been?
They embrace. The actress is seen from behind with Jonah’s mitts planted firmly on her robed ass. Her robe is the same color as the old man’s, but it fits her to a T.
JOHAH: Not much luck since Predator Parade III. The agency sends us over here to fill out their contract. You’re lookin’ fine, by the way.
Tell your little friend.
CHARLES: I’m sorry, okay? I was merely commenting on the obsession our culture has with youth..
JONAH: Tell you what. You finish up that salad and we’ll take out the trash.
There is a bank of several screens. They all show the same action, but from different overhead angles. The old man continues his frantic pacing, peering upward. The actress comments: Look, he can hear every word. Did you leave the audio on or something?
But at the mention that he is being watched, he stops in his tracks. He then sends a vulgar tirade up to his unseen tormentors/captors.
XX!!@&X!
He jostles the door handle in vain. Looking for a place to hide, he’s only got two options: the long towel closet, which resembles an upended box of Turkish taffy, or behind the door. He takes the latter, trembling and cowering, with one hands cupped over eyes (as it also clutches the loofa like a weapon), the other cupped over ear to the door.
Approaching footsteps. The door opens suddenly.
CHARLES: Where is he?
He makes a dash out the door, but is quickly apprehended by Jonah, who grabs him by the scruff of his collar and the belt of his robe, which forces the old man onto his tip toes.
CHARLES: I’ll grab his clothes. Wow, these underpants are remarkably clean!
JONAH: Don’t get none of that blood on ‘em.
CHARLES (with a tuft of cotton stuck in each nostril): Very funny.
JOHAH : Let’s go, old man.
What the hell do you people think you’re doing? Where is that bitch? I’ll call the police!
JONAH: Huh! You do that. Tell ‘em you were taking a bubble bath with Michelle Pfeiffer when all your troubles started.
CHARLES: By the way, that was only one of her stunt women. She’s an old high school friend of mine.
WH-A-A-A-T? BUT SHE SAID…SHE SAID…
JONAH: He said, she said. That says it all, don’t it old man?
The trio is marching through a long basement corridor with heating ducts and pipes honeycombing the interior. In the distance there is a single door with an exit sign.
Charles has the jeans draped over his shoulder. With one hand he is holding the sandals, shirt and boxer shorts. The other holds the door in a macabre version of a subservient bellhop, now opening the door to a busy city street, slightly bowing.
Jonah artfully shoves the hapless senior onto the sidewalk. He is seen in profile giving him the classic “bouncer’s lift.” (then clapping hands together in classic Good Riddance gesture): Have a good one!
Charles delivers the following line and then lapses into a hysterical falsetto shriek:
We’re rooting for you, guy! Here’s hoping you get that colonoscopy!
The door slams shut. EXIT ONLY is clearly visible from the distance. The old man still has the robe on, but he is erratically hopping on one leg into his paint-spattered pants. Cars whiz by with jeering occupants, one blaring obscene rap music.
FINIS
A white-haired gentleman in paint-spattered blue jeans and a shapely middle-age blonde behind sunglasses are strolling down a long corridor of a well-appointed spa.
Ambient Sound Effects: (Choose Three)
Gurgling Waterfall
Vacuum Cleaner
Chopin Etude flurries
Parrot/Tropical Bird calls
Cell Phone tones
Washing Machines
Man: CAPS
Woman: U & lc
Other characters attributed by name
I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE THAT THIS ISN’T JUST SOME BEAUTIFUL DREAM THAT’S GOING TO EVAPORATE IN THE TWINKLING OF AN EYE!
Do you want me to pinch you?
YES, RIGHT HERE.
Roll up your sleeve.
OUCH! YOU REALLY DO HAVE STRONG HANDS! JUST LIKE YOU DID IN “MARRIED TO THE MOB.”
Ha ha. The writers threw that in when they saw me open a jar on the set.
