February 21, 2010

Extravagant dreams for two nights. First it was an epic dream of living in Ireland. My two roommates were Nick Morgan and Margaret Scott. I forget what we were doing, but it was big, wide, joyful. Last night there was a sort of community along a river in the midst of a big city, and one met all one’s friends at camping places along the river, only they were young and unspoiled, as one first knew them. There were campfires and music and sex, and the city gleamed not too far off. It was a sort of Never-land. The dreams seem to be predicated on the impending release of the sabbatical.

A burlesque at the Arts Center last night, by a group called Bombs Away Cabaret. It was rough; it needed a firmer directorial hand, but it was amusing and, in places, well-wrought and sophisticated. The dancing was great. The story line was awful. The singing was adequate. I’ve seen as many naked boobs as I need to see for a while, but I admired the boldness, the glee, the not-infrequent wit. The jokes were actually funny. The crush of cigarette smokers on the porch was so great that one’s eyes stung with the smoke even though nobody lit up inside, enough was carried in on coats and hair. The show was a benefit to pay the medical bills of Jo Carson, whom I haven’t see in twenty years, but whom I remember fondly. It’s difficult not to use the event as an exhibit concerning how the people who think the American health care system is fine as it is need electro-shock treatment. Paid for by themselves.

Man in Mountain Java yesterday, with heavily tattooed arms, close cropped hair, a thick silver necklace, and a smell of patchouli off him. He sat in a chair by the fire reading a bible.

Shepherd’s True West at NC Stage this afternoon. The elderly were out in force, taking advantage of the daylight and the early hour. I had found a stack of free drink coupons, but didn’t have enough intermission to get really smashed. The vigor of the dialogue early on makes one think there’s more going on in the play than there really is. One sits back, then, and appreciates the skill of the actors, which was considerable.

Woke at 4 this morning to the sound of the big racoon knocking the lid off the can containing the fifty pounds of sunflower seeds. I ran out to prevent the theft, but when I turned on the light, there he was, hesitating, turning back, then looking at the door with his narrow, piercingly melancholy eyes. They said, “I can’t help it if I’m hungry. I remember you feeding me from your hand when I was a baby.” I turned off the light and let him forage.