It’s like that one time at band camp…

Last night I decided to give Hamlet a shot. Why? Because nobody ever forced me to read it. Well, I suppose that’s not entirely true. Although I’ve never read it, it was assigned to me by my 12th grade English teacher, Ms. Starkey, along with a variety of other books I that now realize are actually good (Portrait of the Artist, Great Gatsby, etc). Is it possible that I should have done my reading rather than loitering outside of 7-11 with my best friend, trying to bum cigarettes after school?  Nah. Although, the end result is that I have some embarrassing holes in my literary knowledge, especially for a former English major.

Reading Shakespeare is like being in on a joke – a big joke that everyone else in English-speaking

Being a teenager watching your parents date is a drag

society is already in on. At least, it feels that way. I’m referring of course to the  quotes.  In just the first act of Hamlet I’ve already come across classics like, “To thine own self be true,” “Something is rotten in the state of Denmark” and “Neither a borrower nor a lender be.” Of course, I’ve heard these quotes before, but I never knew specifically where they came from (until last night I thought the last one was Ben Franklin). Hearing these lines quoted has been a little bit like hearing the people say, “It’s like this one time at band camp…” Now, I realize this quote is from the movie American Pie, but having never seen it, I don’t know what the whole thing is about.  So when people quote it – which they still do to this day – I just laugh and smile as if I’m in on the joke and try to change the subject. For me, Shakespeare has always been like that too.

And so, I settled in last night with the Bard (am I allowed to call him by his nickname? I feel like we’ve just met!) It’s hardly beach reading, I’ll tell you that. Lounging on my couch with the complete works propped on my stomach, my pelvis felt like it was being crushed after only one page. I decided to try laying the book on the sofa and hovering over it until I got a stiff neck. At which time I refilled my wine.

Actually, it’s not as bad as I’m making it sound. After a page or two I started getting used to the Elizabethan English and started getting in to it. Especially when that ghost shows up and starts talking to Hamlet. Shit, dude. Having been a teenager watching my parents date/remarry, I’m surprised at how accurately Mr. S. captures that particular brand of teen angst.

Anyway, we’ll see how it turns out. From what I hear this thing has a high body count and people are going to be talking to skulls later.