BUT NO ROLE YOU EVER PLAYED WOULD HAVE PREPARED ME TO COMPREHEND YOUR GENEROSITY OF SPIRIT IN AGREEING TO DO THIS!
It’s for a good cause—getting Obsessive Compulsive Seniors to become more proactive about Colon Cancer Prevention. But honestly, I’m not that altruistic. Both my accountant and my agent thought it would be a good idea to sign on to this campaign.
IS THIS A PERSONAL ISSUE FOR YOU? DID YOU KNOW SOMEBODY WHO WAS AFFLICTED WITH EITHER CONDITION?
Of course, we all do. How did you get involved?
I HAD ONE OF THOSE SUBSTANDARD PHYSICALS LAST YEAR, AND I PASSED ALL MY VITAL TESTS, EXCEPT FOR ONE—WHICH I REFUSED TO TAKE. THE DOCTOR THOUGHT I WAS KIDDING WHEN I SAID THAT I NEEDED MORPHINE AT MY FRONT DOOR IN ORDER TO SHOW UP FOR A COLONOSCOPY.
The AMA and insurance companies would never permit such a thing! But actually, it doesn’t seem too unreasonable a request to me.
ME, NEITHER! SO SHE ENTERED MY NAME IN YOUR INCREDIBLY WONDERFUL CHARITY. I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW THAT THERE WAS A “MAKE-A-WISH” FOUNDATION FOR INDIGENT PHOBIC ADULTS. WHEN THEY TOLD ME I WON THE CONTEST, THE FIRST THING THAT CAME INTO MY MIND WAS TAKING A BUBBLE BATH WITH YOU!
.
You flatter me.
PLEASE, I’M JUST TRYING TO EXPRESS MY GRATITUDE FOR ALLOWING ME THIS PRECIOUS HOUR WITH YOU. THERE’S NO OTHER WAY I COULD POSSIBLY AGREE TO THE HORRIBLE INVASIVE EXAM.
But surely you’ve been naked with other women?
S-SURE, BUT THEY PALE BEFORE YOU! MICHELLE, WE HAVEN’T EVEN ENTERED “THE GOLDEN STATE,” BUT I KNOW THAT I WILL N-NEVER--
The conversation is cut short by the sudden arrival of “Charles,” an attendant. He is the space age equivalent of the Philip Morris “Johnny,” bearing towels and a basket filled with bath items: a loufa sponge, a long massage brush, ointments and a bottle of champagne.
CHARLES: Right this way to the atrium folks. Don’t worry, Miss Pfeiffer. There are no paparazzi here. For the rest of the morning, only staff will be on hand—including a full kitchen—and, of course, Security.
WOULD YOU BELIEVE THAT THIS IS MY 63RD BIRTHDAY? WHAT A WAY TO CELEBRATE!!
I just want to remind you that you are now legally bound to get that colonoscopy. Charles, do you have a copy of the forms?
Charles reaches into his lapel and pulls out a business envelope, which he hands to MP.
I just want to make sure. Here it is…Good Samaritan Hospital in Cincinnati…Sept. 19…7 am. I see that it’s notarized. Very good.
OKAY, OKAY! I SAID I WOULD!
Oh, my. Do I detect a note of anger?
Charles reaches for his cell as though it were a weapon, but he is restrained by MP with a gentle arm motion.
N-NO. SORRY!!! PLEASE, LET’S GET GOING. THIS DOESN’T COUNT AS PART OF MY HOUR WITH YOU, DOES IT?
SCENE TWO
The bath basket rests atop a squat marble column. In addition to the towels from the gift basket, there is a tall rack stocked high with others in pastel colors ,all thick as cereal boxes. The paint-spattered jeans are visible in the background, hanging from a hook. A spacious black marble Jacuzzi tub is sunken into the floor, flanked in elegant terrazzo. The man and woman are submerged in a bubbly froth, facing each other with legs intertwined. The loufa sponge is conspicuous, like a cigarette butt on the perimeter of a giant ashtray.
