Every Friday, I have to clean out the refrigerators. Not too glamorous, right? I’m supposed to warn everyone before hand with an email. Again, boring, right?
In comes Pollyanna. Friday emails have actually become my favorite part of my job, because I get to WRITE. Instead of sending a quick, “I’m cleaning the fridge, write your name on anything you want to keep,” I’ve been getting creative. Here’s the latest installment of this series:
Friday Email 8/15/2014
Subject: “The Raven Himself Is Hoarse” or “Men in skirts: Part 1.”
This day in 1057, after being warned by witches and having endured the harsh monologues of his wife (who had an odd relationship with ravens), MacBeth was killed by Malcolm, and Malcolm became the new King of Scotland. Of course, MacBeth should have seen it coming- he had killed Malcolm’s dad, King Duncan, because his bird-obsessed wife told him to.
Centuries later in 1603, when King James VII of Scotland became King James I of England after the death of Queen Elizabeth, William Shakespeare honored him by writing the great Scottish play, Macbeth.
Shhhhh don’t say the name!
Of course, Willie Shakes changed it up a bit so James’s ancestors would seem a bit nobler, and their enemies a bit more grotesque (Nothing new with the Mainstream Media. But since #17thcenturyTwitter made use of actual birds, it wasn’t very user-friendly. It tended to poop out, a lot).
In honor of the great Elizabethan Playwright, Master of the Stage, we have a Sonnet to place before thee, in hopes thou doth not protest our use of Iambic Pentameter.
Sonnet 155:As now we reach the setting of the sun And leave the day and all its woes behind, Before the clock doth chime the week be done, Methinks there must be rules to thee remind. Although we have enjoyed a brave repast Of lunches fraught with chips and salads brave, The unclaimed feast must now be onward cast To meet the somber silence of the grave. Yet hark, forsooth, a better way I see To save it from a fate so rightly crude: Perhaps a name, a date upon it be The way to halt the slaying of the food. Instead of ruing, casting me the blame, Methinks thou shouldst just give thy food a name.