Heidegger Soup


Some families go to classical concerts or visit an art gallery. Something truly cultured for the parents and educational for the children. We had webite-home-042smalla family outing, too, last night – a birthday treat for our ten-year-old – and we watched a rather striking performance of the American rock band Bowling For Soup at the Roundhouse in Camden. How many times can I scream the F-word and C-word into the mike – that, I think, was the name of their game, and whatever their aim might have been, I seriously believe they overshot  their target by far. Raving applause. Best ever gig – as far as the youth of today was concerned.


Back home I on the other hand needed to be consoled and threw myself into the arms of my newly found love of the moment – Heidegger, yes, Martin his first name. It’s taken me a while to succumb. He’s been standing in my bookshelf for some time now, stalking me, now finally I am starting to get his drift. But – blimey – what an abstract soul, completely locked inside language, while he claims to be sorting out the meaning of Being–in-this-World. I wonder if it would have helped him to attend just a single Bowling for Soup concert. How would he have reacted to the heaving mass of bodies and to the sexual innuendo left right and centre? Perhaps it might have helped him to come down to earth a bit. Maybe he then could have skipped his infatuation with the extreme right-wing politics? As I think about it, I’m nearly ready to defend Bowling For Soup – although not until they clean up their language a fair bit! 

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