Abridged
March, 1998
Cheese.
I love cheese as much as the next guy. Perhaps more. I like all kinds of cheese. Cheddar. Mozzerella. Monteray Jack. Venezuelan Beaver Cheese. Even American Cheese.
I love cheese curd.
Every once in a while, the dining halls here on the Syracuse campus will have theme dinners. They put tablecloths on the the tables, and tie up balloons around the cafeteria. The food is usually terrible, but whenever there's a theme dinner, there's a cheese tray. I've developed quite a reputation at the cheese tray.
Something happenned the other day, though. Dont worry, I still love cheese. I saw someone that took her love for cheese above any and all acceptable levels. She was a genuine nutball. And she was a vegetarian.
I was at lunch, in Haven dining hall, and this screwball walked up to the deli bar. She took one look at the cheese selection, and something popped. She called over the S.U.F.S. lackey.
"Where's the cheese?" she asked.
"It's right there," he said, pointing to the American Cheese. I didn't know he'd made a mistake. Obviously, he didn't know what he was in for either.
This girl went off. I don't want to try and write everything down that she said. "That's not real cheese. Where's the Provelone? I need provelone. I'm a vegetarian. You don't understand how important it is to have real cheese because you're not a vegetarian. Did you know that eighty percent of S.U. students are vegetarians?"
Hold up.
Eighty percent? What kind of trip was this nut job on? I don't think there's any school (excepting maybe Vassar) where even fifty percent of the student body is vegetarian. I almost puked. What is this world coming too. It's god damned cheese!
And since when is American Cheese not cheese? And what makes Provelone so much more acceptable as cheese? Sure it's processed. It's got some oil in it. But it's still made from milk. And if you're so concerned about getting milk, drink some freaking milk! Why the hell do you have to jump down some kid's throat because the dining hall ran out of Provelone? Get a hobby!
I'm sorry. I just get pissed off sometimes. Damn... I could use some cheese.
I won't lie. I'm running out of new ways to phrase things down here. Actually, this issue is low on new content, so basically, all I have to say is, check out the new design! I've redesigned almost everything. Tell me what you think.
Hey, this is the tenth issue of Sham! Wow. It's been amazing. Whatever. Okay, I'll write a little bit: There's new poems and a Scurvy article and an essay.
Also, check this week's access stats here. Or don't. I don't really care. I just need cheese.
Send me content... or cheese.
It came to me during what must have been my sixth re-reading of Hamlet. Call it an epiphany; call it hysteria triggered by the CIA bug in my brain. But I saw it: there, between the lines, clear as day.
Hamlet was a patsy.
Prince Hamlet was set up to take one of the biggest falls in dramatic history, the victim of an elaborate conspiracy that might have been the perfect crime. And it might have gone undiscovered, had I not stumbled upon it. But now, the truth will be known. Names will be named.
We all know the story: Hamlet returns home, his father dead and his uncle Claudius filling both his father's political and conjugal positions. The ghost of his father then explains the vile plot which brought him low, and charges Prince Hamlet to carry out vengeance. After much soul-searching, scheming, and a bout of (feigned?) madness, Hamlet acts, ultimately leaving a John Woo-like body count and Denmark in the clutches of Fortinbras' army. Seems like little more than a tragic story of errors, doesn't it?
But it's not. (Author's note: It took every iota of my will to resist writing "Coincidence? I think not." here. [Editor's note: Next time, resist mentioning that] ) Hamlet is merely a brainwashed pawn of the real mastermind behind the fall of Denmark: Gertrude. Yes, Gertrude, the innocent-faced queen of few words. Only an act, I assure you. Let's review the hard facts of the play, shall we?
Hamlet's real troubles begin when he meets with the "ghost." The ghost divulges the details of the king's murder, and orders him to "Revenge [my] foul and most unnatural murder." Now, who would know about how the king was murdered? Only Gertrude and Claudius... and Claudius isn't about to advertise it.
The ghost adds, "contrive/against thy mother aught"--that is, whatever you do, leave the queen out of it. And when Hamlet begins harassing his mother in her bedchamber in III.iv, the ghost reappears and scolds him. And yet, Gertrude seems to be the only one who can't see the ghost. Hmmm... The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
This begs the question: why? Why would the queen scheme to have her son kill her husband? The answer is simple: power. First, she seduced Claudius and goaded him into killing his brother. Then, she sets up the "ghost" to convince Hamlet to do away with King Claudius. The penalty for regicide is, of course, death. With the only male heirs apparent disposed of, Gertrude has the throne of Denmark all to herself.
Or is there more to it? Where did this "ghost" come from? My theory is that she had long before conspired with Fortinbras to aid her in this plan. Had her life not been cut short by an ill-timed sip of wine, I am sure she would have found some way to dispose of Fortinbras as well--making her the uncontested queen of both Denmark AND Norway. Clever girl.
So, something was indeed rotten in the state of Denmark. But now we know what--or who--that something was. I'd write more, but I hear the black helicopters approaching, just like they do every Tuesday night. Besides, I'm working on another play now. It's my belief that there was some sort of conspiracy behind the death of Julius Caesar.
(Author's note: If you would like to read my REAL essay about brainwashing and autonomy in Hamlet, please email me.)