play dough and plato

mes amis

In my salad days as a philosophy major, I often wiggled out of end of semester essays with the following proposal to my teachers. “May I take a creative approach and write a dialogue between Rousseau and Nietzsche and Pascal?” I was no secret I yearned for the theatre.

huba huba

huba huba

Inevitably my professors acquiesced, perhaps if only because such a proposal would result in a different kind of paper. One free of the dry and academic verbiage most coeds try on for size. Naturally, my paper was rife with other problems but I prefer to think of them fondly. In these philosophical playlets I always took liberties to set the philosophers in some French café amidst copious cappuccinos and cigarettes. A plethora puns and long monologues, with straight up quotations lifted from the ancient texts were other features of these mini-plays. There was also always a sassy-yet-wise waitress named Daisy whose off hand remarks would send the philosophers into thought tail spins. I was writing roles for myself even then!

...this was in my salad days, mind you

…this was in my salad days, mind you

None of these playlets survive my cannon. These were written on type writers in a pre-computer age after all! And now that I am retired I wish I could go back and read them.

In any case, it was with great zest and zeal that I visited JACK the other night to soak in Republic, a take on Plato’s great oevre directed by downtown scamp Alec Duffy. Mamma mia! I cannot write about it because I don’t want to spoil it for readers unlucky enough to have not yet seen it. Don’t wait, hurry yourselves!

sbrigati!

sbrigati!

In the meantime, dear readers, I urge to you take a look at this fine TDF article at Republic in which there are no spoils only toils of labor and love of wisdom.

a bientot!
kippy

p.s. working at the town rec department in my beloved brookline, ma, i recall an older gentleman with a delicious boston accent saying, “ooh shu-ah. phil-aw-sa-fee. that’s with umm ahh, plato and his little friend aris-taw-tle, right?” ooh how i miss the patois of my childhood homeland!

oh my lawd

oh my lawd

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