I Heart Hamlet

Hamlet is hot.

Hamlet. Shakespearean dead guy. "To be or not to be..." Jumping in graves. Talking to skulls. Crazy dude. Often over-acted. Hot.

It's not any of the things I've just mentioned (taken out of context) that do it. Those are just the images most often brought to mind when one mentions Hamlet to someone who had to suffer through a less-than-inspiring English teacher. That's just the iconography we have been brainwashed as a society into associating with the sexiest man in world literature.

Jill: Hamlet--
Unfortunate victim of bad teaching: Ugh.
Jill: No, but listen. Shakespeare--
Unfortunate victim of bad teaching: Yuch.

Those images, taken out of context, cannot approach the depth, complexity, and sheer sex appeal that is the Danish prince. In my mind.

If the following paragraph makes no sense to you, don't be alarmed. It is merely an academic wise-ass deterrent. Feel free to read on, undeterred.
Yes, not only do I recognize that this is a characterization in my mind but I also have two years of intensive study in Structuralism and its critics that ensure that if you feel the compulsion to argue with my Reading of Hamlet on a level that privileges the Author rather than my experience of the Text as a Reader, I will be quoting Roland Barthes faster than you can complain about my lack of footnotes. The Author is Dead. Let's move on.

Resume here.
Sunday was Shakespeare's (assumed) birthday. (We have only a baptismal record for April 26, and since babies were traditionally christened three days later, it is assumed that Baby Will came into the world April 23, 1564.) I could think of no better way to celebrate (I would say "this joyous occasion", but he died on April 23 as well) than to explicate upon this two word thesis: "Hamlet. Hot."

As is the case regarding most details of Shakespeariana, there has been much debate about Hamlet's age and whether the textual evidence is consistent regarding the matter. Hamlet is usually accepted to be thirty--which is only a few years younger than Ralph Fiennes was when I spent the evening just about drooling over the mezzanine of the Belasco Theatre at his portrayal of His Royal Hotness. This makes Hamlet a man entering his prime. Purrrrr...

But let's put aside the physical for a moment. Let's also disregard the fact that he's a prince. I'm not a gold-digger. Can anyone you know beat this guy's wit? From the first words he utters, the darkly sarcastic "A little more than kin and less than kind" (1.2.65), on through the playful irreverence of his antic act...

Polonius: What do you read, my lord?
Hamlet: Words, words, words.
(2.2.191-2)

...to the naughty innuendoes he makes at Ophelia while awaiting the Players' performance, how can anyone compete with him on the basis of versatility of wordplay? And for those of you who are not entirely familiar with that specific exchange of dialogue, I present

Jill's Annotated Guide to Act 3, Scene 2, Lines 102-110

Hamlet: My lady, shall I lie in your lap? (May allude to innocent cuddling; may also be translated as "So, can we f*&k?")
Ophelia: No, my lord. (Obviously he has to have said it suggestively, or else she wouldn't say no.)
Hamlet: I mean with my head upon your lap? (Here he teases her by playing innocent. How naughty is that?)
Ophelia: Ay, my lord. (So she agrees.)
Hamlet: Do you think I meant country matters? ("You thought I meant something dirty, didn't you?" What a tease!)
Ophelia: I think nothing, my lord. (By the way, "nothing" or "0" was slang for vagina.)
Hamlet: That's a fair thought to lie between a maids' legs. ("Yep, that's a lovely thing to be between a girl's legs.")
Ophelia: What is, my lord? (Isn't she so decorous you could just scream?)
Hamlet: Nothing. (Essentially, "Pu$$y.")
Ophelia: You are merry, my lord. (Evidently, he conveyed the innuendo, because she basically says, "Wow, you're in a good mood tonight, huh?")

So: he is at his peak physically, and he has a prodigious wit, with a sex drive to match. And to pull off this interchange without getting slapped--how charming does this guy have to be? And not only with women--he has to have a certain disarming aura with men as well, or he wouldn't be able to so gracefully call Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's bluff when they try to pretend that they're not there to fish information out of him on behalf of Claudius (2.2). Not to mention that he would never have realized their intention in the first place if he didn't possess a finely-tuned ability to read people--a skill also illustrated when he realizes that he is being messed with when he is called to visit his mother's chambers (3.2.358-9).

Please tell me that you are beginning to swoon.

