First I will say that Wicked was dazzling! It exceeded every expectation. When the two witches entered the stage for their final curtain call, we jumped to our feet in appreciation. There was a deafening eruption of cheers; even grown men were going wild. Our applause almost blew the ceiling off the Gershwin Theater. Those two ladies can belt it out in full song night after night, and that leaves me amazed at the capacity of the human voice. I am crazy about this week’s Broadway visit. I did not say enough about my viewing of Mary Poppins, but should have; it was stupendous. I also cannot say enough about Wicked, “witch” is a must-see. Wow.
Next, I’m concerned about the size of my head. Though I stood on the street and tried from various angles, I just could not capture the Wicked marquis in the same frame as my “virtual planetoid.” Of course, when I saw this photo, it evoked that scene from So I Married an Axe Murderer. (“Head! Paper! Now! Move that melon of yours and get the paper if you can, hauling that gargantuan cranium about! No kidding. His head’s like Sputnik. Spherical, but quite pointy in parts. Oooh, that was offsides, wasn’t it? Tonight he’ll cry himself to sleep… on his huge pillow!”)
Getting a big head might be a dreaded side effect of publishing a self-portrait on a regular basis. I cannot believe I am doing it! I used to groan at my students, who would take these hideous cell-phone photos of themselves and send them to one another or post them on MySpace. “No one wants to see you pout in the bathroom mirror. No one wants to see you pull up your t-shirt to show off your six-pack. No one wants to see you stick out your rear end,” I would always tell them.
And while I have no intention of declining to that level, I will say that I am pondering the twitter/facebook phenomenon because yesterday I read an article about how people in modern times are somewhat in love with themselves. The article refers to the Roman myth of Narcissus, who spurned the true affection of a nymph named Echo. She was so heartbroken by his rejection that she pined away for Narcissus in woods and valleys until all that was left of her was her voice, which still calls out through echoes in woods and valleys today. The gods punished Narcissus for hurting her and caused him to fall in love with is own reflection one day as he knelt by a crystal pool of water. He could not stop gazing at himself and feeling rejected by the reflection that never returned his love. He stared at the image of his own face until he starved to death on the shore. A flower grew where he died. Its formal botanical name is the Narcissus. But you probably know it as the Daffodil.
It’s true, I adore all of the connections that facebook brings and wouldn’t trade how it has refurbished old relationships and re-energized current ones. But I feel odd, sometimes, watching the way we all broadcast our minutia, as if anybody cared about what we were doing at any given point throughout the day. Doesn’t it feel a bit narcissistic? Don’t get me wrong, I do care about your minutia … in fact, I’m fascinated by it. And I know you care about mine. But at times, I get a creepy feeling …
… like, maybe the computer screen is a crystal pool.