Pacing on the High Line one recent afternoon, Kevin Boyle and Rich Horan brandished signs that read, in bold block letters, âIdeas Wanted.â
âAny ideas to share?â Mr. Boyle asked a woman with a nose ring and a silver ponytail.
âNo,â she replied.
âWhat do you do with them?â the next passer-by asked.
âWe just give them back out,â Mr. Boyle said as Mr. Horan trotted after a gaggle of fleeing tourists.
âYou can't leave without giving us an idea,â he shouted. âIt's an American custom!â
The two men solicit ideas across New York City, from Rockaway Beach, where they live, to Wall Street. They get the usual spectrum of New York brushoffs: suspicion, skeptici sm, total lack of interest. But, inevitably, in a city that prides itself on intellectual and entrepreneurial ferment, they also get a lot of ideas.
They have gathered ideas for reflective nail polish, trumpet-shaped baby bottles, and levers to lift public toilet seats with the touch of a foot.
They have compiled suggestions for achieving world peace through soccer, repairing the educational system and even fixing all of New York's streets in a single day.
Their project is part documentary, part experiment, part performance art and part public service. They capture the pitches on video and post them on a YouTube channel called Ideas Improv, a kind of low-production-value cousin of the TED conference Web site that scatters the ideas to the wind.
Why? âBecause,â they like to say, âwe don't golf.â
If pressed, though, they explain that they have an idea about ideas. They are playing with two contradictory notions. One is that ideas have valu e whether they are executed or not. The other is that many people hoard ideas they will never act on â" but if they share them, maybe someone else will pursue them.
âThe idea will be executed, but the person who first thought about it will never know,â Mr. Boyle said.
That, of course, presents the biggest hurdle: convincing people that their intention is to spread ideas, not steal them.
âWe're not going to run home and work on their idea in our garage,â Mr. Horan, 58, explained.
The âIdeasâ idea started with failed ideas. Mr. Boyle, 53, had a lot of them.
A self-described dilettante, he says he is supported by âa loving wifeâ and some lucky real estate deals. He has carried a number of ideas to fruition: writing a book about Rockaway's heavy losses on Sept. 11, 2001, starting a charity called Graybeards and, for a time, editing one of the city's oldest newspapers, the Rockaway Wave.
But just as often, he has been shot dow n. In the 1980s, he wrote a thriller set in a future New York with a far lower crime rate. Too unrealistic, publishers said. Later, he opened a bar, but found he was âbetter at being a customer.â And last year, he thought he was well on the way to shooting a documentary on Representative Anthony D. Weiner's mayoral bid - Mr. Weiner seemed interested when Mr. Boyle buttonholed him on the Rockaway Boardwalk. But the very next day, the politician's errant Twitter message sank his campaign.
âThat idea went down the toilet faster than any idea I've ever had,â Mr. Boyle said. âThat got me thinking about ideas.â
He found himself in an intense philosophical debate with his brother, an artist, who argued that an idea's value is âall in the execution.â Mr. Boyle retorted, âWhy can't it be just as valuable in my head?â
At the time, he was between hobbies, apart from his weekly motorcycle rides with Mr. Horan. So he decided to collect ideas for idea s' sake.
In that spirit, on the High Line, Mr. Horan told a reluctant pedestrian: âIt doesn't have to be useful. It could be whimsical.â
âBut that wouldn't benefit anybody but me,â the man said.
âAh, but is that true?â Mr. Horan intoned.
After some badgering, the man coughed up an idea that was not exactly original: âSolar energy. Get rid of the oil companies.â
The next passer-by, an Australian named Colin Duncan, had a more unusual idea. New York should become a âghost town for a day,â with all traffic banned except for road engineers from far and wide. Then every pothole in the city could be fixed at once.
Watched one after another, the video clips illuminate an untapped corner of the city's hive mind, a brainstorming session whose mood ranges from lighthearted to grave. In the New York collectively envisioned by the contributors, there would be more arts programs in schools, better waterfront access, culturally accep ted afternoon siestas, and special trash cans to collect dog feces for composting.
âIt's a huge resource,â a composting enthusiast told Mr. Boyle.
One man wanted to design an app to enable smartphones to monitor joggers' heart rhythms. Another person suggested paparazzi on demand â" a rent-a-crowd service for people who want to pretend to be famous. Ed Shevlin, who was interviewed in celebratory St. Patrick's Day garb, wanted to star in a television show called âThe Biker Bucket List.â âI'll take you all over the world on the best roads out there,â he said, listing his favorites. âYou never have to leave the couch - I'll do all the riding for you.â
âFake solar panels that you roll out on your roofâ was another man's offering. âSo you get the sort of social capital of having solar panels and being green but it doesn't cost as much.â
Dan Finger, a patron at the Half King pub in Chelsea, expounded on his own notion for several deadpan minutes.
âMy idea,â he said, âis to pave South America and make it into the largest in-line Rollerblading rink in the world.â
Where it's all going, Mr. Boyle isn't sure: âWe are executing our idea even though we don't know what it is.â
Mr. Horan added, âThis is the best idea we've ever had.â
Any ideas? Share them with the world in the comment box below.