To Be Or Not To Be - Shakespeare?

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/10/world/europe/10shakespeare.html?_r=1&ref=design

Maybe some of you have heard the news of the recently refound portrait of Billy Shakes that was taken during his lifetime. Apparently, an Irish family, the Cobbes had had this portrait in their arsenal for quite some time. Now there is a lot of discussion of whether this is the true Shakespeare or not. But regardless of all of this, I'm psyched. I know "How boring?!"

It's ironic that they should find this picture just around the time when I'm finishing my thesis about none other than Shakespeare!

In a number of articles that I've read about this portrait in the last few days (yes, I have work to do but this is fascinating to me!), one of them said something to the effect that Shakespeare's portrait shows him as pretty good-looking. And they said it matches our conception of Shakespeare looking more like Joseph Fiennes (meow) than someone like Ricky Gervais. This line made me laugh out loud for quite some time. I don't think it would matter to me what Shakespeare really looked like. I'm just excited that this could mean another Bard revival. YAY!!

The Things We Left Behind

in our computer....

I was looking through some old files and found this little number I wrote a while ago...It was meant to be posted to another blog/creative zine that I worked on for a while. But now, here's everybody's chance (all 3 or four of you that read this blog) to see it hit the light of day.


Cold Turkey



On Your Mark

Ready

The horn sounded and people at the front of the line began to run. I placed my earphones into my ears and scanned through my artists on my ipod to select the artist appropriate for this endeavor. I scanned to ‘The Prodigy’ with it’s electronic beats but after realizing that I always feel compelled to do things faster when I listened to them, I selected my default, U2. I stretch a bit while I waited for my section to move up and took a cursory look around at the people in my area.
Families were standing next to each other giving each other pep talks. Couples were giving each other back and neck massages, friends were gossiping and I was waiting and wondering where my husband was standing. Probably somewhere at the 6 minute mile. I stood at the 11 minute mile mark only because that was the last mark available. But honestly, I should have been somewhere around the 20 minute mile mark, if only they had a marker like that.
I signed up for a 4 mile run. I intended to walk the whole way. I was supporting my husband and doing some exercise of my own. Walking 4 miles was not going to be a problem for me since I often walked that much on any given day. My husband has been trying to get a number of races under his belt so he can run the NYC Marathon next year. So to do it together, I would walk and he would run.
Why didn’t I plan to run? Well, many years ago I tore the meniscus and a ligament in my knee. Since that time, running was not a form of exercise but of torture. Running after my dogs was not something I saw as a healthy thing, but a sign of insanity. Whenever I did run (not very far, mind you), the next day, I would have stiffness in my knee and walking would produce popping feelings as if I had bubble wrap in my knees. There was no doubt in my mind that I would be walking this race unless I wanted to be in traction.
As I my group started to move closer to the start line, people began to walk faster. When the start was approaching their feet, people began to run and I got sucked into moment and the movement and began to run.
Bono was singing and my brain was wondering ‘why the hell are you running?’
Not too bad, I thought to myself. I’m not feeling any pain. I’m not breathing very hard, nothing is jiggling too unbearably.
So I was on cruise control while Bono was talking about his ‘Vertigo.’ People of all proportions weaved in front of and around me. The sun was shining above me and the trees were swaying in the wind. I scanned peripherally to see doggies playing in the dog runs and thought about what my dogs were doing at that very same moment. Probably sleeping or waiting for my return at the door. Doggies! So cute! Love them!
Ow! Ow! Ow! Pain! Pain in the my side….a stitch in my side. Breathe into the pain I remembered instructors telling me from my bicycle days. Inhaling deeply and concentrating fully into the pain, the stitch subsided after a bit…somehow assisted by a ‘Miracle Drug’. Time to just walk this puppy, I considered. Swinging my arms at heart level to add to the intensity of the walking and to assist in the cardiovascularness of this activity, I felt good. This was nice….
Hey, that guy was way behind me on the starters line….how did he get here? I picked up the pace to a light jog. As he move progressively further ahead, I progressively proceeded to run again. There was no way this older man – older than my dad – was going to beat me across the finish line. The pavement was getting harder on my knees. I could feel my muscle crunching on top of one another. Could feel my body begin to pile up on itself like the metal at a wrecking yard. Ok, this wasn’t going to happen. This running thing was not going to work. Not even in a ‘City of Blinding Lights’. No chance, no way. But I was still running and not stopping. Maybe I could do this after all. Maybe the jiggling wouldn’t bother me so much if I lost more of it by running.
By the time Bono was discussing ‘The Origin of the Species’, I had committed to staying in the race and finishing it whether running or walking. My husband cheered me on from the sidelines after he had already finished and it pushed me further as I pushed my ipod onto Coldplay.
The next day I was incredibly sore but nothing unbearable. I was going to be ok. A day after that, I wanted to run somewhere, anywhere for no reason. A few weeks later, I signed up for another race. And after completing that one, I signed up for two more races. Is this what it’s like to get hooked onto something?

(Dedicated to my husband, who wrote his own version of “Cold Turkey” for a Spanish running magazine. His article is entitled “Frio Guajolote”.)

To Thine Own Self Be True

As you can tell from the name of my blog, I’m quite the fan of the Bard. I’ve loved and been fascinated by his works since my first year of high school. When we had to memorize soliloquys, I would take such great pains to learn the meanings of every word, to understand the motivations of the character and why they would say these words. I grasped at the intonation, the pauses, the sweet rhythm of the words working together to convey an idea or an emotion. Ahhh I let them touch my soul. It hasn’t really stopped. It’s only gotten worse.

Lately I’ve been reminded of one of my favorite lines from the play Hamlet. It’s spoken by Polonius, Ophelia’s father. He’s a very interesting character because he goes about the play spouting off random philosophical quotes without completely understanding them. He is a generic fortune teller in a way – a horoscope that could work for anyone. But this particular quote has always resonated with me because there’s immense depth in those six words.

The full quote is: “This above all: to thine own self be true”.

Let me tell you my interpretation of this quote. I’ve always seen it as a reminder that in this world you can only make yourself happy. You can only be responsible for your own actions and at least make those actions worthy of you. In other words, let you actions and words be the testament of who you are. Don’t be nice to people you don’t like because that’s a lie. Don’t tell someone to not do something that you then go and do. Why wouldn’t those rules apply to you? Speak correctly and act in the same manner that you speak, conscientiously. Be considerate to other as you would like them to be to you. Basically, when you get to the end of your life, can you say you’ve lived the life you’ve wanted?

But my interpretation goes even further than that. It’s also meant to be comfortable with yourself. Learn to like yourself because you are going to be spending a lot of time with yourself. And once you are at ease with yourself, everything else falls into place. Things don’t seem as awful, people don’t get to you as much etc.

Now here comes the reason why this quote has been echoing to me a lot recently. A lot of my friends are single and a lot of my friends are getting married this year. And I want them and all women to know, you don’t need a man to define who you are. If anything, they subtract from you. Always, always do what you want to with your life. Make a name for yourself by pursuing things that give you pleasure. Live your life for no one else for a long time because when someone else comes along, it’ll make you a better person. You will know that you don’t need that guy there to give you meaning. What I’ve noticed is that when you are doing what makes you happy, you shine. The brilliance that comes from that shine is what attracts people to you. In that way, some person will take notice of you if you are single. And your significant other will respect you for the person you are.

So, my dear Polonius, regardless of your intentions in saying those words to Hamlet, you struck gold with me.

The Scent of an Older Woman

Riding New York City Transit is something I do at least 5 days a week. It has it has its blessings. It’s fast and spans an enormous distance. Of course, it also has its curses. Sadly those are numerous and I’m not even going to develop all of them for lack of time and space. I’m going to turn to one aspect that drives me a little bonkers. It’s the smell of people on the train that bothers me.

It’s not like other places in the world where perfume can be used to mask horrendous hygiene. For the most part, people use colognes and aromas to enhance their natural cleanliness. And that’s great.

However, today when I got off the train, there was a strange smell passing from one nostril to the other. I was taken aback immediately but not to the point where I was having a visceral response to the smell. No, it was that vague moment where you know you’ve smelled these fragrances before but you can’t quite remember where or when. I instantly tried to ascertain where the smell was coming from – from whence was this whiff wafting?

I made my way through the horde of commuters until I was right behind the smell. It was emanating from an older woman who was decked out in lace stockings, a long fur coat, and lovely black patent leather pumps. She also was sparkling from the jewelry on her hands.

Why was this smell so familiar to me? Was it the perfume my mother-in-law wore? Did my mom used to own this scent?

As we continued up the stairs, she stopped at the very top to gain her bearings. I moved past her to see if perhaps she was someone I recognized and this was their signature scent. But no. I only noticed that this woman’s face didn’t quite match her clothing. She was much, much older – leathered skin from too much sun bathing. That’s when it hit me, this woman smelled of moth balls over Channel #5 just like my grandma in her coffin at her wake ceremony.

