“Cc…: CCC,” part 8

We’ve exceeded fever pitch and are now hurtling thru the delirium of prep.  Luckily we’ve lost the thermometer.  All hugely funny, or at least we giggle at times.  The weekend was intense:  while Zackie was chairing an all-Africa treatment action congress, trying to conduct traffic for 70 delegates who couldn’t decide which side of the road they were driving on, Jack and I were deep in an all-weekend rehearsal with our two brill actors.  We’ve cast completely against type, so it was a gender workshop uber-mondo-deluxe, teaching a fem and a butch how to swap roles, with all the expected confusion/conflation of sex/gender/desire that you could imagine.  Much fun!  So hot!  No wonder the thermometer broke.

Having travelled thru too many airports recently, I’ve been struck by how devalued time has become, as its demands become ever more invasive.  When I was out in Vancouver visiting my great aunt for her 100th birthday last week, I saw her father’s retirement gold watch on her dresser, the legendary family heirloom of many jokes that never kept accurate time.  Her dad had never had a watch before, during his whole working life he never knew what time it was.

That afternoon, I passed by an airport stand with watches on sale for $5 each.  My great grandfather’s watch had value and stature, giving time a gravitas, but only as his time was running out.  In the airport, a mother was impulse-buying her indifferent 8-year-old daughter a watch, the same way you might buy Fritos.  It was, shall we say, lacking in the gravitas department.

Because, in part, of ubiquity.  Digitally flickering around that 8-year-old girl were a dozen different read-outs to choose from, mostly in agreement about what time it was.  As I write now, I can’t help noticing the clock on the screen which tells me I’ve got ten minutes left before we go off to casting.  For the digital middle class, we have (at least the illusion of) time, clock faces which declare that Time is everywhere.  We think we always know what time it is.  That’s why we’re always late….

The first thing that slams me when I look at Felix’s twinned clocks is how fast and cheap they are.  Has any artist ever been sooo sublimely fast and cheap?  Fast and cheap, raised to the status of celestial transcendence.

Whoops – time run out.

More late, I mean later,

John

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Filed under Books, Culture, Current events, Death, History and historiography, Reading and writing, Tech

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