Friday, August 13, 2010

Homebaked Shakespeare

More Camp Letters from Shakespeare's Characters: Hamlet Writes to Gertrude and Hamlet, Sr.

Hello Mother. Hello Father. How is little baby brother?

That's a little something I like to call irony. Shall I give you a moment to look it up? Can you tear yourselves away from each other long enough to do that? Can you? Let me save you the trip. Maybe if you weren't so self-involved, then you could think about the bigger picture: I'm an only child. That means I'm going to be stuck taking care of you all by myself—not to mention going through all of your petty bourgeois things—your stuff, your spiritually alienating shit— after you die.

Camp Minnetonka is an unadulterated disaster. We are slotted into "activities" like wallet-making and Capture the Flag. At night, they make us stand in front of a fire and make "s'mores," because you're supposed to want "some more" once you've tasted one. Why, why do you insist on sending me to a place that feeds on blind materialism, mindless warfare, and gluttonous excess? Why didn't you let me go to Stagedoor Manor? Why? This is your dream, not mine. They don't even have theater here. I tried to write a play for some of my "bunk mates" to put on, and in return they flew my underpants up the camp flagpole.

I'm writing this letter in my own blood. I hope you're happy.


p.s. I got a letter from Ophelia. Tell Polonius that "Camp Virginwood" should be renamed "Camp Ho' Bag."

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