Jamie Contemplates Life Without Tim

It had been six weeks.

Jamie Shupak, a early morning traffic reporter of some note, wondered if her fierce adherence to the Julian Calendar had caused her to miss an appointment with Tim Tebow, the American footballer whom she had grown attached to.

"It's not sexual, it really isn't," Jamie explained to Mister Snugglypants, a friend of hers who worked as a busboy at one of her favorite bistros, El Emen Oh.  She waited a long time for Mister Snugglypants to respond, before she realized that Mister Snugglypants was at the restaurant on Ludlow and Houston, while Jamie was in her efficiency apartment in the Chrysler Building.  Instead, Jamie turned to Sal D'Abbruze, her Teddy Bear, and said "In fact, I'm not even attracted to him.  But there is something intensely romantic about our relationship.  May I make you a waffle?"

Jamie took Sal D'Abbruze's silence as a yes, and she out a Lego in the toaster.

The phone rang.  It was Mister Snugglypants.

"Excuse me, Miss Jamie," Mister Snugglypants said in his prosodic voice. "Girlfriend, you just put a Lego in your toaster.  I think you meant to put an Eggo in."

"Is that what that smell is?" Jamie asked.  "But the commercial goes "Leggo my Eggo!"

"But still...oh, never mind.  Just unplug the toaster, and after it cools down, just throw it away. The toaster, I mean."

"Okay, Mister Snugglypants," Jamie said.  "Hey...how can you see me?"

"Nanny Cam.  Last time I was there, you put a Nanny Cam in there, so I could keep track of you.  We did it so you wouldn't accidentally set fire to things."

"Oh, of course."

"Well, I have to go back to work.  Alan Alda, the guitarist for the Strokes, is waiting for her Mojito."

"But, but, wait..."  But Mister Snugglypants had already hung up.

So Jamie did what she often did when she needed cheering up.  She made up sentences out of quotations from Tristan Tzara's DaDa Manifesto and the dialog of the Chuckles the Clown episode of Mary Tyler Moore.

"I destroy the drawers of the brain and of social organization: spread demoralization wherever I go and cast my hand from heaven to hell, my eyes from hell to heaven, restore the fecund wheel of a universal circus to objective forces and the imagination of every individual.  Murray--enough is enough. This is a Funeral. Somebody has died. It's not something to make jokes about. Logic imprisoned by the senses is an organic disease. Suppose he hadn't been dressed as a peanut?  Would it still be as funny?  Any attempt to conciliate an inexplicable momentary state with logic strikes me as a boring kind of game. The convention of the spoken language is ample and adequate for us, but for our solitude, for our intimate games and our literature we no longer need it."

With a smile on her face, Jamie Shupak fell to sleep.

Jamie Gets Sad

"A baptismal font?"
"A case of Poland Spring water."
"The head of a full-grown Brontosaurus."

Jamie Shupak took another sip of her Apple Martini and leaned close to Tim Tebow's ear so she could be heard over the din of the West Village bar, and continued.

"A baritone Ukelele."
"A 1980 style boom box," countered Tim, draining a glass of tonic, with two ice cubes.
"Four pairs of Uggs."
"A 35-pound English Bulldog."
"A microwave oven."
"An un-cooked rump roast."

Tim Tebow and Jamie Shupak were trying to name things smaller than Vincent D'Onofrio's head.

They had been sitting in Chumleys for nearly an hour, heatedly engaged in discussing various aspects of the subject.  Jamie was on her fourth cocktail; Tim, of course, drank only non-alcoholic beverages.

"The way I see it," Jamie proclaimed, "I was six years old before I was larger than Vincent D'Onofrio's head.  I mean, when I was six, you could have placed me in a full fish tank, I mean a fish tank completely filled with water, and I would have displaced less water than Vincent D'Onofrio's head."

