With a capital "B," and that rhymes with "P" and that stands for...

"The Music Man? Really?" asked Isabella.

"Yes, why? Do you not like The Music Man?"

"No," she replied, "I do like it. I just didn't expect you to like it- it's just another facet I have to take in."

"What's not to like?" I replied.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather see Midnight in Paris?"

"No, I'd rather see The Music Man- we have a few more weeks to see Midnight in Paris."

Later last night, during the "Marion the Librarian" scene I said, "Watch- I think the way she gets handed off to each man is simply brilliant, and I love when she tosses off her glasses." I do love it when a woman succumbs to the pleasure right in front of her- whether it's in a library or a parking lot.

When it was over she said, "You're right- this is brilliant. I've forgotten."

She reminded me of how popular Buddy Hackett was at the time, the only excuse for the one bit of miscasting in the entire film.

When it ended, we made our way back from Oakland to the City.

On the BART ride home I explained why I once had the desire to perform a one-man Macbeth or Richard II in Union Square (I never did do such a thing- I only wanted to). She found this amusing in the extreme- and inquired about how I would have killed myself. "Oh that part would have been easy," I tossed back.

Forty-five minutes later, standing on Cyril Magnin, I called the police so they could help the girl whose date couldn't get her to stand up out of her own vomit, despite what appeared to be a continuous, strenuous effort on his part. She had on unusually unflattering underwear for a woman in her twenties, as if she hadn't intended to expose them later, but now they were plainly visible to anyone passing by, as her short dress was now riding upon her substantial midriff. Another date gone horribly awry- one of thousands undoubtedly unravelling at that moment all across the West Coast after midnight. I've been there, though not exactly in the same way.

One day I may write about how I took a woman back to her apartment one night- a jazz singer I was dating at the time who had been performing earlier in the evening. Back at her apartment, she took off her shoes, her dress, and much of everything else, then excused herself to go to the bathroom. Five, maybe ten minutes later, I heard a loud crash and the sound of breaking glass. I spent the next three hours talking with the police and paramedics, trying to explain that I really had no idea why she had tried to commit suicide. I guess now I don't have to write about that- you now have the details. She survived, and currently lives with a man she calls "the world's greatest husband," though I suspect he is ignorant about some things, not the least of which is that night I'm sure, which allows him to retain the moniker.

Isabella and I stopped to order some Thai food to go, then headed to the liquor store for further provisions. Along the way we discussed drugs- how and how not to use them. Their appropriateness and the opposite. I told her about how when I was under the influence of a certain substance it took me three nights to watch "Far From Heaven" because I kept getting sidetracked by the use of color in the film to signify the emotional state of the characters and I kept rewinding certain scenes over and over again. I may have done this even if I didn't have a thing for Julianne Moore, but certainly an altered state of mind was a contributing factor.

Thankfully, because it was already late, we never made it to discussing In the Cut- another movie it took me many evenings to fully absorb.. I'll save that for another time. But have you ever wondered what it takes to go there? I think about that all the time.