Monday 9/11

Today we read a few of Shakespeare’s sonnets, so I will try to write some of this entry sonnet-style. Only without that ABBA and ACDC rhyming stuff. I’ll also be leaving out the thees and thines and thighs, or w/e. And, of course, actual poetic SKILL will be missing. But otherwise it will be very much like Shakespeare, I’m sure.

I really liked this one sonnet we read today. It was in our lit book, and the last line is: “Love’s fire heats water, water cools not love.” I don’t know WHAT it means, but it sounds AWESOME. That sonnet is called “CLIV,” and I also don’t know what THAT means. Another sonnet we read was called “LIX,” which is a pretty weird name, too. Shakita seems to know a lot about Shakespeare, so maybe I’ll ask her what’s up with the names. I mean, I’ll ask zher. Hold on . . .

Hm. Shakita says “CLIV” is not a word—it’s the number 154. And “LIX” is the number 59. Which sounds pretty bogus to me, but zhe seemed pretty confident about that. Shakespeare sure was a mystery. Such a mystery, in fact, that Shakita thinks he was a woman. There’s this whole theory about it, apparently, which zhe explained in great depth during this class block. It involved a woman writer named Elizabeth who was a daughter of an Earl, and also the wife of an Earl.

“Many people have analyzed the writing of Shakespeare and agree that it’s too good to have been written by a slacker who went to school for only a couple of years,” zhe said. “And since women writers would not have been allowed to publish anything in that oppressive society, there is good reason to believe an educated woman could have written the works of Shakespeare.”

There was a little debate going on in class for a while about this, with some people liking the idea, but most taking the position that they couldn’t accept it on the grounds that it would, quite obviously, RUIN the movie Shakespeare in Love for them.

“So what’s up with the Earl thing?” I asked, trying to slightly change the direction of the conversation, since Shakita was starting to get a little intense. “I guess it was a really popular name, huh? Or else this Elizabeth was married to her dad, which would be e-w-w-w.”

This produced a bit of staring in my direction, until Shakita turned around and said, “It’s a British title, like a duke or a count.”

I intently looked at my lit book at that moment, figuring it was a good time to do some studying—of Giulio, out of the corner of my eye. I was hoping to find that he had been napping throughout this little exchange. But, no, he was looking at me. With a patient expression. Like you might give a very good-natured mentally challenged person.

“This is all very interesting, really, thank you for the input and enthusiasm,” the Colonel said to the class. “But we’d better get back to reading his—”

“‘Zher’ would work better than ‘his’ in this context, especially given the debate, don’t you think?” Shakita asked him.

The Colonel looked a little flustered, but said, “Okay, then, we better get back to reading zher sonnets—”

“Wouldn’t it be ‘zhis?’” someone in the class asked Shakita.

“No, ‘zher’ is in place of ‘him’ or ‘her,’” zhe answered.

Other people in the class had more questions about the zh-words, and they were asking Shakita directly, which—I could tell—was starting to miff the Colonel, judging by some throat-clearing that was getting more intense as the conversation lengthened. Finally, when it sounded like he was getting TB, everyone jolted their heads in his direction, seeming to suddenly remember he was the teacher. He hasn’t been in a very good mood since all that, and since he’s nearing my desk at this moment, I think I better get to my sonnetizing:

Lots of sonnets are about LOVE, LOVE, LOVE.

(Now I hear that Beatles song in my head.)

Which is another reminder of the

Circumstances of my immediate life.

Sonnets also make me think of that movie

Shakespeare wrote, called Romeo and Juliet.

Juliet was 14, just like me, and

She could not be with her sweet Romeo,

As I cannot be with my sweet Giulio.

Only she had it a little better,

Because Romeo knew she loved him, and

He loved her back with all his heart and soul.

They’re not actually alive at the end,

But you can’t ask for everything, now can you?

A tiny baseball player on my desk

Has just nodded his agreement with me.

Last week, the Colonel—seeing how many

Of my classmates were having trouble

Getting much of anything written—

Suggested we find something to inspire us.

Some little chachka (as Brady’s grandma

Would call a thing that is, um, purposeless.)

So I brought in this little baseball player.

