Recovering, A Maze, House of Cards, and Walter White will not be killed

It's been over two weeks since an SUV made a left turn into me and my motorcycle. For a couple of days I was elated to have walked away from it, especially by the fact that I could indeed walk, since my legs took the worst of it- the left getting smashed between the vehicle's front end and my bike, the right taking on the weight of the bike as it met the pavement. A few days later a different mindset, much darker, settled in as I had to take some time off work and realized that although nothing broke, my middle-aged body was certainly beaten. Lethargy, depression, and a vague dissatisfaction with the shape of everything began to take root and I felt seemingly hopeless to reverse any of it as I lay on my couch with my legs elevated and iced, watching television and the bruises change color.

I went back to work last week not because I thought I was necessarily ready, but because I couldn't sit around anymore. It was the lesser evil. On Wednesday I awoke feeling halfway decent for the first time in over a week, only to realize I wasn't as far along as I'd hoped when I touched my leg while showering and felt a deep throb run through it. I made it outside a couple of times during this to see a few things, most of which I wrote about with the exception of Just Theatre's production of A Maze, a remarkably plotted play by Rob Handel which was given an excellent staging under the direction of Molly Aaronson-Gelb and an exceptionally strong cast led by Frannie Morrison as Jessica, a young women who is kidnapped and held captive for years by an obsessive, deranged, illustrator/graphic novelist named Beeson (split into equal parts of nerd/creep/iconoclast by the talented Clive Worsley).

That's just one of the plot's threads, though it is the one which ties the rest together, and I couldn't keep from thinking of the Ariel Castro story as the play unfolded, though certainly Handel's script is a far cry from that real-life horror story. However, the Castro story is an inescapable noise in the background. A concurrent plot revolves around two musicians, one of whom knew Beeson in rehab, who decide to make a concept album based on his constantly-expanding graphic novel. The couple are portrayed by Sarah Moser and Harold Pierce- they're kind of like a grungier version of the band She and Him, or the Eurythmics pre-break-up. Pierce is interesting to watch, full of nuance, but Moser, with her rock-star attractiveness and fully-realized portrayal, is the magnet for one's attention. Handel's characterization of the two walks right up to the line of pop-star histrionic caricature but never crosses it, which in no small measure may be the result of Moser and Pierce's skills.

Also in this labyrinth is Janis DeLucia as an unnamed Queen with a newborn who has been abandoned by her King. The King has enlisted a nasty a troll-like being to build an endless maze to protect her and their heir. Lasse Christiansen and Carl Holvivk Thomas played those parts, respectively, and Lauren Spencer plays a TV journalist ready to exploit anyone she can, including Jessica, her mother (DeLucia, again), Beeson, and the musicians. That Handel balances these three narratives into a cohesive, satisfying whole by the time it ends is something remarkable, especially since the first half of the play yields almost no clues as to how all of this will tie together. The run is over, but should you see another company take it on, A Maze is a play well-worth seeking out. I think a film adaptation could be quite interesting, especially in the hands of someone like David Fincher

Speaking of Fincher, adaptations, mazes, and monsters, the downtime from active life has given me the ability and ennui to watch the first season of Netflix's engrossing House of Cards. As South Carolina Congressman Frank Underwood, Kevin Spacey is a political Hannibal Lecter- watching him provokes that curious response of equal parts of attraction and repulsion that only the most well-written monsters can inspire in a viewer. By the end of the thirteen episodes Spacey has broken bad in a way that makes Walter White look unambitious by comparison. As Breaking Bad begins it denouement (let me go on the record here and now as saying I believe Walter White will not be killed), House of Cards looks ready to pick up the mantle as the best thing on TV- especially since it too has a cast of excellent actors on board that make every character seem real and unexpected. Robin Wright, 47 years old and exquisitely dressed in every scene as Underwood's wife/accomplice, is without a doubt the sexiest woman on television and her prime seems far ahead. Hopefully somewhere in the future of this show is a Lady Macbeth moment for her, though Frank Underwood needs no one to tell him where to screw his courage since he's already screwing everything that comes under his squinty gaze. House of Cards is brilliant.

In my own prosaic existence, I regret not being able to have seen Paul McCartney's set at Outside Lands last night, but there was just no way I could have stood out in the cold night air of Golden Gate Park on weakened legs and enjoyed the show. But I do cringe when I consider the opportunity to see live shows by The Who, The Stones, and a Beatle in the same year is one that will surely never come again. C'est la vie. I'm just hoping that I'm feeling well enough to go back to my Sunday morning yoga class tomorrow- the practice of which I attribute playing a major part in being able to walk away from the accident, and one I'm beginning to sorely miss.

As for whether or not I'm going to get another bike, I still haven't made that decision.