What about his intellect and psychological complexity? He's more intelligent than just about everyone else in the play, with only Horatio as his possible equal. He's obviously well-read in the classics, as demonstrated by his various allusions, and his easy references to Aeneas and Dido in discussion with the Players (2.2). He dryly suffers pompous fools such as Polonius and Osric, but not without getting in a few jabs at their expense.

He is living in a time and place experiencing a transition from a religious to a scientific worldview. Soooo he entertains thoughts of suicide for a moment or two--so what? He is struggling with a religious upbringing, but clearly leaning toward humanism--no doubt in large part to his university education and having lived in Wittenburg. (You know how wild and liberal those university towns are.) In fact, early on (1.2.174) he promises he'll teach Horatio to drink hard before he returns to school--all this, and the man can hold his liquor, too!

By the way, he can fence. Well.

Need more?

Not only can he recognize shrewd machinations, but he is able to put them into effect himself. (I can't help it--I like my men Machiavellian. And good at it.) The Mousetrap--"The play's the thing/Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king" (2.2.583-4)...? Sheer. Freakin'. Genius.

Suriviving the pirate attack? Resourceful.

Rewriting the letter to have Rosencrantz and Guildenstern killed instead of him? A tad cruel, possibly sociopathic--but definitive. You don't mess with my boy Hamlet.

Jumping in the grave to counter Laertes' drama, declaring "This is I, / Hamlet the Dane" (5.1.241-2)...? One word: badass.

When I go to literary Elysium, I am totally sleeping with Hamlet. Don't even think about trying to fight me for him.

And don't bother getting in line behind me, either.


Happy belated birthday, Billy. What are you now, 442? That's a lot of candles.

What It's Like to Be Me, Vol. II: Sexy If and Only If Math Turns You On

My father’s birthday. We go to Atlantic City to play poker. I can’t play poker recreationally. I start counting cards, calculating probabilities, and wishing I could be one of those evil geniuses who beats casinos out of large sums of money. Also, I would rather spend discretionary funds on new shoes than on gambling. I have no problem spending $20 on a dessert plate.

Last winter. My brother decides he will no longer play Clue with me. He takes one of my used note sheets—a pattern of checks and x’s and question marks that makes no sense to anyone but me—and hangs it up in the kitchen as a reminder. Grocery list; important phone numbers; reasons why no one should play logic games with my sister. I don’t know why he would do that; I'm sure he won the most that night.

Thanksgiving dinner: My cousin is in the midst of an LSAT prep course. His girlfriend is a grad student in accounting.
Girlfriend: I should have taken a prep course for the GMAT.
Me: I love the GMAT!
Girlfriend: (laughs)
My brother: She’s not kidding.
Girlfriend: But I thought you were a writer.
Me: Did I mention I used to work in test prep?

A few summers ago. The Public Theater produces Shakespeare in the Park each year. Most of the free tickets are distributed at the Public and the Delacorte Theatre in Manhattan, but representatives are also sent to the outer boroughs on certain Saturdays. Usually, the line in Staten Island is negligible, but this time my friends and I arrive to find a crowd already gathered. We get in line anyway.

People behind us: I think they only have 100 tickets.
Me: Then we probably should just leave.
Them: Huh?
Me: Well, there are 140 people in front of us. Give or take.
Them: Did you count?
Me: No.
Them: Estimation?
Me: Eyeball.

When an employee distributes numbers, I am #141.

Me: Did I mention I used to count crowds every day?


1994, or thereabouts. It is my job to inventory everything in the movie theater. Every night. Five concession stands and a stockroom. In each stand, there are four sizes of soda cups, four sizes of popcorn cups, about 20 different types of candy, and a few random items. There are hundreds of each. Total number of entries on the spreadsheet: 180. Give or take. I complete it in 50 minutes. Give or take.

Lately, things are disappearing. Money? Cups? Candy? I know my counts are perfect; the problem is somewhere else. Someone on staff is way too comfortable. My boss thinks my “emotional state” due to my “asshole boyfriend” would compromise my math. Silly man. I may have been crying in the kitchen, but math is beautiful because it is not arbitrary like an insecure nineteen-year-old actor. I go home before 1am.

When I arrive the next morning, he has recounted everything. I am fuming.
Me: Fine, if you’d rather not sleep.
Him: Well, I had to find the mistakes.
Me: Where were they?
Him: (Silence.)
Me: Did you find the money? Did you find the mistakes?
Him: There was a nacho dish hidden in the kitchen.
Me: HUH?
Him: Someone hid a nacho dish.
Me: You didn’t find any mistakes, did you?
Him: (Silence.)
Me: So you’re buying me lunch all week, huh?

