Well, sir?

You’d think those years of teaching would have taught me how to do a really high quality school marm look and tone. And I can do the voice. I can do the look. But even so, I find it hard to call it forth when talking to grown-ass men who need to be called out. It might be a little easier to conjure than the wolf growl I’ve been working on.

Yet, in faith, if you did, It would not much approve me.

I feel as though, all my life, I was seeking approval from those who were unworthy of my regard. Being thought intelligent by the unintelligent would not have been any great feat – or even being thought intelligent by the intelligent but clueless or intelligent but misogynist. If I had been thought of at all by these dudes in power, it would have only been due to my physical attributes – my fuckability, perhaps. So – their approval would not have much approved me.

I would you did, sir.

That is the thing that is so infuriating, really. It’s like – my whole life I’ve been aware of sexism and I have never not been a feminist. But the level of the way things are stacked against women, still, still…well, it is astounding. What I realize when I really look at so many of the statistics laid out is that my abilities are, in fact, completely invisible to those in power and those in power are almost all men. None of them know I am not ignorant – even with pages of evidence before them, they would still be blind to anything I have to offer.
I would that they knew I was not ignorant, just the way Hamlet would that Osric knew he was not ignorant despite having said so. But alas.

I know you are not ignorant –

Today I was reading the section of Soraya Chemaly’s book where she lays out how little men think of women’s intelligence and capability. I don’t recall the exact statistic but I believe that men assumed women’s ignorance at a rather startlingly large percentage. The assumption of capability just comes with your gender if you’re a cis male.
I nearly spit with rage when I read about the doctor who was dismissed on the plane, whose credentials were questioned when the first white man to stand up and claim doctorhood was ushered to the sick person immediately.
I am spitting mad about it. And in general. It has always been thus but I cannot tolerate it anymore.

Of him, sir.

I like the way dialogue doesn’t always operate logically in time. That is – here in Hamlet answering Osric’s question with Horatio’s line in between. The timing is such that the through-line could probably hold between them but reading these sentences the way I do, that is, once a day, it takes a moment to figure out the through-line. That is, this line does not answer the line that came right before it – rather it answers the sentence before.

His purse is empty already; all’s golden words are spent.

It would be amazing if we had a limited amount of words we could use in a day.
I think I might like to live in such a world. People might be more careful about what they said. They might be more judicious in reporting their news. There would likely be many late night conversations, using up the unspent words of the day. I imagine it might be a quieter world. Especially in the morning, which would suit me very well.

What imparts the nomination of this gentleman?

FratFace Rapist Kavanagh was just confirmed as a supreme court justice. The fact that he was pushed through the judicial process without permission, consent or approval from the American people is one of the biggest parts of the problem. His nomination was thoughtless, as most things are from the Donny Twimp in charge. He is very like the man baby at the top. Overly entitled. Prone to sexual assault. Gifted at both self-aggrandizement and making himself a victim.
The nomination itself was bad enough. The confirmation feels like the beginning of an American dystopia.
*
Update:
It is clear when I wrote this.
And when I post it, these years later, we just danced in the streets because the Twimp has been voted out of office. We are stuck with Kavanagh however. And the new horror show who followed him.

Ist not possible to understand in another tongue?

Tongue is a funny word for language and it tends to travel across languages, too. Language and tongue, are in fact, the same words in some languages.
But here – I think Horatio isn’t using the word tongue as language – he’s using it more literally. Because Hamlet and Osric are both speaking English, however arch and verified – but it may SOUND like another language. And I suspect that Horatio is attempting a bit of double meaning with tongue in that capacity.
I don’t think Horatio’s particularly funny, though, or all that quick with words. He’s a better listener than talker.
It is also odd that he pipes up to speak in just this moment.
Has Osric turned to him to get a translation?