Dang the snooze button anyway! It should be called the snooze-you-lose button. How is it that I am so easily seduced by it's empty promises? Message to self - do the math. Delaying wake up by increments of 7 minutes will equal being late to work by increments of 7 minutes. Why increments of 7 minutes? That's what it gives me. Never set it. Never will. Why? Because I don't use the snooze button. Except when I do.
Apparently I can be sold anything at 5 am in the morning. Like the idea that an additional 7 minutes will make getting out of bed a more enjoyable experience. Like the expectation that an additional 7 minutes of sleep will actually be experienced as a passage of time, and not just an immediate re-slap to the face. I don't know why telemarketers bother me at dinner time. I'm wide awake then and in no mood to hold for an important message. That's the time my wife and I are attempting to set food in front of the kids, keep the cat away from said food, and keep said food away from the carpet, laptops, heater vents and other non-food presentation surfaces. Oh - and my wife and I try to eat said food as well. Don't call me then. Call me at 5 am. It appears I am much more gullible at that hour and would probably be happily receptive to random offers of time shares and mortgage refies. And then call me again 7 minutes later. I'll probably buy another time share.
Did you know that today is Talk Like Shakespeare Day? It is. It's official. April 23rd is the date usually given for William Shakespeare's birthday. The actual date is not on record. He was baptised on April 26th, 1564, and eventually died on April 23rd, 1616. I was expecting a Shakespearized Google page today - but no. Just Google in ordinary time. Anyway, I thought I would celebrate by penning the following monologue. The lone player, Tomardius, is late for work and having a conversation with his dashboard clock (write what you know.) Let's listen in.
Act I Scene I: interior car, morning
Muted clock, thou slayeth me. Wordless, thy trumpet screameth to all sky. What need hast thou of vocabulary? Thou mocketh me that clocketh me. Devoid of passion, thou art logic's clodpole. Unengaged in the very torment that thou maketh manifest, thou showest me no mercy. Champion of my fault, setting forth my failure as a play in light, tenacious in its witness, unflinching in condemnation of my folly and yet seemingly witless of it's crushing weight upon me. Oh, thou art enjoying this. I could subdue thee. I could recreate thee in the image of mine own intent. Set the world and all creation spinning in reverse with but the command of a single button. I could change thee. But thou and I wouldst know the thing. Oh vexing arithmetic! The lie wouldst indeed be sweet, like sugar drizzled down upon candy, and then in chocolate wed! I would make my tongue the willing bed. O kittenhack! My lie would on it's countenance bare like a blemish the reminder of it's contrary nature. Never the thing, but the thing, plus or minus the lie. No. And I'll not give voice to thy sister radio. I'll not have thee joined, a villainous chorus of woe, reminding me of my inadequacies. Nay! Thou hast not won thy victory. I shall raise up now in resolve that which I failed to raise up in my person. Fly. I shall race yon Apollo. I shall rob the titan of his flame with the tempest of my wake. Watch now, wordless spitgape. I shall yet seize and own this hatchling day. Aside! What? Who is this scarlet interloper beckoning for mine other eye. Speak herald. What news bring thee? Low on fuel? Hellkite! I am slain.
To learn more about Talk Like Shakespeare Day go to talklikeshakespeare.com and release your inner bard.
Was Shakespeare Catholic? Amardeep Singh, Blogger and Assistant Professor of English at Lehigh University considers the possibility in her blog, linked Here. Singh references a Shakespeare biography by Stephen Greenblatt titled Will in the World: How Shakespeare Became Shakespeare. Singh draws from a review of the book in the Chronicle which can be read Here.