Plans I Make.

Even though I majored in literature at the Harvard on the Appomattox, I somehow made it through without taking a single Shakespeare class. Other than playing the part of Romeo for the "yonder window"  scene about 11 times in 10th grade English class since every girl wanted to be Juliet to my then-chiseled, absurdly-sculpted body made out of raw sinew and turpentine made from tiger muscle, I don't think I've really studied ANY Shakespeare of note (and no, reading Macbeth/Hamlet along with the rest of your illiterate class while in high school doesn't count either.) I find that to be excusable. I'm not the best-read fellow you know, but I'm not the worst either. Perhaps I will dedicate this winter to studying Shakespeare?