“I gotta find some new old shit to send Bob or else I’m going to have to write some new shit, because otherwise he is going to run out of shit in 2-3 months.”
“And then what happens?” my imaginary friend Glenn Liechtenstein asked.
“And then all hell breaks loose!” I answered him. But I didn’t say it out loud, a.) because with imaginary friends it doesn’t matter anyway and b.) because we were at the opera.
Carmen.
They were already deep into the third act and Célestine Galli-Marié was belting it out of the stadium.
The year was 1875.
I had made a special jump, not because I personally cared anything for opéra comique, but because I knew my good imaginary friend Glenn Liechtenstein did. And that day was Glenn Liechtenstein’s imaginary birthday.
I guess in a way it was also his actual birthday, because that was also the day upon which I conceived him. I could have easily enough imagined him a different birthday, but I never thought of it at the time, and by the time it could have made any difference it was already too late anyways.
But now I’m getting ahead of myself again.
You’ll have that when you’re a time traveller.
So it was Glenn Liechtenstein’s birthday. And I knew Glenn Liechtenstein was all into opéra comique. I knew because I was the one who had imagined him. So after looking up what opéra comique even was I looked for the greatest and most acclaimed example of it and then I looked for the premier date.
And the next thing you know it was the year 1875 and Glenn Liechtenstein and I were in Paris and I was working some old connections to secure us a pair of tickets to the premiere of Bizet’s latest opera, Carmen.
Glenn Liechtenstein was tickled and ecstatic beyond belief. It was the best imaginary birthday he’d ever had.
“What do you mean all hell breaks loose?” Glenn Liechtenstein asked me that night during the third act of the premier of Georges Bizet’s Carmen.
“Why don’t you quit talking?” I said. “Aren’t you supposed to be all interested in this opéra comique shit?”
“Yes I am,” he said. “But I am also a good friend who cares about you and your personal welfare.”
Oh yeah, I remembered. I did imagine him that way.
“Well I’m a good friend too,” I said. “Let’s just watch this…whatever it is!”
Glenn Liechtenstein smiled and nodded and once again became enthralled in his 19th century French Opera.
Me, I had no idea what was going on. As many times as I’ve been to France I still do not speak French.
Not a word.
Except for weewee. I always remembered that one.
So after the opera Glenn Liechtenstein turned to me and asked, “So what are you going to do about Bob and the column?”
“Oh,” I replied, kicking an old dead strumpet down the cobblestone street, “I don’t know. Just sort of wing it like always I guess.”
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