No fair, it's too hot to do anything! Except wail on the drums and get even hotter.

I'm about 100 pages into Goffman; in a lot of ways, it's a bit obvious, but it's the sort of thing that somehow gains meaning when you state it outright. I wonder if his life-as-theatre approach has become so overridingly ubiquitous as to create a scarcity of alternative views (it's a very seductively elegant description, his is). Somebody read him and come over, and we'll talk.