So, when I was in grad school, I went through this artsy phase where I tried a lot of new food cuisines, attending plays and art exhibits, and tried overall to be more cultured. My success was limited at best - my favorite meal is still a Whopper Jr. with cheese - and I'm not sure I'm any smarter for it.
While I was in this phase, however, I went to see a play called 'Waiting for Godot.' If anyone out there has also seen it (or read it), major props to you. It was probably the longest two and a half hours of my life. Literally. The play, written by Samuel Beckett, is about two men, a boot, a tree, and this guy named Godot. The basic premise is these two men are waiting for Godot (hence the title) in this post-apocolyptic world. While waiting, they have many conversations about the meaning of life, the purpose of man's existence, etc. Blah, blah, blah. You get the drift. There are many interpretations of the play - everything from an allegory about the Cold War to a Jungeian description of the four archetypes of personality development. Whatever your interpretation is, the only thing I remember about this play is that GODOT NEVER SHOWED.
I keep thinking about this play as Brian and I sit around and wait for Baby B. The whole scare of last week - changing out schedules, keeping people on stand-by, etc - was really annoying. Just as annoying as the whole damn play. Like I've said before, it's not that I'm super anxious for this child to get here (cook, little fellow, cook) but it's more of when he will decide to make his entrance. And the 'when' part is making me crazy.
So we're kind of a modern tale of 'Waiting for Godot.' But instead of two men and a boot, we are a man, a woman, and a small brown cat, waiting for a baby. Feel free to draw your own existential interpretations. :-)
While I was in this phase, however, I went to see a play called 'Waiting for Godot.' If anyone out there has also seen it (or read it), major props to you. It was probably the longest two and a half hours of my life. Literally. The play, written by Samuel Beckett, is about two men, a boot, a tree, and this guy named Godot. The basic premise is these two men are waiting for Godot (hence the title) in this post-apocolyptic world. While waiting, they have many conversations about the meaning of life, the purpose of man's existence, etc. Blah, blah, blah. You get the drift. There are many interpretations of the play - everything from an allegory about the Cold War to a Jungeian description of the four archetypes of personality development. Whatever your interpretation is, the only thing I remember about this play is that GODOT NEVER SHOWED.
I keep thinking about this play as Brian and I sit around and wait for Baby B. The whole scare of last week - changing out schedules, keeping people on stand-by, etc - was really annoying. Just as annoying as the whole damn play. Like I've said before, it's not that I'm super anxious for this child to get here (cook, little fellow, cook) but it's more of when he will decide to make his entrance. And the 'when' part is making me crazy.
So we're kind of a modern tale of 'Waiting for Godot.' But instead of two men and a boot, we are a man, a woman, and a small brown cat, waiting for a baby. Feel free to draw your own existential interpretations. :-)
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