"Mind you," countered Tim, "He is a great actor."
"No doubt about that," Jamie answered.  "I mean seriously flipping underrated.  And I suspect that the size of his head may be something that is out of his control.  Perhaps he is Cushingoid."
"Excuse me?"
"Cushingoid," replied Jamie, "which is to say, a person who has Cushing's syndrome.  One of the symptoms of this strange condition is the swelling of the face and head to nearly unbelievable proportions.  Why, I've been placed in fish tanks smaller than the head of someone with Cushings Syndrome."

Tim Tebow scratched his own head, which was also exceedingly large.  "Why," he asked, softly, "why the continued chatter about fish tanks?"
"Fish tanks?  I didn't say anything about fish tanks."
"Well," Tim said, "yes, yes, you did.  Twice in the last three minutes, you mentioned being placed in a fish tank."
"No I didn't."
"Yes, you did, sweet Jamie."

Jamie paused, raised her martini glass almost completely vertically so she could get the last drops of alcohol, and ordered another drink.  When she got it, she took a deep breath and began to talk, taking careful measures to avoid eye contact with Tim Tebow.

"My grandfather used to play a game with me," Jamie said, somberly.  "Well, it wasn't actually my grandfather.  It was a nice old man who taught at University with my father.  My father was a teacher, you know; for thirty years, he taught a class at U Penn on the rise and fall of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.  Anyway, he had this friend, I called him Grandpa Mule Ears, because, well, because of his ears.  They were rather large and gray, like a mule.  Anyway, you know how kids get measured by standing them up against the wall, and making a little pencil mark?"

Tim Tebow nodded.

"Well, Grandpa Mule Ears would measure me by dropping me into a full fish tank.  He would measure the amount of water that was displaced.  He would record his findings in a little book."  She paused. "It...it, it was awful down there.  I would come up with a mouthful of gravel.  I would be tasting fish food in my mouth for a week.  A Neon Tetra took off a piece of my upper lip."

Jamie Shupak burst into tears.  Tim Tebow attempted to comfort her by playing Barry Manilow's "Weekend In New England" on wine glass.  But she continued to sob, until her phone rang.

It was famous boxing commentator Bert Sugar.  He told Jamie that he was quite sure Sonny Liston's head was larger than Vincent D'Onofrio's.  Jamie then put Bert on speakerphone, and he told a long story about Talulah Bankhead and the 1949 Philadelphia Phillies.  By the time Bert got to the punchline -- "Legend has it, they didn't pull Robin Roberts out until 1952!" -- the whole bar was listening and laughing.  Bert had succeeded in cheering Jamie up.

Tim and Jamie share Memories of Art and Dogs

Jamie Shupak stared out of the window of the Market Diner.  She stirred a third spoon of sugar into her second cup of coffee, and was quiet for a long time.  


Her friend, Tim Tebow, appreciated these moments of shared silence.  


After a while, Jamie spoke.  "I love these evenings where Manhattan disappears into the clouds...when the city just fades into the mist.  I mean, it's just so beautiful.  The way the lights of the buildings just dissolve, like the city was just a dream in your mind.  Then all the most enormous skyscrapers, all the traffic, all the plans and hopes of the city, it's all just a hint, a hint of light or noise in the clouds...like the enormous, powerful city was just a dream."


Tim stared at Jamie's eyes, even though she was still looking out the window.  He couldn't help but notice that her eyes were rimmed with tears.  

"And, and of course it is a dream, in so many ways.  We all dreamed, one day, of being in this place...and here we are.  Here we are.  What are you thinking of, my friend?"

"Well," said Tim Tebow, "I was looking at the trucks...all those trucks rumbling down 10th Avenue.  All the places they're going, and places they are going to.  And this made me think of the Emperor Constantine...that moment on the bridge, when he won the battle on the Milvian Bridge, in 310 or 312, right, when he saw the cross, and knew he had to embrace Jesus. He travelled so far to reach that moment, that realization. I would like to honor that moment...with a parade up this avenue...perhaps a recreation of some sort, maybe on that bridge right outside the Javits center...or maybe I'll just construct a shoebox diorama."  

