Wednesday, April 3, 2013

'Tis Banquo's

I have a lot of nothing to say today. I keep sitting here, trying to think of something cool or deep or in any other way resembling a York Mint Patty. But I have nothing. So I'll share the adventure I had this morning.

On my way into work, a line from Macbeth popped into my head:

MACBETH: There's blood on thy cheek.

SASSASSIN: Then 'tis----

That was all I could remember. For those of you not in the know (or not stupid into Shakespeare) these two fellows are discussing the successful assassination of Macbeth's best friend (it's complicated ((it's Shakespeare))). But for the life of me, I could not remember the final word in this exchange--the name of Macbeth's friend.

Translated, the exchange reads like this:

MACBETH: You've got blood on your face. Like, right there. *poke*

SASSASSIN: It's cool. It didn't come out of MY body. It came out of the body of that dude. You know--the one you hired me to kill in the face. The guy whose name is--


I tried repeating this exchange 108 times in my head, but could not get that final word to appear in my mental word processor. I tried shifting around to other parts in the play--in the very beginning, when the witches hail MACBETH, future king, and ------, father of kings.

The closest I could get was B-----. I thought it was 'Ben' something. I began to bastardize other Shakespearean names to try and figure it out. Benvolio? Bercutio? Everything came out vaguely Italiany, because the last Shakespeare I read was Twelfth Night, and durrrrrr I just could not crank that name out of my subconscious and into my mouth.

I asked my workmates. Even the nerdy ones (Wifey, Buhlamon and Shamalambs) had nothing for me. Most had either never read Macbeth (HOW) or hadn't read it since 8th grade, which was strangely time-distant for some of us. Buhlamon is a delightful man who spent a considerable time as an actor, and was hilariously, dramatically wincey when we said the name MACBETH.

It wasn't 'Ben' anything. Ba---- or Bo---. Definitely. And full of syllables.

I started asking random coworkers outside of the bakery (the grocery store is a bit like a flat globe, full of other, distant lands with strange ways and unique languages) but it was all more of the same. Even though I have a miniature computer phone made for miracles, I couldn't bring myself to internet cheat. I don't know why. It was just one of those things I decided for myself.

Nerd masochism?

This went on for hours. Finally, at lunch time, I was able to text First Wife.


I should mention that First Wife has the mark of the theatre on her. Permanent ink on her forearm. It's pretty badass.

She floundered for about three seconds before she started getting really close guesses. I was mid-text-whine when it hit me, the combination of hours of gray-matter-scouring and her lobs of 'Banqi, no, Banqo, wait'



"There's blood on thy face."

"Then, 'tis Banquo's."

Why was this such a big deal? Shrug. Probably the same reason Shakespeare is a big deal. It's just worth knowing.

And that's all I've got.

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