Saturday, March 24, 2012

Who Doesn't Love A Good Story?

My wife and I had a good evening last nightt.  Except for the part where we went to Starbucks, got our drinks, sat down to relax, and were told that they will be closed in four minutes.  What kind of Starbucks closes at 8:00 on a Friday night?

We made our way to Barnes and Noble, drinks in hand, and sat down to read together.  We sat down and read a portion of Sophocles' Oedipus Rex, which is my favorite play of all time.

I'm not an avid fan of plays; I've probably only read or seen a dozen and a half plays, if that.  From what I have read, however, Sophocles is by far my favorite playwright.  Shakespeare, one of his biggest competitors, falls short.

To me, Shakespeare always seemed a little pretentious.  Maybe that stems from the type of people who go around quoting Shakespeare, maybe it's because Shakespeare neglected a thesaurus and instead decided to make up nearly 2,000 words, expecting his audience to comprehend.

But there's a deeper draw to the tragedy of Sophocles.  A man who plucks out his own eyes after discovering the grotesque life he has inadvertently led.  Another who tries to kill his enemies, but is temporarily blinded, slaughters livestock instead, then kills himself for his inablity to wreak havoc on his foes.  It's epic.

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