Justified gloating is sweet. Like all the ice cream sundaes he bought me.

Essay Questions My English Teachers Never Asked

I'm slogging through a pile of papers that need to be graded before class tonight (and another pile before Friday morning) but believe me, I'd rather be reading your blogs. So I thought I would share:

Essay Questions My English Teachers Never Asked
(But I Really Wish They Had)

Consider your answers carefully. Use specific examples and evidence from the text. In your test booklet, clearly indicate which question you are answering. You need only answer one of the three, though additional effort may warrant extra credit. Good luck!

1. Compare and contrast the kissing styles of your best male friend and his childhood buddy. Include evidence from your research. Some questions to keep in mind as you formulate your answer: Do they keep their eyes open or closed? Are they restrained enough to make sure they don’t smash your nose? Do they pay proper attention to each of your lips? Do they slobber?
This fantasy question dates from my 12th grade English class. I never did get to perform that particular experiment. Males may, of course, alter the gender. Or not. Any of you may alter the word "kissing". Hell, compare and contrast whomever you want doing whatever you want. Just make it distracting. There are a lot of essays here, and I'd rather read yours. Give me a reason to procrastinate!

2. What form of bodily excrement/secretion do you find the most fascinating? Why? Be thoughtful in your response. Feel free to include anecdotes from your life that illustrate your answer.
Honestly, I find eye snot (goop? gunk?) enthralling.

3. Compare and contrast the personality profiles and actions of Batman and Hamlet. Indicate your sources, especially if your response hinges on a particular actor's interpretation of a character. If relevant, include in your discussion other superheroes or literary figures, Deconstructionist writings, or the lyrics of random 80's bands. If you prefer, you may use your reaction to this statement as your starting point: "Batman is what would happen to Hamlet if Hamlet didn't know who killed his father."
That's an actual quote from a play I wrote, which was in the New York International Fringe Festival in 2002. It got a pretty good review.

Traditional letter grades will not be assigned, so I urge you to be candid in your responses.

Wednesday Wist will return on its regularly scheduled day once I am caught up. I am also inordinately fascinated with what's on other people's iPods (yes, I'm sort of an "iPod elitist" but don't let my political incorrectness discourage you), so I urge you to give this a try... So how do you participate in Wednesday Wist? You take whatever music player you use, put it on shuffle, grab the first 5 songs and write what that song makes you remember. If it's a new song...and you can't relate it to a memory....do you like it? Leave a comment if you do it on your site and if you don't have a site, comment your wist here! Oh...and feel free to comment about my songs as well!!!

Dead Like Hamlet

Yesterday I interviewed my theater buddy and fellow film-obessive, Elias, for a profile I'm writing about him. (He's an actor.) As this was supposed to be a professional conversation, we tried really hard to not get off on our two favorite tangents--sci-fi and baseball. Baseball was easy to avoid because we're both currently a bit bitter: him about the Expos' flight from Montreal (did I mention he's Canadian?); me about the general state of the Yankees. But sci-fi? Sci-fi must be relevant, especially if he acts in it and I'm going to write about him acting in it. Right?

I asked him about his guest appearance on Dead Like Me last season and the bickering began. If you've been reading my recent entries you will be acquainted with my anguish over the cancellation of DLM. Elias, like many of my friends, becomes concerned when I take fictional characters too seriously. He interruped me as I was voicing my disappointment about not getting to see Daisy and Mason finally do whatever, but this time, not with "uh...they're not real..." but with "uh...they're dead." So now I have to be the one to say it: they're fictional! Who cares if they're dead or undead or whatever! I wanted to see them get together. (I know, I know, if only to live vicariously through her.)

This conversation becomes all the more ironic if you know how Elias and I met. He was co-starring in Killing Jar Jar, a play that he actually co-wrote with Andrew Farrar and which was of special interest to Star Wars geeks like me and the people I went to see it with. I was casting my play Reference Material [3am Pie] for the NY Fringe and thought that Elias would fit a difficult-to-cast part. What was it, you ask? My re-imagination of Shakespeare's fictional (and dead!) character of Hamlet, who guided our pop-culture-obsessed protagonists through the pitfalls of procrastination. Elias spent the rest of the summer in rehearsal, playing a fictional dead guy that I imagined. You know, I think that the historical reality avenges the fact that Elias won yesterday's DLM debate.