Sunday, May 6, 2012
Much Ado About Nothing
Fighting the sense I have nothing to say this morning. Sometimes I have to just start writing until something useful pops up.
I suppose I could talk about having seen the Kenneth Branagh film, but I covered my feelings on that subject in yesterday's post.
I could talk about what a great title this play has and how I am always struck by how deeply Shakespeare's titles, phrases, etc., have embedded themselves into the DNA of the English language.
I could talk about my daughter, Emily, who is standing in her exer-saucer right now, sucking on a raspberry-shaped pacifier while pressing a button over and over that causes a recorded voice to pronounce the letter "A."
I could talk about how she likes to hold on to my fingers and attempt to stand on her own.
I could talk about how cranky she was all day yesterday.
I could talk about the mess the tenant on the third floor made in the back yard last night celebrating both Cinco de Mayo and her thirtieth birthday with about a hundred friends.
I could talk about the conversation I had with a fellow dog walker this morning during my diurnal lap around the block with Zelda.
I could talk about the weather.
I could talk about the new vacuum cleaner and how deliriously happy it made Lori.
I could talk about the difficulty I have had finding my special brand of toothpaste in New Haven.
I could talk about missing all my friends in Buffalo.
I could talk about my trip to NYC on Friday.
I could talk about having lunch with my friend, P, and how we went to a restaurant at Grand Central Station, sat down, looked at the prices on the menu, and walked out.
I could talk about the amazing fish tacos Lori made last night.
I could talk about watching Game of Thrones.
I could talk about watching Treme.
I could talk about starting to watch Jim Jarmusch's Permanent Vacation which, I amazingly, I have never seen.
I could talk about Haruki Murakami.
But I guess I don't really feel like talking right now
from Much Ado About Nothing
O Hero! What a Hero hadst thou beenIf half thy outward graces had been placedAbout thy thoughts and counsels of thy heart!But fare thee well, most foul, most fair, farewellThou pure impiety and impious purity.For thee I’ll lock up all the gates of love,And on my eyelids shall conjecture hang To turn all beauty into thoughts of harm,And never shall it more be gracious.