He is a bobblehead doll, so when my

Desk jiggles, he nods at me.

His little baseball cap is red and white.

I got him free at the stadium in D.C.

They were giving them out at the baseball game.

LUCKILY, the Colonel just sat down to grade papers, so I’m going to stop sonneting for a while. I’m SO not exerting all that effort when he’s not watching. I’m not into that over-achievement thing, after all. I mean, there could be a limited amount of achievement in my body, and what if I use it all up before I reach, say, 17? THEN what?

So, back to the baseball game . . .

Brady was very surprised I said yes when she and Giulio asked me to go with them.

“It’s about time,“ she said. “I’ve been asking you to go to a game for FIVE months, and you’ve always said you had ‘important things to do,’ like, I remember once you said you had to scrub the algae off the walls of your dad’s fish tank. And once you told me you really wanted to go, but there was a Gilligan’s Island festival on TV. And how ’bout that time you said you were afraid the baseballs might be injected with hantavirus as part of a terrorist plot? And then there was the nap, the hair highlighting, the dusting of your mom’s chess pieces, and—”

“Well, those things CAN be important,” I said, hoping to head her off before she got to the excuse about needing to rid my entire yard of worms.

I just don’t understand what all the excitement is about baseball, though. Besides, of course, the Dippin’ Dots stand at the stadium, which is WAY cool. I recognized a guy from school scooping the Dots, and in a prior life I would have spent a lot of time talking to him about stuff, and maybe getting his screen name or something. But now that I am in a serious relationship-to-be, I am no longer playing the field.

Hey! “Playing the field” is, I think, a sports-related idiom! Which is alarming in TWO ways: (1) that I actually NOTICED this . . . I continue to amaze myself with my sudden surge in intellect . . . and, (2) that I actually NOTICED this. Which sound like the same things—and, of course, ARE the same things—but what I mean is that it is unusual for me to notice that something is an idiom AND it’s unusual for me to notice that a saying COMES from something . . . especially SPORTS.

Where WAS I anyway? Oh, yeah, at RFK Stadium, watching a baseball game.

Giulio seemed to really like the game and also seemed to enjoy the music playing in the stadium. He knew the words to every song that was played—“We Will Rock You,” “We Are the Champions,” “All Star,” “Hey Ya.” I have noticed, in fact, that he knows the words to almost every song that ever comes on the radio. I asked him about this, and he said all Italian kids listen to American music and sing along, but they don’t know what any of the words mean. They just sing them.

When Giulio and I get married, and I meet all his friends, I will tell them what all the words to all these songs actually MEAN. I will be their American connection to music and EVERYTHING.

Hm. I guess we’re not actually going to be able to get married for some years, considering our ages and that we don’t live in those young-marrying times, like Romeo and Juliet (fictionally) did. We’ll have to date for, like, YEARS, I guess. Which could be a challenge, since he will be returning to Italy at the end of the school year, and there will be a very large ocean between us.

Problems, problems. I’ll deal with that later.

Speaking of problems, I just don’t think Brady and Giulio are facing the fact that their relationship is almost over. It is, by my count, day 18. That gives them, on average, 16 days left, but they’re just having a good old time, acting like all is fine, and that no end is near. So, I better stay close by, to help them out when they are surprised by this. (That’s what friends are for.)

Unfortunately, this will involve some more baseball experiences, since Brady’s fall ball season is starting tonight, and Giulio has said he is planning to go to all her games. So, I told him, okay, I would go and show him where the field is and sit with him to help him understand the game and all. These are sacrifices I am willing to make. No one said life would be baseball-free.

The Colonel is circulating around the room again. I better get back to my sonneting . . .

The reason I have usually gone to

Brady’s games is for purposes of

Observing some of the other players—

Her teammates all being of the boy persuasion,

And in need of observing sometimes.

But I am looking forward to this game,

Even though I don’t care about that now.

You see, I have a hunch that this night’ll be

A turning point for this near-expired romance.

When Giulio sees what Brady looks like

After the average baseball game:

Dirt from nose to cleat, all streaked with sweat.

Scrapes on her legs from sliding, oozing blood.

Not pretty. So surely my life will change now.