Why do directors so consistently make an exception for "Othello"?

Apparently, it’s because there’s nothing to be gained from changing it.

I went to our local Theatre this week to see Othello with a "person of question". I’ve been avoiding it for weeks but I wanted to see it…anyway back to my bouffant thoughts between my temples.

Of all Shakespeare’s heroes, Othello — in the original, a moorish mercenary employed by the regime of Renaissance Venice in its ongoing struggle against the Turks — is the only one who is black [or, at any rate, not European]. While I looked forward to this local revisionist production in which a white Othello was cast against an otherwise all-black cast, I didn’t hold my breath, I held my hands instead, under my thighs leaning predisposed to a more likely undesired wedded hoary favor to my right and leaning quite obvious, I claimed "I cant see and my hands are cold". For many, "Othello" is the only play Shakespeare got right and this is because, unlike any other Shakespearean drama, "Othello" speaks to our contemporary political concerns, our bad conscience, our desire to overcome a history of racial injustice. For once, Shakespeare picked the right hero and, just as importantly, the right villain.

This is more or less what happens in the "today world". Part of Othello’s appeal has always been its ruthless depiction of social envy and natural hierarchy[sp?]. Othello’s downfall, just as much as his power, derives from an innate nobility not shared by the other characters. His nobility is of the classical kind, a sort of fact of nature in which makes him stronger, bolder and more direct than most men. But Othello’s nobility is also the source of his weakness and, ultimately, his downfall. White or black dramatis, I witnessed rural Louisiana.

Having no need of deception, "he", is not untrained in the ways and for that reason especially susceptible to the low cunning of Iago also a noble character and, like Othello, stronger, bolder, and more direct than other men. The source of Lago’s nobility, however, is quite different from that of Othello. Where, Othello’s nobility is of a metaphysical kind, Lago’s is cultural in nature. Lago, in this play, in short, is noble because he is black. His tragedy, to that extent, is not his own. Rather, it is a tragedy of which is, at least by implication, common to all black and white Americans still to this day.

[...'tap' 'tap' 'tap'...]"Ahem, Hello?" "Is this thing on?". " CHANGING SHADES IS A VERY AMBITIOUS ADVENTURE REGARDLESS OF THE COLOUR OF YOUR BLINDERS". echo...echo...echo... [off my soap box once again] ~ That's mine and you can quote me on it ~

Teresa.

Holes

Shhhhh......I shouldn't be on the Internet.

In the vast silence I count the holes on a ceiling tile…er…drop ceiling panel. [Whatever]. I think there is 2052 no wait….2053…I’ve stood on my chair and tried not to spin or lose my balance while I stuck a pencil into one of the biggest holes. Tiara crowned...Karen is creating some new verbal violence down the hall and I have a diet Dr. Pepper crackeling herein the can, on the desk through the opening spout. I drink diet Dr pepper because it tastes more like regular Dr. Pepper. I’ve talked to Jesus..he seems to be the only one listening.…Karen thought that I was talking to myself. When I told her I was talking to God she gave me her Christmas list.

I picked my nose when she left and crashed through the glass cieling.

Testimony of faith based on personal revelation…knowledge through the word of Gods grace…WAKE UP! Words to look up when I get home in concordance….mystery: hidden: I have to look this up myself…I have no right to demand my answers. I know He is pleased that I have questions.

To bad he couldn’t tell me…how many holes are here, above my head taking away my thoughts...leaking into the nothing? Actually? This will drive me nutz.

Weeeee...............! [office chair thing].

Teresa.

Hand signals for the title

Marcell Marso died today so I won't say a thing about it but I wonder if he went quietly[?].

No Function Here, Devistated By Love

I've sat here just 6 minutes to two hours with your phone card flipping over my fat thumbs.

If there was ever a moment where I needed to be embraced, I need you now. Your strong assuring arms to a weak soul. I admit...I'm weak but isn't everyone? It bothers me most that you think that I am not strong enough for you...and that I could never meet your needs. Does it really matter? What if you love me? What if I love you? What if I disassociate myself to fit into your environment? Would you still want to be with me given that I can become the woman you desire beyond the bedroom?

I no longer desire to be that MILF. I want so badly to be myself...........with a man like you.

