Dear footnotes in 17th century literature

Dear footnotes in 17^th century literature,

I hate you with a ready passion, for you are pointless. Why should I care that a character in Dryden’s play has the same reaction to a similar situation as a character in a completely different play by a completely different author? You mean people act the same in similar situations? No, I don’t belief.

Yeah, it’s called basic human nature. Thank you very much for interrupting the flow of this god-awful piece of required crap to tell me something so trivial, menial and overall just pointless.

Why aren’t you ever helpful? You don’t tell me what “hasped” means here, but you explain that “slip” means “evade.” Really? All you do is take what should be a two-hour reading assignment and double it. Because I’m too afraid that I’ll miss that one time that you might clarify the language. Because that’s the question that will be on the reading quiz and that’s the question that will be the difference between passing and failing the quiz.

Hey, footnote author…here’s a piece of advice: since you love 17^th century literature sooo much (you loser) why don’t you take the work and re-write it using 20^th century language? Take out all the “asunders” and “by my troths” and “sirrahs” and just say what a normal human being in our time would say. Like when Westside Story made Romeo and Juliet suck less.

Why is it so important that we read Shakespeare anyway? Nobody spoke in iambic pentameter then, nobody does now. Shakespeare was never good. He was a racist, perverted fashion mishap who showed audiences that the proper way for a woman to behave was to be a chaste, giggling, Disney Princess. Oh, and it’s totally fine to murder your daughter if she’s “undone,” (which means raped.) Where are your priorities?!

But for some reason, if I want to major in English and be a writer I have to read, interpret, analyze a 453-page paper on the Philosophical Implications of whether the character’s name in Cymbeline is Imogen or Innogen. Because some crusty old scansion Nazi decided that this amazing piece of art is just sooo important. I mean, really…like there’s no way a person can get through life and become successful without reading Much Ado About Nothing fourteen times. All you need to know is right in the title. There’s a bunch of ado - mostly about nothing.

But we skip over Kundera. Nobody knows Palanhiuk. McDonough is ancillary at best. Nobody knows about the struggles of the promiscuous doctor in the communist Czechoslovakia. We never examine the troubles of a capitalist society obsessed with beauty and youth through the eyes of a burn-victim turned transvestite turned model. We never see the farce of terrorist rebel groups who murder cats to make their point. But we have to find the details of perukes, merkins and codpieces.

I’m starting my own university. It will be called I’m Better than U and all my graduates will go on to be the bosses of all the graduates of Yale and Harvard and all the people who can pick apart an analyze Pope, Swift and Milton. Because nobody cares if you can do that.

Dear Babies

Dear Babies, 

You make me sick. You don’t do anything yourselves! You can’t even perform the most basic, simple functions! You just sit there and expect everyone else around you to cater to your every need. Listen here, babies: you know what I take with me on the subway? I take my handbag and a book. Occasionally an iced coffee. What do *you* take? Well, technically you don’t take anything because you have your man-servant tote all your shit around for you! You insist on being pushed around in your own little rickshaw like you’re some kind of nobility. Why not just have four shirtless servants of Pharaoh hoist your platform on their shoulders while a white tiger clears a path before you, announcing your arrival? Doesn’t that sound nice, babies?

In addition to this jigsaw-puzzle rickshaw that pinches his fingers when your manservant tries to fold it up, you bring a change of clothes. In case, like, what, you decide to brunch with the queen and your lounging onesie doesn’t fit the restaurant décor? Come on, who are you, Cher?

And Lord forbid you spend a moment hungry while out of your palace, babies. You absolutely have to bring snacks. Not just any snacks – bodily fluids from another living human! How are you *not* like a vampire? And of course the entertainment must accompany you (aside from your manservant, whom is also expected to perform the duties of a jester). You must bring your favorite toys – or rather reasons to excuse yourself from socializing with us urchins (so sorry to be using your sidewalk, sire). You are totally rude, babies. You either ignore us completely or you stare at us with this big look on your face like we’re some kind of anomaly. Way to prey on our insecurities, jerks! Every little matter that doesn’t go exactly your way is the worst moment of your life. The sun is in your eyes or you’ve been denied an item to play with (such as a knife or pack of cigarettes) and you scream as if it’s the end of the world! Just wait, babies. Just wait until heartbreak. Wait until bankruptcy. Pregnancy. Your Sidewalk-Escalade takes up so much room on the train that I have to stand in my heels from Brooklyn to Mid-town. This wheeled throne of yours blocks up the sidewalk so I have no choice but to risk my life walking in the street or be late to work. You do nothing for my community and nothing for society, yet when I’m introduced to one of you little buttheads I’m expected to gush and swoon as though you invented vodka. Well, babies, I’m tired of it. I’m tired of “understanding” when you throw chicken nuggets in my hair or when you spit at me or scream at the top of your lungs in a store. So, this is your warning: I’ll punch a baby. Oh, I’ll do it. Now go wipe your mouths, already. 