"That's very good!" Jamie Shupak said, excitedly.  "You know, I would love to make some shoebox dioramas.  I used to make a lot, when I was in Philadelphia.  I have some pictures on my iPhone.  Here...here, here's one of General Grant dictating general order number 9, in the Civil War, you know, the order expelling all the Jews from Tennessee.  Here's another, this is the hanging of Mary Surratt for conspiracy to kill President Lincoln.  Here's another one, this is Jack Parr weeping while hosting the Tonight Show.  And this one, this one here portrays the moment the owners of the Milwaukee Braves decided to move to Atlanta.  I like this one, because I made a shoebox diorama within a shoebox diorama, you can see that the owner, William Bartholomay, is thinking of a Civil War scene, and you can actually see a little shoebox with a little diorama of the burning of Atlanta in a thought balloon by his head. "

"Wow," said Tim Tebow.  "What dedication to craft."  

"How about you, Timmy," Jamie Shupak said, brushing a flare of black hair off her forehead.  "Surely you have some hobbies."  

Wordlessly, Tim Tebow revealed something in his hand.  It was a tiny figurine of television character Steve Urkel, fashioned entirely out of sugar.  Tim had molded the character with sugar and water, using honey as a fixing agent.  

"I make about five of these a day," Tebow said, proudly.  "If I am depressed, sometimes I make ten or fifteen.  And if I am in a really good mood, I make as many as 25.  Usually, I have some sort of theme, but since you once mentioned to me how much you love Urkel, I made this for you.  It'll last as long as you want it to, as long as you keep it away from water.  Mind you, I don't usually keep mine.  I usually photograph them, then feed them to my cat, Herr Speer."  

"What themes do you do?"

"Oh, almost anything!" Tim replied.  "Well, last week, I created a whole realization of William Blake's 'Jerusalem.' On June 14th, I did a series based on Joyce's 'Ulysees.'  That was quite popular...in my mind, of course!  I don't really share these with anyone, but, and I've never told anyone this, Jamie, there's a whole imaginary village I interact with on a daily basis.  It's called DuMontville, and it's based entirely on the characters from series on the old DuMont Network.  So I show them, usually, my work, and then I call out for Herr Speer, and tell him it's time for a treat."  


"You know, I fractured my sternum this afternoon," Tebow said, suddenly changing the subject.  "The film society of Lincoln Center was showing Abel Gance's Napoleon, and I was quite sure they had a reel out of order.  It turns out that wasn't correct, ha ha, I was basing my assumption on my familiarity with the 1998 restoration of the film, whereas the Film Society was showing an entirely new restoration of Napoleon!  How about that.  Anyway, I thought that they had skipped a reel, so I lept out of my seat.  Little did I know that Lauren Bacall's wheelchair was blocking the aisle!  I went barreling into that thing like an Indian bus  hitting a cow.  It was ugly, Jamie, it was very ugly.  Ms. Bacall was flattened like a funnel cake in a fat boy's mouth, and I went flying.  I landed about five or six rows away, in Sandy Kenyon's lap.  But that's not how I fractured my sternum."  


At this point, Tim Tebow went completely silent.  It was as if he had been distracted from the story he was telling.  He seemed deep in thought.  


"Tim?" Jamie Shupak said.  "Tim?  What's wrong?"  


He still didn't respond.  Jamie nudged his shoulder.  


"Ah....sorry," Tim Tebow said.  "I was thinking about when I was young...when I was face-to-face with Stan."  


"Stan...don't you mean Satan?" 


"Oh, no," answered Tim.  "I mean Stan.  He was my gym teacher in elementary school.  He would tell me to do things.  He would reward me by putting Matchbox cars in his wife's Lady Purse.  I would have to find them while blindfolded."


"Tim," Jamie said, "You were telling me about how you fractured your sternum."


