Wednesday, May 4th
Dear Fellow Victorians,
Yesterday at Happy Laundromat, coming out of the rain and into a conversation with my beau, I was blasted by an extraordinary gust of lover’s fear. My hands were shaking. My heart was a drunken bee. I worked hard to appear: fine. To anyone not wielding the microscope of intimacy, I appeared: fine. But if you peered at my innards, you would know that in that little moment, I was a terrible opera.
Beware the enormity of love.
Taking the train down from NYC, I note:
Gray New Jersey.
Crossing into Philly, there are rowers on the river.
I think of Thomas Eakins -
… and I’m reminded how inspiring it feels, every time, to leave a routine.
We all know there are two types of people in this world. Playwrights who by nature would keep a blog, and playwrights who wouldn’t. By temperament, I wouldn’t. I’m a private soul. That is why, up until now, I have only kept imaginary blogs. I have an imaginary blog about lighting design, in which I go see new plays and only talk about the qualities of light. I have another imaginary blog in which I give terrible professional advice to my friends. Do not steal my imaginary ideas. They may someday become manifest, like my imaginary tattoos.
In The Hard Problem, Tom Stoppard questions whether science can answer some of life’s most important questions. This is a subject that has pre-occupied him throughout his career, at least since his play Jumpers in 1972. He’s not the only one. Here’s a quote from a noted scientist of the 19th century: