Tomorrow

The fellow in the above picture is one Orson Welles, and he is probably a hero for another day. In the picture he is portraying today's stand in hero, that of Macbeth. The main character in "that Scottish play" who's name is not supposed to be mentioned because it is bad luck, and I realize that for a lot of people his performance in the play is far from heroic. Lucky for me, I am not most people, and also it is my blog, and I get to be the asshat picking the heroes. Desire for this sort of power is the sort of power that led Macbeth (goaded on by his grasping bitch of a wife) to murder the rightful king, and eventually come a cropper against Macduff. Sure he is a murdering bastard, and for the majority of the play goes about it with undisguised glee. However, into his mouth Shakespeare has place on of the greatest soliloquies of all time. His death, which is entirely necessary for the peace of Scotland, has a certain nobleness about it that I find hard to explain. Perhaps I am not smart enough to explain it, or (more likely) I am too lazy. However, I will cut and past that soliloquy, that is the only part of Shakespeare I can still recite from memory.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death.

Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more.

It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing

That pretty much sums up a lot of my life, and for better or worse it probably will continue to sum it up for a while. It is a fantastic speech, and for it Macbeth, you murdering bastard, you are my (227th), hero of the day.