HOW CAN YOU STAND THE WATER THIS HOT?
It opens the pores up. But if the water is too hot, how can you stand it?
BECAUSE YOU’RE IN IT?
I see. Well, you’ll get used to it.
MAY I MASSAGE YOUR FEET?
I suppose that would be alright.
Oooh, that’s so nice. How did you get so good at this?
Because I just do what I know would feel good for me. my feet are in constant agony! One of my guilty pleasures is sitting under a tree and massaging my aching pups, even though People gawk. There’s something about doing that in public, even at a state park, than annoys ‘em.
“’Pups?’ That’s quaint.”
IT IS? OH, THAT’S RIGHT…YOU WERE BORN IN ’58. THAT WAS ONE OF MY FATHER’S EXPRESSIONS, AND HE WAS BORN IN ’09. BY THE WAY, HE WAS BATBOY FOR THE CHICAGO WHITE SOX THE YEAR THEY WERE CALLED “THE BLACK SOX”--BECAUSE THEY INTENTIONALLY LOST THE PENNANT RACE!
How did you find out my birthday?
I GOOGLED YOU AFTER I WON THE CONTEST. I HOPE YOU DON’T THINK I’M A VOYEUR.
I’m not too sure about you, but you certainly know your way around my arches. All those years in high heels have taken their toll.
YES, MY ORTHOPEDIC SURGEON TOLD ME ABOUT THE LONGTERM EFFECTS OF HIGH HEELS ON WOMEN. I ILLUSTRATED A MEDICAL TEXT BOOK FOR HIM BACK IN ’92.
No kidding? Well, let me do your Achilles tendons while you do mine.
NO, THAT’S OKAY. PLEASE, DON’T. REALLY I’D RATHER THAT…
Eek! What’s wrong with your big toes? They don’t have any nails!
IF YOU MUST KNOW, I HAD THEM PERMANENTLY REMOVED. FOR ALL THE PAIN THEY BROUGHT ME, I WISH I’D HAD IT DONE WHEN I WAS CIRCUMSIZED.
What kind of pain?
HANG NAILS. IMAGINE TRYING TO DISLODGE A TOENAIL THAT’S MADE DIRECT CONTACT WITH THE NERVES AROUND A NAIL BED! IT’S AGONY TO EVEN WEAR SOCKS!!
IT STARTED WITH THE RIGHT FOOT. HMMM. NO, IT STARTED WHEN I BROKE MY RIGHT FEMUR WHEN YOU WERE JUST A LITTLE GIRL. THE LEG NEVER SET PROPERLY, AND SO MY FOOT CANTED SLIGHTLY INWARD. THAT CONSTANT MISSTEP PUT RELENTLESS PRESSURE ON THE LEFT SIDE OF THE NAIL BED.
What about the left foot?
THAT ONE STARTED AFTER A TERRIBLE LADDER ACCIDENT ON FATHER’S DAY, 1990. MY HEEL WAS CRUSHED! LUCKILY, MY WIFE FOUND THAT SURGEON WHO WAS WILLING TO PERFORM AN OPERATION THAT WAS NEW BACK THEN.
HE WAS ABLE TO GIVE ME A NEW HEEL THAT HAD BOTH TRACTION AND MOBILITY BY GRAFTING BONE FROM MY HIP. OF COURSE, THE OPERATION WASN’T PERFECT. THE LEFT TOE NAIL STARTED TO “GO SOUTH” (YOU KNOW THAT EXPRESSION? GOOD) FOR SEVERAL YEARS.
I TRIED TO DO PREEMPTIVE SURGERY WITH XACTO BLADES, BUT FINALLY I SCRAPED TOGETHER THE 300 BUCKS NEEDED FOR THE TOTAL NAIL REMOVAL.
Oh, we forgot to peg the time! Charles!?
The unseen attendant’s muffled voice: Yes, ma’am. Is everything all right?
