This is the story of your red right ankle, and how it came to meet your leg.
"Red Right Ankle" and "Of Angels and Angles." I keep playing these same two songs, over and over again; I can't stop. It's tricky, too, because "Of Angels and Angles" is one of the most depressing songs I've ever experienced, in the same way that "Somebody" by Depeche Mode is sort of a drag. Actually, the entirety of Picaresque (the album on which "Of Angels and Angles" resides) has developed a peculiar tendency to make me want to cry until there is nothing left. I don't really understand it; the majority of the songs themselves are not especially upsetting. It's just one of those unexplained mysteries, like how Riker on Next Generation could possibly have been straight.
I went to the video store today to inspect their selection of Hamlet adaptations as we're reading the text in my English class and I thought it might be nice to have a reference. I was horror-stricken to find only the pretentious (Kenneth Branagh), the nauseatingly pretentious (Mel "What Women Want" Gibson), and the flat-out retarded (a modern-day Ethan Hawke adaptation in which Denmark, the country, is replaced by "The Denmark Corporation," a change which makes a number of cardinal lines like "Denmark's a prison" somewhat confusing). I rented the Ethan Hawke version because it co-stars Bill Murray as Polonius, and, come on -- Bill Murray doing Shakespeare? Yes, please.
[Having watched the film, I don't know what I was thinking. It was a total shambles, naturally. Contrived, frustrating... my chief complaint, though, is this: no one should ever, ever, ever have to see Bill Murray get the back of his head blown off. Honestly. I understand that, given the context, guns must replace swords, but still. It could have been -- it didn't have to be obscene.]