In Memory of A Postmodernist I Still Need to Read (and other musings on the recently past weekend)

I went to see the neo-futurists this weekend as they did one of their performances of Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind. It was fantastic, and I'll get back to it later in that portion, but I'd first like to reflect on just one of the thirty "plays" I saw there.

Writers Writing About Writers 2.0 was a short sketch where three neo-futurists sat at desks in front of the audience with yellow legal pads and composition notebooks. Another neo-futurist is at a blackboard. The voiceover narrator explains that they'll each write down the initials and date of death of the author on legal pad. These are taped to the board by the last of these. "William Butler Yeats, died January 28th 1939" (an important thing to note also is that I'm using Yeats as a filler, I can't remember who was first and I think it was a modernist poet) its almost shouted "C. S. Lewis, died November 22nd 1963" an interesting choice, later revelations may have elucidated why it might have been used "Kurt Vonnegut, died April 11th 2007" I winced, remembering hearing of his death. The voiceover narration continued, and it was a nice little sketch, very short. I noticed four and not three pieces of paper were taped to the blackboard. After the show I walked up to the blackboard and saw the pieces of paper with WBY 1/28/1939, CSL 11/22/1963 and KV 4/11/2007 and the one last one DFW 9/12/2008. I recalled that it was currently 9/13. I could only think of one writer DFW: David Foster Wallace. Had he died?

A side note on my at-least-weekly ritual: Recent Deaths. I check Wikipedia and find out who died. There are reasons for this, like my assumption that Studs Terkel's or Don DeLillo's death will go by unnoticed by major media, yet I'd want to know about it. I feel that's part of what our intimacy with authors, musicians and artists of our time involves. Part of it is I think an obsession with how much goes by me, how many influential people of whom I've never heard. Those are a couple of the main reasons. There must be more, and I even probably know what a couple of them are.

This time it was different. It was an author I knew about, and had been connected to my favorites, but I hadn't read anything but an article or two of his. He satconstantly on the book shelf of my mind waiting for me to get to him. Rest in Peace, DFW. I wish I'd gotten to know you before your untimely death. Maybe someday I'll know David Foster Wallace. Maybe I'll understand the suicide then. I know the concepts by which he wrote have always interested me. Sooner or later, I'll read Infinite Jest.

Now on the rest of the show. First of all, it has my full approval. That means if you're in Chicago and haven't seen it, I really reccomend going to a show. It's worth th seven plus roll of a die dollars you pay for a ticket, on average the cost of a movie on a weekend night. And it's typically more illuminating, every bit as enjoyable, far less reproduceable. I laughed at the comedy, respected all the performances, and saw some very cool ideas. It's very genuine: it isn't Shakespeare but it's local art of our times, and it isn't lacking. I'm definitely a fan. There were some great highlights in all genres of contemporary conceptual theatre. I can think of nobody I know who wouldn't have a good time. True, I could also probably find some major points to criticize in their performance, but it isn't my goal here.

I was planning on writing a little about what I'm up to besides, and some books, but I'd like to make sure this gets posted. However, one thing I will include is that Cory Doctorow has written a pretty nice collection of essays I've been working through called Content. It's Doctorow, so it's Creative Commons and therefore free for download. Here's a link:
http://craphound.com/content/

You might get a more extended report later.