Many Heads Were Taken that Day
“When was
that day exactly?” Maxton asked the Aluminum Oxida once the punch had been
exhausted and the crowd had moved on to the little cakes.
“That was
Abstract Expressionist Day 1997,” the Oxida recalled. He looked up at the ceiling of the
atrium. The recollection was displayed
across its bronze-colored surface like a lens flare about Robert Redford’s
baseball godhead. “I remember it
specifically because of that: May 11, 1997.”
“What is
Abstract Expressionist Day?” Maxton inquired.
He had taken a couple of little cakes, but no punch. He had never liked punch. It tasted too harsh.
“Abstract
Expressionist Day is one of those unofficial holidays like Talk Like a Pirate
Day or Cardboard Applicator Day that some wiseass cooks up to be cute, but it
actually had a serious message behind it: it celebrates the fact that anyone
can, and, in fact many people did, paint their own abstract expressionist
masterpieces.”
“Because the
whole movement was fraudulent?” Maxton suggested. Each little cake was adorned with either
sugary crumbles or real icing (not that foamy, oily shit that grocery store
bakeries put on their cakes) in fanciful depictions of current
celebrities. Mr. Trumpoline, the cartoon
character, had half his haircut bitten off before Maxton realized that he was
standing in the middle of a giant box.
“Funny to
think that one day the lid will be removed and something will reach in here and
select one of us.” This was the popular
theory, although Mr. Trumpoline championed an alternate one involving a giant
hat.
.
