A Shakespearean Valentine

heartTurning to the lighter side, in honor of that paragon of holidays, Valentines Day (known on the black market as Singles Awareness Day, Hallmark Appreciation Day, and other such pseudonyms), I’ve decided to spend a few days/posts invoking the Bard in less-than-typical ways (i.e. NO Romeo and Juliet in sight).  

My philosophy has always been, what’s the use of memorizing something if you can’t creatively tweak it later? So, (see “Brain Work” at the top of the page) the monologues I’ve memorized in the last few years are about to get a V-Day makeover. 

What do Hamlet, the color red, and hair have in common?  You’re about to find out. With no further ado (about nothing), welcome to the pre-Valentines special at Hamlet’s beauty parlor!

(Stayed tuned for the next installment.)

* – * – * -* -* – * – * – * – * – * – * – *

To Dye or Not to Dye

To dye, or not to dye: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to dodge
Brave cupid’s arrows aimed with such misfortune,
Or to close the purse against the sea of hair products,
And by resisting, stay blond? To dye: to change;
Once more; and by a change to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand breakup shocks
That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished! To dye, to change;
To change: perchance to hate: ay, there’s the rub;
For in that change of dye what hate may come
When we have rinsed off this natural shade,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of too permanent tone;
For who would bear the jokes and scorns of time,
The brunette’s wrong, the Monroe comparisons,
The pangs of despised roots, the shower’s delay,
The insolence of office workers and the static
That patient brushing of the fresh-washed makes,
When she herself might her quietus make
With a dye bottle? Who would split ends bear,
To highlight and trim under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after dye,
The undiscovered redness from whose bourn
No gold color returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus permanence doth make cowards of us all;
And thus the chosen hue of sun-kissed pomegranate
Is set aside by the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great style and fashion
With this regard, their customers turn awry,
And lose the name of business.

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