How much time do we have left?
CHARLES: Exactly 41 minutes.
Would you be a dear and give us a ten minute warning before the session is over?
CHARLES: No problem.
HEY, I DIDN’T REALIZE WE HAD AN AUDIENCE!
Don’t worry, he’s sworn to secrecy. Besides, he’s heard it all. Oh, c’mon, don’t sulk. Just soak! A frown is so unattractive on an old man. Just kidding. Ew, what’s that?
What? You haven’t seen varicose veins before?
No, that!!!
THAT, MY DEAR, IS A BUNION.
Oh, I always wondered what one looked like.
ACTUALLY, MINE IS RELATIVELY SMALL. THEY CAN BE AS LARGE AS CUE BALLS. UH, HEY, IS IT TRUE THAT YOU’VE BEEN PAINTING ALL YOUR LIFE? WHAT SORT OF STUFF DO YOU DO? WHAT MEDIUM DO YOU PREFER?
I certainly did get a good Googling from you. Yes, if you must know, I paint.
MAYBE THERE’S SOMETHING I COULD SHOW YOU! I’M ONE OF THE FEW PEOPLE AROUND WHO STILL USE A MAHLSTICK. IT’S AN ANCIENT TOOL THAT WAS ABANDONED WITH THE ASCENDANCY OF MODERN ART. BUT IT WAS CONSIDERED TO BE ESSENTIAL FOR CENTURIES. YOU CAN GET SUCH GREAT CONTROL! I EVEN USE IT FOR PEN AND INK SOMETIMES!
Oh, yes. I wondered what that little stick was. I’ve seen it in several old self-portraits.
THAT’S RIGHT! SOMETIMES IT’S CALLED A “REST STICK,” BUT THAT’S NOT WHAT IT TRULY IS. IT ALLOWS FOR AMBIDEXTROUS HANDLING OF THE BRUSH OR PEN. REALLY, YOU SHOULD LOOK INTO IT. HEY, MAYBE I COULD SHOW YOU?
Let’s be realistic. We have only have now. I have enough trouble finding time to paint without worrying about some new method or tool.
BUT, BUT
What are these sharp ridges on the bottoms of all your little toes? How strange. It’s like you have a little flesh zipper under each toe.
I KNOW. I SOMETIMES TRIM THEM WITH MY NAIL CLIPPERS. IT’S A CALLOUS THAT YOU GET WHEN YOUR FOOT DOESN’T HAVE THE PROPER ORIENTATION TO THE GROUND. EACH STEP IS AN IMPACT THAT FORCES THE UNDERSIDE TO COMPRESS. YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY: THE JOURNEY OF A 1000 MILES BEGINS WITH ONE STEP.
Oh, where did you see that one—in a fortune cookie?
(singing) “YOUR SMILE IS MUCH TOO WISE, YOU’RE DANGEROUS.”
I don’t know that song.
DAMN, I KEEP FORGETTING WE’RE THIRTEEN YEARS APART (actually 14 between April and July). BUT YOU SEEM LIKE SUCH AN AGELESS WOMAN TO ME.
Perhaps you’d rather bathe with a woman who knows all the old hits and show tunes?
NO, NO, NOTHING OF THE SORT! I WAS JUST REMARKING ON OUR AGE DIFFERENCE, THAT’S ALL.
I wonder if we should order a little something. Are you hungry?
You’re calling out for lunch? You know, my absolute favorite lunch is a minute steak with little wedges of tomato on the side—both heavily peppered. That’s what mom served me after a grueling Boy Scout camp out more than fifty years ago. (STRANGELY, THAT’S TED KENNEDY’S FAVORITE LUNCH, TOO.)
Would you believe it rained the entire time and we pitched our tent over a latrine that had been dug by a previous jamboree?
But I’d probably have a heart attack, eating my favorite food with the most beautiful woman in the world, stark naked.
