I have some freelance work that I am completely avoiding this morning. Somehow putting stupid pictures of myself in the login icon thing on Windows and the Mac is more appealing. I don't blame myself for being avoidant. It is a nice not-quite-fall day outside. From where I sit I look on a vast expanse of suburban neighborhood lawn. The neighbor out what should be the dining room, but serves as a sort of all-purpose eatery and computer gathering spot has put up a John Kerry for President lawn sign.

A strange convergence in the blog force of SLC. I think I spotted and photographed Snyder Cider's Crazy Man Dee's (CMD). The suspected CMD is as Snyder describes him, save for the clothing:

Theres [sic] he stands, far greater then your average hobo.
He is a thin, old, black man draped in a Scrooge McDuck cap and flannel.
Like the many bums he has his cardboard sign of pity. A life story put as simply as "life has shit on me, need cash for crack". Or something like that.
Most bumbs [sic] just sit there and decay on the side of the road, but not Crazy Man Dee's, he walks up and down the road singing and dancing.
With a skill unmatched he uses his sign to air guitar, sax, drum, and anything else that the song requires.
He claps high then low all the time singing in a mumble with a Motown soul. (Snyder Cider, 9/22/2004)

There were a number of sign guys out on 21st South, the road that is sort-of the southern border of SLC proper, today. It is probably because of pay day or a Friday and they are scraping up for the weekend's booze or whatnot.

So you got to love Shakespeare. I mean, come on, here's a 440 hundred-year-old guy who pretty much encapsulated most of human experience in his work. There is always that strange epiphany when discussing his works; today, for example, we were talking about Much ado about Nothing and the conversation rolled around how easy it is for people to fool themselves into believing what they say. They are not lying to themselves, per se, mostly because that would be impossible (I won't go into that here); they are, however, many times saying something to convince themselves what they believe to be a valid reason and then buying into it lock, stock, hook, line and sinker. For example, in the play, Beatrice is quite convinced of the deceptive nature of men that she attacks them quite ferociously and, as she says, will have nothing to do with them. When, however, she overhears her friends saying that Benedick loves her, and how they lament how hard she is on men, she, quite naturally, pleads to herself that she really is not so cross to men, nor is she so mean-spirited. Similarly when Benedick overhears his friends discussing his resolution to never marry, his seeming distrust of women, and how unfortunate that is since the same Beatrice loves him dearly, he instantly changes his resolution that marriage is not a bad thing after all.

They see themselves in a mirror, as it were, and they don't like what they see. There is that insecurity thrown right at them. It is what keeps them from happiness. Or, if you like, they hear what they have said repeated back to them and they dislike what they hear. What they don't realize, of course, is that their friends are doing it purposely; they have fooled them both into falling one for another. The mirror, therefore, cheats them, but at the same time it reflects no more than what is really there. Kind of a fun house thing, I suppose.

And then there are the masks that both of them wear to protect themselves or be something they are not.

You know I used to think that Shakesperian comedy plots were hugely contrived. I guess too many things have happened to me to thinks so any more.

Richness is the vogue word for such texts, you know. I prefer to say that it is all about the connections we can make with the texts.

Oh yeah.

Goofed around with the trombone with Lucas and Jeff. Got one good lick in.