Take this lonely life away and put me into your soul beyond the distance between 80 Google miles. Sometimes I hate that you talk to me because it messes with my plans. I don't know what to do beyond dropping everything and running to you because when you left me, my body, not my soul, was empty. I wish I could point to a pain to my doctor and tell him where I hurt.

I made plans for my life I can't change.
You play in my sandbox, when I am there. You have...I remember you a long time ago. Little girls dream of being princesses.....I didn't. I wasn't delusional about my life. You were always's there helping me build a sand pile of imagination with my little brothers Tonka trucks. Scooping and dumping into a pile of me as I thought.

Teresa...........P.S. I don't know if this is love but I tell you it hurts. Doug...my lover...my empowermant...why do I feel that the cat peed in my sandbox?

Turning 40

I’m giving up nice and becoming a sensuous woman,
The kind of a woman who wouldn’t wear bedsocks to bed.
I’m giving up going to places like Wal-Mart and the cleaners
And going wherever my appetites lead me instead.
I’ve bought all these books that are teaching me how to discover
Erogenous zones that would make my Aunt Una drop dead.
And as soon as I’ve found them, I’ll go be
A sensuous woman.

I’m giving up good and becoming a seething inferno,
One of those forces of nature mere mortals can’t tame.
Beneath my cotton thong such cravings will smolder
That Uncle John and my mother, if heard, would pass out from shame.
The books say even a middle-class girl from Huntsville
Can fan, if she practices, practically anyone’s flame.
And as soon as I’ve practiced, I’ll go be
A seething inferno for a single name.

I’m giving up sweet and becoming a creature of passion,
A wild thing that nobody ever can fully possess.
I’m leaving behind me a lot of wrecked lives, plus some headache.
[You think that a creature of passion would settle for less?]
My cousin Wendy, let me tell you , does not even know from
The animal needs that the books say I need to express.
And as soon as I need them, I’ll go be
A creature of passion with one man’s name on my lips.

I’m giving up G and becoming an X-rated woman,
With black silk sheets and an overhead mirror too.
I’ve still got some years, between file matt, Acrobat and pension,
To do all those things I’ve been warned all my life not to do.
The books say I’ll learn to stop worrying what my Aunt Una
And Uncle John, and my mother, would think if they knew.
And as soon as I’ve stopped, I will go be
A sensuous woman with one man’s name on my lips.

Teresa.

Adapted from "A Sensuous Woman" Judith Viorst.

Thank you Simon and Schuster for permission.

Lists

I love lists. Lists mean order. Lists mean things get finished. Lists mark passage of time.

Milk
Bread
Frozen peas
Popsicles
Jelly
Dulse
Tea
Nibs

They keep me grounded. I can’t forget things.

Call Dr.
Call Eye Dr.
Call Gynecologist.

They help keep me together. If I don’t write these lists I forget. I will miss something and get in trouble. I can even emphasis the importance with red ink and capitals.

Don't forget:
Prescriptions
Plastic bags
Circular saw
Steel drum
Bleach
Gasoline
Matches
Gloves
Establish aliby

We should be ready to go. Wait, I forgot the duct tape. I can’t have you making any noise on the way there.

REMEMBER DUCT TAPE.
Teresa.

Bathroom Etiquette?

There are people in the world — dangerous people — who are drunk with power (cough, cough, Cheney) but most of them are harmless little weenies whose sole purpose is to drive you nuts with their arbitrary rules, plus the obvious ones now chiseled in stone, so they'll have something to point at when they catch you. I, for one, won't be returning to the newest coffeshop here in South Bay Mouth [Rohr’s], not because the decor wasn't my taste and the and the employees unfriendly, but because of their "Ten Commandments", helpfully posted on the wall. You're basically walking into a nanny state: "Feet off the sofa! We are not a maid service, Clean up after yourselves! No cursing!"

Even better, there's a separate list of bathroom rules taped to the toilet, and if the standard Rohr's code of laws isn't patronizing enough [I'm sorry, I mean General Bathroom Tips]. I thought I should have wiped my feet before entering their latrine, throne of all thrones! Or else I would be arrested by the Toilet Police. I left a note torn from my scrapbook that read something to the like of... "Gee, thanks for the "tips," but I'm fully toilet trained and confident in my ability to use a bathroom without any retarded rhyming advice."

I would've taken a picture of the non-bathroom related rules, but it turns out "No photography" is on the list.

