And speaking of birthdays...
Happy Birthday, William!
There are plenty of people whose birthdays I don't remember. Some of these are even people who actually mean something to me. But I never seem to forget William Shakespeare's birthday.
It might be because I don't feel the stress of thinking I should have sent him something that makes me avoid thinking of it?
Bill never gets his feelings hurt if I haven't sent him flowers, or even a card.
That's the thing about dead playwrights...they never expect too much. You've got to admire that.
A Little Bit of Trivia
Probably the more likely reason I remember it is a high school english teacher who was fond of this factoid.
Whatever the reason, I like to think to think of this bit of trivia: 456 years ago (more or less - there's some dispute of his actual birthdate, or even if it was the man from Stratford-Upon-Avon who wrote all of those plays. Still, someone wrote them, and they wrote them around this time period.
And I am grateful. All those wonderful plays and sonnets and tales of power, love, life, and death... I think the world would be a very different place if those poems and plays were never written.
Thank you, Shakespeare, whoever you really were.
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