 Sincerely, Everyone 

Dear Quadracep Muscles

Dear Quads,

I owe you an apology. You've been upset with me all day and I've all but ignored you, hoping that you'd just get over it, already. But, now I realize that I was wrong we need to reconcile before I go to bed, because I don't believe in going to bed angry - and you are clearly *pissed* at me.

I would like to start out by saying that I really do appreciate you. You are what enables me to get up out of bed every morning. You put the bounce in my step. You really do keep me running. Don't think I don't notice all you do for me. But remember back in high school - how we would spend hours and hours on the soccer field and the tennis court? Oh, Quadricep Muscles, we had such good times jumping on the trampoline in the yard! We never had these kinds of problems! What happened to us?

Perhaps I'm being unfair because I know the full extent of your capabilities. Perhaps I'm pushing you too hard and expecting more out of you than you're able to give. It's not fair for me to judge you based on who you were in the past. You're a different muscle today than you were when we were 16. I recognize that, but I still say that we can be better! Time doesn't depict who we are - we get to decide!

Remember the time there was so much lactic acid buildup in you that you refused to cooperate with me? Remember how I nurtured you with epsom salts and potassium and water and nursed you back to health? And remember how that year I made the varsity team? We're a team, Quads. You and me, together we can conquer the world! Well, maybe not the world, but we can definitely evict some of the fat cells who contribute nothing to the good of this community. Those guys are jerks! But I can't get rid of them without you. So, really...let's get over this pity party you're having. Suck it up.

Sincerely,

Pain Receptors

PS - I heard the Hamstring Brothers say you're a couple of sissies. Are you gonna take that? From the Hamstrings, of all muscles?

Dear Breakfast

Dear Turkey Sausage, Egg and Cheese on an English Muffin,

I want to thank you for being there for me today in my time of crisis. As you may or may not have heard, Sleep and I are having problems in our relationship. Last night I turned to my friend Wine for comfort. White and I were having a nice conversation and he started making me feel better about my problems with Sleep. But then White called up our other friend, Red. We started this weird kind of three-way thing, me, Red and White. And then I got a little crazy and decided that Red and White needed to be introduced to Blue Moon (after all, we are celebrating independence day soon). Anyway, Champagne showed up for a second too and...well...I guess I just kind of let them all have their way with me. I know I shouldn't have, and I'm not saying I was forced, but I just woke up regretful. I felt like they really disrespected me, you know? Worse, I felt like I had really disrespected myself.

But I made it to work on time. I have no idea how. I still felt pretty bad, though. Until you showed up. You, Turkey Sausage, Egg and Cheese on an English Muffin. You turned it all around. I held you gently in my hand. You were so firm, so warm. I anticipated your subtle spiciness on my tongue as we walked into my office and hid behind cubicle walls. I unwrapped you quickly, tearing away your papery outside layer to reveal your foily lingerie. You felt so hot, exposed that way. I thought I should wait a moment before enjoying you. I didn't want your heat to leave it's mark on the roof of my mouth. But I couldn't wait. I dove in. The world disappeared as I took you into my mouth. I closed my eyes as I felt your crispiness mixed with your creaminess and fluffiness. Bite by bite we became one, Turkey Sausage, Egg and Cheese on an English Muffin.

Maybe I should feel guiltily. I shouldn't be with someone like you. I should be with Low Fat Yogurt or Egg Whites and Veggies or Whole Grain Cereal, but I've been with them so many times and they're so boring! They're not like you, they're not passionate and hot and complex and sexy like you Turkey Sausage, Egg and Cheese on an English Muffin! I know it's wrong...but I just had to indulge in sensual pleasures this morning.

I sit in my cubicle, satisfied and alone. I have no regrets. Your salty hotness still lingers on my palate, though you have been gone for some time now. The problems that plagued me from last night have left my consciousness and I'm feeling better about Sleep and I. I think tonight we will reconcile. Yes, Turkey Sausage, Egg and Cheese on an English Muffin, I used you. We both knew what this was about. This can never happen again. Tomorrow I will go back to Whole Grain Cereal in the morning. But you should know how much you meant to me for those few moments this morning. I'll never forget you, but this can never happen again.

With love,

Psyche, Tummy, Hips, Butt, and Thighs