Hung out with two friends of mine on Friday night.
Went to see an awesome play: Old Goriot, by the master of realism Honore de Balzac. Play was funny, complex, and depressing at the same time. Dealt with the ambitions of a young man trying to enter the “fashionable Paris” with whatever means he could. Dealt with a convict who despise the pretense and fakeness of supposed virtues, and believe only in his own ends. Dealt with a father who spoiled his daughters to such a degree that he exclaimed: “it’s my fault! I taught them to shit on me!” before his lonely, miserable death.
But equally fascinating was the conversations the three of us had.
At dinner we talked about the play, moved onto the ancient styles of literature, to the ancient form of Chinese writing, which linked to Confucius and Socrates, and the Chinese education system and the weight of ancient wisdom that we are expected to carry.
On our way to the theatre, moved onto the ultimate capacity of Earth for humans, to which I suggest a few parameters that are impossible to break with any level of technology conceivable: amount of drinking water, usable land area, energy. Then moved onto discussion of nuclear energy, where it came from, how heavy elements were formed. That killed the conversation for a bit.
Before the play started, talked about real and natural numbers, infinity, and how our sitting in the first row will affect our visual field.
After the play we talked about literature, discussed the characters in the play, our own interest in writing, and called for another enjoyable night before we parted.
That, is cool.