I saw a play recently called “The Crumple Zone.” It was OK. It didn’t have any big ideas, which I think is good. Big ideas rarely make good drama, or at least, only a truly great writer can pull off something that is both good drama and has big ideas. This play was mostly about the lives and relationships of four gay guys on Staten Island. But even this playwright understands that although the play doesn’t have to have big ideas, there must be something more to it than just a four guys working out their problems. Without more it’s just soap opera.

I think it’s best to introduce a theme early on and come back to it now and again, but this play simply let one of the characters recite a life lesson in the final scene. It wasn’t exactly heavy handed, but it did seem a little lazy or inelegant. Nevertheless, I’m always overly deferential to words of wisdom spouted by writers through their characters, especially in plays. There’s something about being directly confronted by characters and their drama, the solemnity of the affair, that brings a moral weight to the wisdom being peddled—as if now we’ve come to the heart of the matter and it’s time for the alter call, all truths revealed. I want to hear words of wisdom—I feel like I need them. And for some reason I seem to believe that writers know more than the rest of us. Still, I’m a little distrustful of wisdom because it all sounds so credible and wise when stated. I’ve noticed occasionally that directly contradictory statements, when declaimed separately, seem true and profound — “Winners make their own success,” and “X was at the right place at the right time.” Which of these is true? My point is … well, if you’re writing a play, have ideas in mind but don’t be obvious in stating them, and in life, beware of plausible-sounding advice, because most anything can sound plausible if stated properly.

I went to my company’s Christmas party. After the fun had wound down, someone said how much they enjoyed office parties, and I immediately thought, “Oh, god, not me.” But then I thought, “Well, I DO enjoy them sometimes”. And this party was fun, mostly because I always enjoy the pithy remarks and observations people make when they’re making an effort to be fun. I’m not fun, and I don’t try to be. I’m way too serious and earnest to be lighthearted at an office party. It’s funny how I never find a kindred spirit at work. I look around and think to myself how, although these people are nice and all, I really wouldn’t want to hang out with any of them. The very thought of spending an hour or two with any of them sends me into a panic. Ok, that might be overstating it a bit, but I don’t want to socialize with any of these people.