Please don’t get all worked up. I was thinking of something very simple, like fruit salad and a baguette. We do have that champagne, you know.
YES, PERFECT.
You know what these toes remind me of? Did you ever see “The Creature from the Black Lagoon?”
.I DON’T APPRECIATE THAT.
Oh, it was really quite sweet, the way that he pined for his prey—Julie Adams.
YEAH, BUT IT WAS KIND OF KINKY WHEN HE CARRIED HER OFF TO HIS UNDERGROUND CHAMBER. WHAT WAS HE GOING TO DO WITH HER ON THAT WEIRD ALTAR?
I don’t remember that part.
BUT I BET YOU REMEMBER THE SOUNDTRACK. REMEMBER WHENEVER HE APPEARED THERE WAS THAT THREE NOTE VOLLEY: da da DAH! da da DAH! da da DAH!
Stop splashing me.
da da DAH! da da DAH! da da DAH!
Stop it!
CHARLES (from unseen intercom): Is everything alright?
Yes, don’t worry, Charles. Thanks for asking, though.
WHAT? YOU CAN’T TAKE A LITTLE HORSEPLAY?
Perhaps I was being a bit ageist. I wouldn’t have minded if you were about 20 years younger. But you did give me a start. You were so…convincing.
THANKS A LOT.
Ooh, c’mon. Cheer up. We only have a half hour left. Then you’ll never see me again. Shall we order now?
YOU GO AHEAD. I’M NOT TOO HUNGRY.
Charles?
CHARLES (immediately): Yes, dear?
Could I get some of Andres’ famous hummus dip with a vegetable and fruit platter with a lemon parfait and…(she deftly twists one of the old man’s nipples)
UH, UH, A BAKED POTATO WITH PLENTY OF BUTTER AND CHIVES
…and a baked potato with plenty of butter and chives and a Minute Steak with tomato wedges…and some freshly ground Sarawak peppercorns.
CHARLES: i’m on it.
WHAT IF IT GETS HERE AFTER OUR TIME IS UP?
Oh, I won’t be such a stickler if you promise to behave yourself.
THANKS, I APPRECIATE THAT. AND DON’T WORRY, NOT A DROP OF BATHWATER SHALL TOUCH YOUR LOVELY HAIR.
It better not. By the way, what are those speckled patches on the tops of both feet? It’s like you’ve got spats tattooed.
OH, THAT? I THINK IT WAS FROM A SIGN JOB IN 1984. IT WAS AN AUTOMOTIVE GARAGE IN SAN FRANCISCO. IT TOOK A WEEK TO FINISH, AND ONE NIGHT I LEFT MY BOOTS THERE. WHEN I CAME BACK THE NEXT DAY, ONE OF THE CEMENT CREW WAS WEARING ‘EM. I WAS REALLY PISSED, BUT THE GUY ACTED LIKE IT WAS NO BIG DEAL.
NOT ONLY WERE THE BOOTS RUINED, BUT HE WAS A VIET NAM VET AND HE HAD SOME KIND OF FUNGAL INFECTION THAT HAD NEVER HEALED. FOR THE NEXT YEAR MY FEET KEPT ITCHING AND, ON TOP OF ALL MY OTHER PROBLEMS, THE RASH NEVER COMPLETELY HEALED.
I see.
WHERE ARE YOU GOING?
Uh, I need to go to the “Ladies Room.”
I WILL NEVER FORGET THE SIGHT OF YOU EMERGING FROM THE BATH WITH SUDS SLIDING DOWN YOUR ASTONISHING BODY. CALL ME OLD FASHIONED, BUT, I’M SO GLAD THAT YOU DON’T SHAVE DOWN THERE.
You’re old fashioned, and possibly a pervert.
HEY, WHERE ARE YOU GOING? WE HAVE A LUXURIOUS BATHROOM RIGHT HERE.
It’s not private enough for me. Don’t worry, you old Billy goat, we’re off the clock.