~I wrote this during my last visit to Manitulin Island~

http://www.icbe.org/icbe.shtml
http://www.zefrank.com/thewiki/poop
Teresa

What's For Dinner?

I heard a strange noise.
What was it?
It was... screaming. Some kind of screaming, like a child's voice.
What did you do?
I went downstairs, outside.
I crept up into the barn. I was so scared to look inside, but I had to.
And what did you see, Clarice? What did you see?
Lambs. The lambs were screaming.
They were slaughtering the spring lambs?
And they were screaming.

Teresa.

EUREKA!

An exclamation used as an interjection to celebrate a discovery. It is most famously attributed to Archimedes; he reportedly uttered the word when, while bathing, he suddenly understood the laws of displacement.

For the life of me I couldn't recall the name "Gelert". I was about to give myself Subdural Hematoma. I assumed it was a name from my imbalanced childhood - but how? How could that name come to mean something to me in the form of a lovelorn message.

EUREKA! I actually screamed in my steaming shower, lathered in my soft Dove Nutrium Skin Nourishing Bar - "A unique dual formula beauty bar that contains natural nutrients skin needs. It goes beyond cleansing and moisturizing to nourish skin, actually leaving your skin in better condition than ordinary soap. This pink formula contains a nutrient-enriched lotion with Vitamin E leaving your skin cleanly rinsed and soft, with a healthy glow. It deposits nutrients naturally found in skin." Well...that's what it claims on the hard to open cellophane package.

Undoubtedly Gelert I thought was an Aesop's Fables story. It had to be! Ok, think... think... think... A baby, a loyal pet...a wolf...a gun! Goggle it right now! Naked I sit in my squeaky office chair smelling lovely and shivering. Alas I cannot find it. Fingers typing frantically, hair completely depleted of moisture but very slick I came to realize.......realize.....fingers still moving....Crap! I forgot to rinse out the hair conditioner. I was about to get up and dread getting all wet from the shower again and there it was, THANK YOU WICIPEDIA!
Thought you had me there didn't you Doug? Er...ahem...Gelert? AH HA!

Teresa.

Pigeon Fight

During a recent trip to Toronto I watched pigeons — I know, rats with wings — in the bus depot while I was waiting for my bus. Anyone who's familular with the a city for more than, say, a week has to be totally over the birds — old ladies on park benches don't bother feeding them anymore— and just perplexed by the attraction they seem to hold for others. There's no way you can sneak up on a robin or a crow before they'll fly off. Pigeons are so used to people that they won't even move if you're about to step on them. But what was special about these birds is that there were three of them, and one was sort of lopsided. I'm no veterinarian, but I think it had a broken wing, kind of slouched over and wobbling. I'm gonna name her Trina, after one of my daughters pet Cestial Goldfish [She was an egg shaped goldfish, but its eyes were pointing up words to the sky and no dorsal fin]. A gimpy, depressed fish who spent her short time in her aquarium nutrifying the environment, getting her food stolen by the other fish and eventually and most pathetically became food for the other fish.

Trina had her own tourmenter, a white speckled pigeon, tall and upright — I’ll call her Adrian — who kept jumping on her back and pecking at her, because Adrian is a total douche. The third pigeon- I’ll call him Calvin, more or less watched the fight from a distance as also the crowd of humans watching along with me. I was torn — I think most of the people there were torn — part of me wanted to break up the pigeon fight. Part of me was eight years old and wanted to take Trina home in a little shoebox and nurse her wing back to health and part of me wasn't really sure what to do. Not that it's my fight, but what do I know about bird morality? They're not sentient in the same way that I am, and what right do I have to impose my morals on them? Not to mention, what right do I have to side with Trina over Adrian? Maybe in pigeon-land, Adrian has ethics on her side here.

The good news, if you can call it that, about my moral waffling is that no one else had a strong urge to help out Trina, or maybe just turn the Bus Station slightly less violent, either. A few people sauntered up to the fighting birds with their heavy bags and screaming children in tow, but being a city pigeon, Adrian hardly noticed. No one actually swatted at her with their Daily Newspaper [which might be illegal anyway] or ran at the birds or threatened them. I waited for my bus to come, figuring that either the Greyhound would scare the fight off, or the throng of passengers disembarking would. But no, as far as I know, Adrian is still there, wailing on Trina and Calvin not doing a thing [typical male behaviour when women are fighting].

Teresa.