"Yes, of course!  Okay, so I ran into Lauren Bacall's wheelchair, went flying, and landed in Sandy Kenyon's lap.  But that's not how I broke my sternum.  After that happened, I felt so ashamed, I ran to St. Patrick's Cathedral.  I wanted to pray a little and get my head together. But on the way out of the church I tripped and fell down the steps and broke my sternum."  

A Date to See The Impressionists, Part 1

Even if the calendar said it was spring, there was a sniff of winter in the air.  It was just a threat of a chill, sort of like when you sense bad news might be coming.  The sky, a wide strip between 5th Avenue and the park, was turning white, and the wind was picking up a little, just enough to cause Jamie Shupak to worry that all her best laid plans for her hair were rendered useless.

Jamie was standing on the south east corner of 5th avenue and 86th street.  She had been waiting for Tim Tebow for nearly 45 minutes.  They had made a plan to visit the Neue Gallerie, as both of them were enormously enamored with Austrian impressionism.  But where was he?  Jamie checked her phone again -- no texts, no messages.

The phone rang!  But it was only Boxing commentator Bert Sugar, asking Jamie her thoughts about Joe Frazier, specifically Smokin' Joe's little-known monograph, published by Colgate University Press in 1981, on the MI5's code-breaking and the Nazi's infamous Enigma machine.

Finally, a small man dressed as Broadway columnist Walter Winchell arrived.  He insisted he was Walter Winchell, but Jamie knew better, since she was fully aware that Winchell had died nearly half a century earlier, having outlived his fame.  When Jamie questioned the peculiar Gentleman, he insisted he was Winchell, repeating the phrase over and over "Fame has a short shadow."

The faux Winchell handed Jamie a note.

It only had a large question mark on it, along with the phrase "String!  Barrels and barrels of string!"

Jamie asked the faux Winchell who had given him this note.  He only repeated "Fame has a short shadow" over and over again, but he accompanied this with an  elaborate pantomime featuring Balinese shadow puppets.  From this pantomime,  Jamie was able to decipher that the note was from Tebow, and he was, in fact, waiting for her outside the Whitney Museum.

Jamie tipped the Faux Winchell messenger by giving him ten Canadian dollars and she rushed over to the Whitney, which was only three blocks away.

When she arrived, she found Tim Tebow seated comfortably on one of the museum's low concrete walls.  He was speaking to a small group of Ukrainian schoolchildren.

"The song," he said, "clearly states that the first thing you know, Ol' Jed's a millionaire.  It completely omits what was no doubt the rather complicated process of tapping the oil mine.  Where did the workers live?  Did Jed lease the property to the oil company, or sell it outright?  If he did lease it, how long was that lease?  Did the workers buy their goods from a company store, and if not, were they given a per diem, in addition to their salaries?  Was oil found on neighboring properties, and if so, did Jed have a 'favored nations' clause with the oil company? And I have not even begun to address the EPA and OSHA issues involved in this sort of transaction.  But I could, believe me, I could.  In any event, this deceptively simple theme song gives a rather unfortunate and damaging impression of the process of accumulating income in America."

Tebow then took out his iPad and showed the children a funny film featuring the 1972 Kansas City Chiefs kicking a kangaroo to death.  

Spotting Jamie, Tim stood on his hands and then spun on his head.  Popping to his feet, he explained that this was a solemn greeting of his own design, based on the martyrdom of St. Peter.

Jamie gave her own unique greeting, which involved imitating the hands of the clock that hung outside the famous Tick-Tock Diner in Clifton, New Jersey.  She proudly explained that she had taught actress Emma Watson this self-same greeting, and she had brought it to the four corners of the world, except for the Philippines, where it was easily confused for a local hand-signal that meant "The ice cream contains rat dung, call the authorities at once."

Jamie and Tim soon resolved the confusion about the museum location, and they headed back to the Neue Gallerie.

In Part 2, Jamie and Tim will share their mutual love for Oscar Kokoschka, Jamie will sing a song she composed on the lute called "Les Chansons De Philadelphia Eagles", and the new friends will discuss producing a musical based on the life of Lillian Russell.