YOU MEAN WE’RE IN THE ETERNAL PRESENT?
SCENE THREE
The old man is now alone in the spa. He tries to figure out what the various nozzles and handles do. He alternately laughs and curses with each new discovery. Finally he settles on a configuration and reclines back, arms cupped behind his head. Close-up of his face, which now radiates a Buddha-like calm. At the sound of the following dialogue, however, his eyes open wide and his countenance abruptly changes to the enraged shock of a Silent Film actor.
I thought you people were supposed to screen the applicants!
CHARLES: We did…his hospital signed him off when they processed the colonoscopy form.
Does it say anything about Jungle Rot? If I catch his Cooties, I’ll never get another bedroom scene.
CHARLES: Sweetheart, face it—that Bruce Willis flick was probably your last one. OUCH! That hurt!! Dammit, now my nose is bleeding.
I let you off easy. Look! I want a reputable doctor from Cedars-Sinai to check out these whack jobs. Not some charity ward out in the boondocks!
CHARLES Okay, we’ll 86 him!
He could make trouble for us. What if he squeals to the press?
CHARLES: Now you’re starting to sound like him. There is no more press.
Okay, then--You Tube?
CHARLES: Are you kidding me? Guys like that use their computers like typewriters, if they can even figure out how to use them.
What if he sues us?
CHARLES: Believe me, the guy will be more relieved than insulted, because now he doesn’t have to get a colonoscopy.
Okay…I guess. Call security. Where is that salad, by the way?
I’ll have him bring it on his way down…with a First-Aid Kit.
At some point during the above conversation, the old man emerges from the pool and grabs the first garment he finds—an ill-fitting pink robe which he quickly ties above his potbelly. This splays out the sides in an A shape, revealing his genital area. The dialogue that he hears has a slightly muffled quality, but every word is clear. From his body language, it is clear that the sound is coming somewhere from the ceiling. He is erratically placing around the edge of the Jacuzzi, shielding his brow, nervously inspecting everything above him.
We now hear a distinctly African American voice, booming: ONE ORCHARD HARVEST SALAD FOR OUR MAKE-A-WISH QUEEN. AND SOME COTTON
BALLS FOR POOR CHARLIE.
(jubilantly): Jonah?
A massive Af-Am wear in a stylish “power color” suit with a gleaming badge over the lapel is now in the room.
JONAH: How you doin’, sugar?
Where have you been. How have you been?
They embrace. The actress is seen from behind with Jonah’s mitts planted firmly on her robed ass. Her robe is the same color as the old man’s, but it fits her to a T.
JOHAH: Not much luck since Predator Parade III. The agency sends us over here to fill out their contract. You’re lookin’ fine, by the way.
Tell your little friend.
CHARLES: I’m sorry, okay? I was merely commenting on the obsession our culture has with youth..
JONAH: Tell you what. You finish up that salad and we’ll take out the trash.
There is a bank of several screens. They all show the same action, but from different overhead angles. The old man continues his frantic pacing, peering upward. The actress comments: Look, he can hear every word. Did you leave the audio on or something?
But at the mention that he is being watched, he stops in his tracks. He then sends a vulgar tirade up to his unseen tormentors/captors.
XX!!@&X!
He jostles the door handle in vain. Looking for a place to hide, he’s only got two options: the long towel closet, which resembles an upended box of Turkish taffy, or behind the door. He takes the latter, trembling and cowering, with one hands cupped over eyes (as it also clutches the loofa like a weapon), the other cupped over ear to the door.
Approaching footsteps. The door opens suddenly.
CHARLES: Where is he?
He makes a dash out the door, but is quickly apprehended by Jonah, who grabs him by the scruff of his collar and the belt of his robe, which forces the old man onto his tip toes.
CHARLES: I’ll grab his clothes. Wow, these underpants are remarkably clean!
JONAH: Don’t get none of that blood on ‘em.
CHARLES (with a tuft of cotton stuck in each nostril): Very funny.
