White Jacket Woman

A funny happened on the way to the opera...

Well, actually, that's not entirely true, we better replace "on the way to" with "on the way home from." That's better, now we have a funny thing happened on the way home from the opera. Still not entirely right, you see it wasn't so much the opera as it was the cinema: a funny thing happened on the way home from the cinema...better, but still riddled with untruth. To call Adam Sandler's latest movie, Click, cinema could get me beaten up in academic circles around the country, so lets go with: a funny thing happened on the way home for Click. Okay, now that the tag line is out of the way lets get on with the post.

a funny thing happened on the way home for Click...

Still chuckling from watching professor of linguistics Christopher Walken bouncing up and down, placing full stops in mid sentence and punctuating words like only he can, Jess and myself we're making our way through the bustling streets of our fair Metropolis to the car parked on the other side of the city. Not a particularly interesting journey once you delete the all too frequent drunken cries of yobbos in the night, but as the World Cup is on at the moment this only adds to the ambience of a city overflowing with soccer fans who have no idea of the sport there cheering for, but are patriotic to bone and most likely wasted on cheap 'n' nasty beer (works for me).

Somewhere between seeing the seedy bouncer of a seedy night club usher a group of young girls into his den for free entry and the car, we pass a guitar wielding busker, a busker of better than average talents it should be noted, yet nonetheless a site we've all scene before. Walking by, the independent musician suddenly comes to the understanding that his endless days of strumming Pearl Jam covers in cold doorways have come to an abrupt end, and inspired by his new muse, the struggling bard proceeds to sing a song about Jessie and her white jacket, which she wore this night more for instillation for the cold than to inspire art. Smiling, we carried on our journey.

Around thirty or so paces from the busker we stop, his lyrics still echoing in the distance. "How much change do you have on you?" I ask Jess. We count our loose pennies and make our way back to the doorway.

The music stops.

"Look," I begin "we've got about $4.50 here. It's yours. It's yours if you can scat for while on my friend's jacket here." Not knowing the code of the street musician, I think for a moment that I may have offended this gentlemen of the verse by forcing his material. Yet still mesmerized by lady muse, the busker glanced only for a second at Jessie's coat and inspiration flooded over him like confines of the dam of rhyme had been opened. No description I could ever conjure could ever do justice the magic of what came next, you'll have to downloaded and listen for yourself:

http://rapidshare.de/files/24039312/White_Jacket_Woman.mp3.html

What's so funny about these events is that I think the guy was genuinely trying to make a move on Jess, as he never took his eyes off her and seemed to be boxing me out of the way like Charles Barkley with every cord he played. Between the magic of Chris Walken and the song, I think Jess had the best night out of her life. Heck, Lord knows I did...