UGH!!!! That’s when I began to hold back my gag reflex. I really wish I hadn’t been able to place this scent after all.

Get On Your Boots

It seems appropriate that I am writing this blog about my favorite band in the whole world just as I’m expecting a snowstorm. Why is this appropriate? Well, one of the songs on their new album is called “Get on Your Boots” and I’m looking for my boots to prepare for the snow that won’t go away. Maybe it’s not as funny as I think it is.

Instead of entitling this blog My Favorite Things and whatever number applies to it, I just thought I’d write about my favorite band under another heading.
Yes, I’m talking about U2. I’m so excited that on Tuesday, I’ll be able to hear new music from the Gaelic Gods. It’s been quite a while since their last album “How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb” came out – 2004 as a matter of fact. So I’ve spent a good 4 years replaying and singing all the songs in their vast collection waiting for the next album to come out. Finally it will be here in just 3 short days.

As with every other album they’ve released, I will play it non-stop until I know every single word of every single song. This should take at least a week. I need to be able to live and breathe every bit of this new album and then…it’s time to wait for their concerts. That’s in the plural because I will try to see them at least twice!! If I have to go to another city, it doesn’t matter. I love these guys so much! I’d cross any ocean to feel the power of their words, to sing close to Bono, to experience the thumping of Adam Clayton’s bass and the soaring chords of the Edge’s guitar, for my heart beat to pound in time with Larry’s drums.

Sadly, I’m at a loss for words today. I can’t capture the excitement that I’m feeling about this big event. Tuesday will be like a national holiday for me.

The Two Birds

Two birds sat on a small ledge
With little space between them
Peering into each other’s eyes
On a daily basis.
The exact hues of orange, blue and green in
Different spots,
Unnoticed by the creatures
All around them.
Silently feeling
The warmth they generated from
Within towards their counterpart.
The weather around them changed
The seasons progressed and one
Year moved into the next.
One bird made the subtle
Approach
Acknowledged
Accepted
They cooed together.
To gain a different view
One of the pair moved to another ledge
And then
They both went missing
And their disappearance was finally noticed.
“What happened to those two birds?”

10 Items or Less?

Ah, there are so many grammar mistakes that one encounters on a daily basis. Some are seriously offensive and others intrude upon daily life because people don’t know the rules. These intrusions screech and scratch at my eardrums on many occasions.

The usual grammar suspect today has to do with countable and non-countable nouns. What in God’s green earth am I talking about now? Some nouns – you know, those words that are often the subjects of our sentences – are divided into ones that you can count (One Brad Pitt, Two Brad Pitt? etc). While others are so small or in quantities that you can’t count – such as sand, rice or milk. These items are known as non-countable nouns. Let me give you a list of some:
Milk, Money, Water, Coffee, Air, Bread, Snow, Sugar, Salk, Hair, Food, Clothing, Candy.

Now, when it comes to these non-countable nouns and expressing comparisons in situations where your quantity is smaller than another person’s, you use ‘less’ to describe that quantification. For instance, you would say ‘I have less money than Oprah and less water than Evian and less coffee in my cup than Juan Valdez’. But if you can count an item (usually it will have an -s on the end in the plural form), then a negative comparison would be ‘I have fewer eggs in my basket than Foghorn Leghorn’ or ‘she has fewer freckles than Howdy Doody’.

The title of this blog is actually incorrect. Items are things that can be counted so the signs in every English speaking grocery store should say 10 items or fewer or whatever the quantity of items or fewer.

As I used to tell my ESL students, English is so hard that native speakers always make mistakes and this is one super faux-pas in my book.

When thinking about non-countable nouns, there are 4 categories in which they fall:
1) Nouns that have no distinct separate parts. Look at the whole: Milk, Oil, Water, Yogurt, Air, Soup, Bread, Butter
2) Nouns that have parts that are so small or insignificant to count: Rice, Sugar, Salt, Snow, Sand, Corn, Popcorn, Hair, Junk, Stuff.
3) Nouns that are categories of things – the members of the category are not the same: Money (dimes, pennies, dollars, etc.), Food (cookies, veggies, meat, etc.), Mail (letters, postcards, bills, etc), Clothing, Furniture, Makeup, Candy.
4) Abstract Nouns: Love, Time, Truth, Advice, Luck, Beauty, Fun, Information, Noise, Intelligence, Experience, Art, Work, Education, Noise.

