What if Icarus traveled not to the sun but to a black hole? This 40-minute 62-piece orchestral work is a mesmerizing adaptation of Icarus at the Edge of Time, Brian Greene’s book for children. A re-imagining of the Greek myth, which brings Einstein’s concepts of relativity to visceral, emotional life, it features an original score by Philip Glass, script adapted by Greene and David Henry Hwang and film created and directed by Al + Al. Performed live with narrator Liev Schreiber and the Orchestra of St. Luke’s, conducted by Brad Lubman. Continue reading
This post is a lesson on one great way to go about getting some insight from one’s dreams. George Costanza, fool extraordinaire, I wish he came in my dreams. If you want to become a a philosopher you’ll get a PhD with Seinfeld : all the characters are obnoxious and …bigger than life .
After a session of Seinfeld (as often as possible), I can say with Somerset Maugham
“It’s a funny thing about life; if you refuse to accept anything
but the best, you very often get it.”
I’ve had the entire cast of Seinfeld in my dreams…
…including, to my chagrin, George Costanza…
The loser to end all losers!
Whether I like it or not, if he’s in my dreams, some part of him must represent some a part of me…
So what do I share with that sniveling, lazy, self-centered, fearful sycophant?
Please don’t answer…
Well, I do see one trait in common:
We want everything to be just right.
George celebrates the perfect parking space at the hospital. He tries to combine sex, food, and TV for the perfect experience. We know how these attempts will end: in disaster.
When he finds the perfect girlfriend, the perfection makes him so nervous that he destroys the relationship…
If you’re trying to maintain a state of perfection, of course you’re going to worry! The perfect situation can not remain perfect. Change is the nature of…
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Imagine a rusty bolt on the garden door, which has been set wrong, or the door has sagged on its hinges since it was put on, and for years the bolt has never been shot efficiently: except by hammering it, or by lifting the door a little, and wriggling it home with effort. Imagine then that the old bolt is unscrewed, rubbed with emery paper, bathed in paraffin, polished with fine sand, generously oiled, and reset by a skilled workman with such nicety that it bolts and unbolts with the pressure of a finger – with the pressure of a feather – almost so that you could blow it open or shut. Can you imagine the feelings of the bolt? They are the feelings of glory which convalescent people have, after a fever. It would look forward to being bolted, yearning for the raptures of its sweet, succesful motion. Continue reading