The barkeep says it exposes his establishment to a different demographic. The entire phenomenon begs for treatment as a romantic comedy. Can't you just see it, with Tobey MacGuire and Reese Witherspoon as recovering elementary school nerds, both having gone through a succession of failed relationships, falling for each other over trichotillomania? To give it the New York feel she's expert at imparting--and I mean that sincerely--Nora Ephron could be enlisted as writer/director. Coldplay could be recruited to provide a few suitable species of thirtysomething melancholia and angst to be played in the background during the main characters' long walks solo around Manhattan, contemplating the potential loss of their relationships, as they pore over the newest Scripps list of spelling bee words.
Now that I've pitched the story, remember that I get a piece of the theater and DVD receipts. Ciao, baby.
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