I spent much of the day weeping over how I think cell phones are ruining the culture and how it breaks my heart that I will probably have to join Facebook in order to be employable. Weeping. Over Facebook. That's the sort of thing I do. And yet, despite all my nuanced feelings about how communication should be more personal, less general than Facebook status updates, I feel compelled to write about it on my blog. To....no one. To everyone. So, that makes sense. But there I was, in an existential tailspin, bemoaning the fractured nature of human connection.
Then I dried my eyes, powdered my nose, and went downstairs to see the winter production, which was Charles Mee's bobrauschenbergamerica. And guess what it was about? Human connection. Maybe the play I most needed to see at 4:30 today.
Art wins again. Thanks, art.
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