Star is on the phone from L.A. He is calling New York. At midday rates it's costing him almost four bits a minute. I lift the receiver and say hello. From a distance of over three thousand miles, by way of inconceivably complex electronic communications systems which take ordinary human speech and send it bouncing off a satellite some where beyond the ozone, I hear Star, who is on the phone from L.A., begin a simple conversation with a co-worker across the room. It is not absolutely necessary for Star to call me in New York in order to speak to a co-worker in L.A., but by doing just that, his conversation, no matter how common place, resonates with properties of the ages. It could be said that when Star speaks, the cosmos listens. Literally.

Star is a press rep for Aerosmith, the rock `n' roll band. Eventually he turns his attention from the co-worker to me. Aerosmith, he informs, is one of the biggest groups in the country. That is, they sell an awful lot of records and concert tickets. In the past they have frequently taken a bum rap from the press. For just this reason, they're now a little wary of journalists seeking their confidence. Star wants very much to be able to admit me to an exclusive club, to the close and closed inner circle that share their confidence. Star wants to be able to tell Aerosmith that I'm O.K. But am I, in fact, O.K? Will I gain their confidence and then ask dumb questions? In particular, will I ask the big dumb question in which Joe Perry and Steven Tyler of Aerosmith are compared to Keith Richard and Mick Jagger of the Rolling Stones? Silence bounces off a satellite beyond the ozone. Star is actually expecting an answer. I respond frankly to his silence. I hadn't intended, I say, to ask dumb questions, but then one never knows when inanity will strike, does one? To err, after all, is human. "Just don't," Star says outright. "We're talking about levels of hard rock here." The cosmos rattles.