My Country ‘Tis of Me

I’ve been working on getting a dual citizenship for Italy for a couple of months now. Since my parents were born in Italy, I can get Italian citizenship through them. It’s something I thought about a lot as I was growing up because I often felt it could come in handy in some situation. Actually, I probably would have fervently pursued this option more if the November elections had turned out differently.
Growing up, I always wondered where I belonged. I never completely felt American – I had all these weird traditions that none of my friends had. But I never felt Italian either because I didn’t know anything about the history except what my parents had told me, which wasn’t very much. But I loved the language, literature and culture and it often pulled on my heartstrings and I sensed longing for the boot shaped country.

Anyway, the last couple times I’ve been to the Italian consulate...it’s been quite an interesting experience. Actually the first time was fine. The agent explained all the types of documents I would need and he basically said that I just needed to get those and I’d be fine.

But as with everything Italian, there is always another story. And I got the second half of the story this past week. I went with all the documents that I had prepared according to how the first agent had explained. So I thought I was set. How incredibly naive of me? This agent told me that the first agent was wrong. I could not get the citizenship by just petitioning through my mom (who had all her documents in order and who is far more tied to Italy because her family still lives there). I had to have my father’s papers too. In fact, they didn’t even have any record of my father’s naturalization at the consulate in NY or in Italy. I knew that my dad had been having some trouble finding his documents so I hypothetically asked what would happen if we could never locate the originals. The agent told me that my dad would have to petition Homeland Security to get a copy of his naturalization papers. I took note of this but what annoyed me is what he was basically suggesting. That if my dad couldn't find his documents that perhaps he wasn’t here legally. Perhaps I was over analyzing as I am wont to do but...still. What was he implying or was I inferring incorrectly? Hmmmmm?

He proceeded to tell me all the things I needed to do IF my dad’s papers were in order. And IF they weren’t, then I could just forget about it. When I got on the bus to head back home, I was livid. Why did I need to go through all this legwork when my mom had everything in order and the forms say you can petition for citizenship from whichever parent you choose? As I discussed this with my good friend, who had also gone through this process, we concurred that there was always another story to every darn situation with the Italian consulate. I began to wonder if I really wanted to pursue this anymore....so as if I hadn’t had my confusions about nationality before, I now continue to add to this list of doubts.

High Risk

I've been hearing this term for quite some time. And I'm sure you think it has to do with finance and banking but it doesn't. It has to do with what doctors call pregnancies over 35 years old. And I've heard it a lot because most of my friends are getting to or are 35 and have become pregnant. What I want to tell doctors and people who claim this is high risk is to shove it! It really makes me so livid to hear this. As if pregnancy isn't hard enough and that a woman isn't stressed enough, they have to mention that their pregnancies are 'high risk'. You know what? I think you should stop saying this phrase. Keep it to yourselves doctors and people! Mark it in your darn patient folder and never say it to the woman who is pregnant.

What I think is a better idea is for you to get working on the research that makes this situation less high risk? How about that? How come tons of money is thrown away to assist men the age of Moses to keep an erection until they croak? Does anyone else think that's insane?? Why not spend some time in science to find a way to help women continue to produce eggs even after their darn biological clock starts ticking? Huh?? How about that?

The darn high risk is that we need women to keep populating the world so how about we help them make that easier instead of more difficult!! Who the heck wants a baby from a shrivelled up man in his 80s who can barely put his own pants up anyway??

Tons of women die in childbirth every year. Why is this still happening with all the technology that we have? Perhaps we should funnel money where it makes more sense? But maybe that's just too logical for insurance companies and doctors!!

Favorite things continues or #5

I'm way beyond late for this post...I had meant to send it out on 2/2 in honor of the Grand Marshall of ceremonies, the ground hog.

I love Ground hog's Day! I can't explain it and I don't entirely know when I began to feel this way but this is one of my favorite days of the year. Perhaps it's because it's one day where we can hope that something silly will decide the future (I guess there are lots of examples of that). Or because the groundhog is such an arbitrary animal to be so interested in. I have no idea...but I love this day.

This year depending on your location, you will get an early spring or 6 more weeks of winter. How random is that? Local Staten Island Chuck said early spring but his more famous cousin Punxsatawny Phil (the famous one from the Bill Murray movie) said more winter. Why can't more days be silly like this? Why is everything always so serious?

Also to note Chuck had a little bit of scandal this year...he ended up biting the Mayor of New York when he picked him up. Now, could anything or anyone else get away with such behavior? No and if some random person saw his shadow today and decided to tell the media there would be 6 more weeks of winter, how do you think we'd react?

That said, I hope the next couple weeks are interesting. Chuck and Phil, as always, thanks for you hard work!