The production currently on Broadway of Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest has some flaws, which mostly did not keep me from laughing. The script is too good. Wilde is too wonderful.
I have a list of people whose works and efforts seem incomparable to any of my own and so work, and work, and work. How did Wilde write so much, have so much fun, so much demand and well? One of the reasons that I have been quiet is because I have a million notes on talks I have attended, works that I have seen, but have not had the time to write them up. Notes, however, must always be drafted immediately after being taken, otherwise they remain a jumble of meaningless words, undecipherable far quicker than my imagination can fathom.
Despite all that, I took today off to recover, because there are many ways of being, none of which mean a thing if being exhausted is the only state of being. And so I, like John Worthing, understand the importance of being something other than the state we dash about seeming.
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