JOHAH : Let’s go, old man.
What the hell do you people think you’re doing? Where is that bitch? I’ll call the police!
JONAH: Huh! You do that. Tell ‘em you were taking a bubble bath with Michelle Pfeiffer when all your troubles started.
CHARLES: By the way, that was only one of her stunt women. She’s an old high school friend of mine.
WH-A-A-A-T? BUT SHE SAID…SHE SAID…
JONAH: He said, she said. That says it all, don’t it old man?
The trio is marching through a long basement corridor with heating ducts and pipes honeycombing the interior. In the distance there is a single door with an exit sign.
Charles has the jeans draped over his shoulder. With one hand he is holding the sandals, shirt and boxer shorts. The other holds the door in a macabre version of a subservient bellhop, now opening the door to a busy city street, slightly bowing.
Jonah artfully shoves the hapless senior onto the sidewalk. He is seen in profile giving him the classic “bouncer’s lift.” (then clapping hands together in classic Good Riddance gesture): Have a good one!
Charles delivers the following line and then lapses into a hysterical falsetto shriek:
We’re rooting for you, guy! Here’s hoping you get that colonoscopy!
The door slams shut. EXIT ONLY is clearly visible from the distance. The old man still has the robe on, but he is erratically hopping on one leg into his paint-spattered pants. Cars whiz by with jeering occupants, one blaring obscene rap music.
FINIS
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
1949
THE ORIGINAL CROWThe world changed so quickly after WWII, yet I was still privy to the slow pace of life without television. Today it’s actually newsworthy if a four-year-old kid is found a mile from home. Back then I’d be turned loose with my mother’s blessing (and to her temporary relief). I remember seeing a rack of comics in a variety store. It was mid afternoon and the sun was hitting them in such a way that the ones closest to the window were streaked in light and the titles that were stacked on the siderack had those garish and brilliant colors that weren't seen in such dense proximity anywhere else in the marketplace. Only dreams could compete—dreams of pure color which anticipated the wild Parchesi boards of acid visions down the road. Later at college I read an essay by Kandinsky about his relationship to color as a small child (he called it praeternatural color) and how that sensibility dulled over the years. I understood completely. Only the acid brought it back. I preferred the off-brand DC Funny Animal titles to the pristine Disney comics--especially Fox and Crow. There was something kind of brash and human about them. I especially liked the lettering, which was slightly ham-fisted and calligraphic when compared to the mechanical perfection of the balloons over Carl Barks’ antics. I understood only “THE,” “YOU,” “AND,” “I,” etc. I slept on the top berth of a bunk bed. There was a recessed tray that spanned the length of the mattress. That was my auto-didactic learning center. I copiously copied the balloons over and over again until certain shapes registered as words. It was important to me what sequence and position those pages were in, because there was a lot of trial and error in my intuitive search. The top pages had the latest discoveries, but I didn’t want the earlier successes to be covered. To take a break from my arduous efforts, I stared directly at the overhead light fixture, just a few feet away. It had a nautical compass motif, so that the NSE and W were orientation points for the entire world. My current eye problems and fixation with perspective space were probably set in motion by this regimen. One day I came home from school to discover that my mother had gotten rid of every scrap of those papers! She wouldn’t cop to the misdeed, either. She went about her labors impervious to my primal shitfit on the floor.The variety store where I encountered my first comics was soon destroyed by a fire. We went by and saw the gutted place in complete ruination through the shattered store front window. It was my first collision with the alchemical adage: As Above, So Below. The finalityof my lost papers was now mirrored in the ruins of that same store where I had first seen that twirling treasure trove of words and images!So eventually, the round screen Zenith arrived and the thought of claiming solace or even wanting it became a dubious proposition. My roving days were cut short. Then came the Catholic church with its medieval dogma and magic. The stained glass hearkened back to the praeternatural color, but the brilliant spectrum seemed secondary to the iconography that it served.
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