The Code

Everything is code. For example, what is the meaning of "Bye Bye Miss American Pie"? It was a big bullshit popular song in 1971 or '72 full of portent. It was code for at least three cliches: the end of an era, the end of innocence, and the end is near. How about the Beach Boy's "Wouldn't it be nice"? Now that was more profound.

How about "You Light Up My Life" as performed in sign language during the Academy Awards? How about the theme from "A Summer Place," a triumph of schmaltz and violins that rose to number two on the hit parade in 1958? How about "He's So Fine" later known as "My Sweet Lord"? How about "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun"?

These songs have meaning. The most insipid teenage handholder conceals a bonk or a boner, a bonus or a boob, a bra or a bodice, a banana peel or a blood orange, a ball and chain, a blast from the past, a blueberry yoghurt two months past its shelf date, a Bloody Mary, a blowhard mule, maximum braggadacio.

Goodbye, Mr. Chips, farewell Miss America, adieu Mrs. Miniver, aufwiedersehen Ms. Take, adios Mr. Ree, au revoir Madame Eggs, shalom the Missus, a domani Madame Merle, hasta la vista Mr. Kaminsky from Brooklyn and Mr. Scwhartz from Tony Curtis, so long Miss Sadie Lou, see you later, alligator, Ms. Benton on her back in Vermont.

The code is this. For male read female. For island read society. For church read brothel. For jail read camp. For code read ode. For now read then. For accident read intimate. For love read death. For death read tristesse following consummation of sex act with her, the one I love who belongs to comebody else.