I’ve quickly learned that late nights don’t necessarily mean late mornings and that breakfast is, in some cases, worth the sacrifice of sleep. What would you give for a “Digestive Milk Chocolate” crunch corner? These little yogurt cups are so addicting. They’re like a combination of the yogurt you pull out of the fridge and the toppings you pull out of the cupboard. In fact, that’s exactly what they are. I guess they’re not that exciting after all… History Class was all Romans and military security and trade and latin, and English Literature class was all Chaucer, The York Crucifixion mystery play, and the ‘Morte Darthur’ by Thomas Mallory. Chivalry and not chivalry, knights and knaves, royalty and bumpkins, a medieval portrayal of the crucifixion of Christ – a real phantasmagoria of white and black with a fruitful an exploration of all the shades of gray. In other words, Is being well-mannered the same as living well? All of this was too much for me to handle so I figured the most apt escape strategy was to put my skull in a hole and turn off the lights. Or nap. For a couple of hours. Until I felt ready to tackle the real crux of the day, or Shakespeare’s Tempest at the Roundhouse Theater by the Royal Shakespeare company.
How dare a man be so fantastically and eloquently reminiscent about the sum of his life’s work? Before we (Robbie, Hayley, Paul, Kim, Scotty, Shelby) left for the Tempest, that same Tim Slover reminded us (or informed us for the first time, as was my case), that The Tempest was Shakespeare’s last planned solo play, the last time he would put pen to paper in an individually creative endeavor for the rest of life. Besides the fact that the dialogue in The Tempest is both graceful and poignant to the point of tears, that important context made July 27th’s Tempest production quite possibly the best play I’ve ever seen. I think for the first time I really saw the gravity hiding behind the incredibly distracting aesthetic beauty of good theater. Theater, and indeed literature in general, rips the deep existential quandaries from our emotional safes, that the havens once guarded by stony-faced watchmen “Small-talk” and “Errands” must face nemeses, Meaning and Vulnerability. Is this not a more powerful and noble pursuit than trade, than science, than technology?
Men live and die for icons; science just changes the way they live and die.
Then I went back to bed 🙂