An exercise in futility

This being my first experience with the blogging universe, I'm somewhat taken aback by the freedom offered by this space.

"I can post anything?"
"Yes."
"And people will read it?"
"No."
"Well then."

In any event, I feel a need to use this as an online journal of sorts. It's been a while since I've written anything, and this, hopefully, will shatter the 'ossification of the mental faculties.' Plus, I'm going on a wicked-awesome road trip this summer and plan to take along a lot of Vonnegut and drugs. If that ain't journal material, I really don't know what is.

***

Last night, I went to see a play with my friend Diana (and some guy that I apparently know named David). "Dialogue and Rebuttal" by Gao Xingjian, Nobel Laureate in Literature (2000). Part of me feels that I'm simply unable to fully experience a work of art centred in a cultural tradition I'm unfamiliar with, and part of me just wonders how this fucker won the Nobel Prize. The play is billed as a 'modern Zen drama,' which apparently divests it of the need for Western conventions such as 'a plot,' and 'characters.' (And, incidentally, 'clothing.' I've now had at least 300% of my recommended daily allowance of scrotum.)

The lines are spoken by 'Man,' and 'Woman,' who are more or less archetypes of their genders. If they were actual patients, I'd say he has antisocial personality disorder, and she histrionic PD; they're taking their genders to extremes, in other words. I see Gao's intention in having the audience's experience be one of reflecting their own lives in the words of the characters; in that sense, the first act works rather well. There's some nuggets of wisdom there. Unfortunately, the first act ends with a double homicide and the nuggets get stuck and turn into intellectual dingleberries, as the 'afterlife' becomes absolutely incomprehensible.

Death, apparently, consists of some crazy bitch yammering on about 'crumbling walls' and 'one crack! one crack!' before a Confucian monk opens a curtain to reveal an expanse of white nothingness. The play ended on that beautiful visual note, the characters silhouetted against the white void (nirvana?), but that's not enough to redeem my headache.

Di drags me to these things, and in her defense they're usually quite good: 'Lysistrata' was excellent, and 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' was an unbelievable production. Ironically (as everybody kept their clothes on), the latter was far sexier than 'Dialogue and Rebuttal.' Funny how nudity can be desexualized based on content. It's good, at any rate, to have a friend who will expose you to art beyond the photos of anorexic models in the lobbies of the shitty nightclubs that dot this town. We went for a drink with David afterwards: I told her I couldn't decide if she liked him or not, and she hit me and said she couldn't decide either. Heh.

***

In other news: I have purchased items of a consumer nature. Including some great Converse shoes for $40, and some workout gloves. Those'll come in handy at the gym; I've started lifting more often, and the callouses that are developing are a pain in the ass.

Today's workout:
Flat bench (10X3X105 lbs.)
Incline bench, machine (10X3X~100 lbs.)
Pec deck (10X3X105 lbs.)
Bicep curl (6X3X~50 lbs.)
Bicep hammers (10X3X20 lbs.)
Infraspinatus pulls (10X3X20 lbs.)
Subscapularis pulls (10X3X30 lbs.)

Add the 5K run I'm doing tonight, and I wonder why I'm going to sleep like a goddamn baby. Well, that and the staggering boredom from reading oncology notes all night.

I actually didn't mean to write this much, and I don't anticipate doing this daily: I do, however, want to see how this looks.