ESTRAGON: Why don't we hang ourselves?
VLADIMIR: With what?
ESTRAGON: You haven't got a bit of rope?
VLADIMIR: No.
ESTRAGON: Then we can't.

--from Waiting for Godot,
by Samuel Beckett


I took myself to see "Texts for Nothing" at ACT this afternoon; Bill Irwin is a complete marvel. I love people who perform texts not written for performance, and most of us don't get to see enough clowning, let alone clowning so magical and intense.
From my program: "Irwin has been described by critics as 'America's clown prince' and 'this generation's most purely physical comic.' He himself claims to be equal parts actor and clown, with an abiding passion for the impulse to make people laugh (which, he is quick to point out- in a sentiment with which Beckett would surely agree- 'is not the same thing as making people happy')."
(more about Beckett.)

"Where would I go, if I could go, who would I be, if I could be, what would I say, if I had a voice, who says this, saying it's me?"
"Texts for Nothing"