Big Questions and Inner Dialogue

Yes. I talk to myself. Sometimes little harmless conversations that may have to do with strange behavioral idiosyncrasies, others with big unanswerable (and somewhat pointless) existential content. Or not.

After a company event at L'Auberge du Lac where I miserably failed at gambling, I returned rushed to Midtown to catch Mildred's Umbrella Theater's production "Flu Season." Enjoying a breakfast of champions consisting of bloody mary's and crown and coke on our way there, I sobered up in the "buffat" and took a slight nap on the way back. A day like this makes internal dialogue so much more active as you go through different stages of psychosis. Excitement. Alcohol. Munchies. Cigarettes. Junk Food. Water. Nap. Sickness. Theater. Home. Dog.

Maybe it was this heterogenous roller coaster that put me in such a contemplative state to make "Flu Season" so exceptionally effective, or perhaps it was just fucking awesome. At any rate, it dealt with a similar range of dialogues: internal, external, connected and disjunct. Yes people do experience joy in winter and some do get cancer in a bright summer day. Life is not full of pathetic fallacy where winter is always the season of death while summer is cheerfully happy. If you'd live in Houston for one season cycle, you'd know this intimately.

"Flu Season" is about a lot of things, including playwriting, interpretation of events, failing positivity, hope and the inevitability of falling into darkness. It tells a linear story of a man and a woman falling in and out of love in Crossroads, a psychiatric facility, with asides from non-participating characters. Do you remember a moment in your life that changed the course of your history? You will be challenged with rather large questions like this or rather funny ironies like questioning whether two people can be alone.

I have always enjoyed the casual nature of Mildred's ambiance and the professionalism of their productions. Grab a beer and enjoy. You'll have just a few more days to catch this. More info here:

Picture above: set of Flu Season. Although I have to admit, I spent some time figuring out how these tetris-esque graphics fit together, it also made me think as to the disjunct and seemingly complicated and unpredictable pieces and somehow fit to make us psychologically whole.

PETA Conspires with Bengal Tiger to Eliminate Complete Indian Village

Humor me. It's late and I am under the narcoleptic haze (a la Bayadere style) of french fries dipped in hummus.

I am seriously thinking that Houston Ballet's La Bayadere, aka the Temple Dancer is a huge conspiracy similar to the terrorist methods of a suicide bomber as they try to annihilate a group of people. PETA, I believe, talked a Bengal tiger, let's call him Tony, into sacrificing himself in order to create a chaotic love polygon ending in the destruction of the the main temple in mythic India, killing everyone. Somehow, the snake got jealous and had to participate in the demise of mythic Indians (which by the way were wearing delicious costumes). How original sin-esque.

PETA was counting on people's stupid naivete regarding such a ridiculous false feeling of falling in "love" like it is ever perfect. They weren't counting on the high rate of divorce, the hours of counseling needed to work out why don't you take out the garbage and you spent how much type of issues. If they knew what their therapist and botox treatments would cost (thanks to stress wrinkles), they would have happily accepted the Tony as a pet and moved on.

Somehow, ballet makes falling in love magical. Being swept off your feet takes on a more literal meaning.

I love going to the ballet. But I have to admit, last night's experience was a deliciously strange combination of fast narrative, feature numbers within the story line, and some that really added nothing to story development except artistic and aesthetic eye/soul candy. And lots of piccolo. Lots and lots of stereotypical cutely annoying piccolo playing in what should have been the afterlife or Kingdom of Shades.

Moral of the story, don't kill a Bengal tiger or all everyone will end up dead. And PETA didn't count on afterlife reunions. So at the end, the guy gets the girl, and the girl gets the guy.

Photo: Ballet La Bayadère. Dancer: Melody Herrera and Connor Walsh. Choreographer: Stanton Welch. Photo: Pam Francis.