What’s in a name? I think somebody famous once asked that question. I was watching comedian Dana Carvey’s new comedy special and the former Church Lady happened to riff on that very idea. In his act, he was posing the question in terms of politics, noting how likeable the current Democratic candidate has to be in order for people to get past his name. Though, honestly, perhaps Millard Fillmore faced the same challenges a few hundred years back. Carvey’s jokes pointed to the way names often bring up associations unrelated and unintended. They can also carry with them certain expectations.

When searching the wide, wacky world of Shakespeare news, I am often struck by the number of articles that pop up for people who simply happen to have Shakespeare as a last name. One such item recently popped up regarding an athletics coach who shares Will’s last name. While from the outside it must seem like a lot of fun, I have no doubts that people with the mis-/good fortune to be named Shakespeare must be subject to any endless array of cheap, corny or simply lame attempts at humor.

For someone involved in sports, the puns that commentators and writers must inflict upon this man must be brutal. “He has got to win this game, Ted, or it won’t be all’s well that ends well.” “Bob, Shakespeare’s team has just been amazing, meeting whatever challenge their opponents throw at them and giving it back measure for measure.” “John, we thought Coach Shakespeare was injured, but it turned out to be much ado about nothing.” The current Mr. Shakespeare has my sympathy; to put up with all of that takes one noble kinsman.

When you think of Shakespeare, do you imagine saloons, horses and boots? I don’t, but that doesn’t mean there haven’t been numerous productions of The Bard’s plays re-set in a western milieu. Still, if you’re a purist, you may have trouble imagining Shakespearean characters squaring off with six guns instead of swords. In a recent news item, I found Shakespeare in a most unexpected place: the southwest corner of New Mexico, right near the Mexican border. Shakespeare, New Mexico is a ghost town; one of many in that part of the country that enjoyed a brief boom in the 1800’s followed by rapid economic fallout that left the town’s structures utterly abandoned (or, dead, if you will).

Shakespeare wasn’t always called Shakespeare (no authorship jokes here, please). In fact, the town changed its name several times over the course of its rather brief life. It gained its current name in an attempt to cover up a scandal. The town had been the location of a fake “diamond boom” which turned out to be a scam, so the town was renamed to disassociate itself with the crime. What’s interesting to ponder is why they chose the name Shakespeare (the ghost town’s website—it’s now a tourist attraction—doesn’t explain its origin). The town saw plenty of notorious traffic in its day, as many outlaws passed through its borders. Its history is certainly juicy enough for a good play, but unfortunately, this Shakespeare died around two and a half centuries after the original did.

In how-meta-can-you-get? news, I recently read an article about what Shakespeare can teach us about blogging. Intrigued by the item, I now find myself in the position of writing a blog about blogs. According to this writer, Shakespeare made a name for himself by combining a variety of different elements. Not only did he borrow story points (if not entire plotlines) from other authors, he also melded their styles together. In his works classical ideas of tragedy are combined with holdover elements from medieval morality plays (particularly their episodic structure). Shakespeare found similar inspiration for comedy from numerous sources, including short comic sketches as well as pastoral comedies. In essence, Shakespeare was all about pastiche….

….which brings us to blogging. When the term first started to appear, I remember thinking, “What the heck is a blog?” Now that I write one, I am not even sure I am any closer to a true definition, but some common elements do appear. Blogs are often the intersection of the critical, the personal, and the popular. Whatever people blog about, whether it’s a play, a politician or a reality television show, the reactions and assessments are always personal. Furthermore, in many forums, people bring their own areas of expertise to the dialogues created on blogs, which can make it a more intellectual experience. Balancing out the potential for that kind of writing to become incredibly snobby (to say nothing of dry), popular culture has become a common medium for reflection and comparison. In the blogosphere, I could talk about William Shakespeare and Perez Hilton (shudder) in the same breath….but, don’t worry, I won’t.

“Good Friends, for Jesus’ sake forbear,
To dig the bones enclosed here!
Blest be the man that spares these stones,
And curst be he that moves my bones.”

Believe it or not, some people take the words written above very seriously. This four-line phrase, written in a verse and meter that is very familiar, appear on a plaque in a church in a little town in England called Stratford. The plaque is next to a roped-off section of stone flooring under which lie the remains of none other than William Shakespeare.

Despite, the warning, there is a problem with The Bard’s final resting place, namely the stone flooring that covers it. Like the celebrity reality shows on VH1, it is starting to wear thin. The general public is not allowed to tread upon the stone that covers Shakespeare’s burial ground, however during services the area must be used for communion.

This places the church in a bit of a quandary. Even if moving the grave is not considered an option, the stone itself still needs to be repaired in some way. The concern for some is that it might invoke the curse threatened on the plaque (which some attribute as Shakespeare’s own writing). What would a Shakespearean curse be? Would his ghost follow you around? Because, honestly, that sounds kind of awesome. Would you forever speak in iambic pentameter for the rest of your life? Again, sign me up. Unless someone can assure me that the curse wouldn’t be something that would release my inner Shakespeare geek, they had better fix that floor fast. I’m only a plane ticket and a shovel away.

Take a good, long look at the picture that accompanies this posting. What is it you ask? It is kind of hard to tell because there is a lot happening. At first glance, it looks like The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert by way of The Wicker Man. The people depicted are clearly taking part in some kind of parade, but it also has a kind of odd costume-party vibe to it as well. This most unusual picture comes to us from the United Kingdom, where throughout the country people are gearing up to celebrate Shakespeare’s 444th birthday.

The particular group of celebrants pictured here are from a sort of poly-theatrical theatre group that mixes puppetry and circus elements into its performances. The Globe (a kind of Mecca for the Shakespeare-devoted) is overseeing a week’s worth of gosh-ain’t-Shakespeare-great activities. On the actual day itself, a barge with a miniature version of an Elizabethan playhouse will float down a river. What? No giant floats of Shylock or Prospero? How about effigies of Christopher Marlowe or Ben Jonson? Maybe the whole thing could be capped off with a sing-along to the songs Ophelia sings before she drowns herself? Doesn’t that sound like fun for the kids? No? Well, perhaps no one will try these things at this particular festival, but never say never. If there’s one thing you can be sure of, it is that there is no limit to the varying ways that people will celebrate Shakespeare’s birthday.

Like many of you, I have periodically watched Jay Leno’s “Jaywalking” sketch wherein the chin-tacular host goes out on the streets and interviews people questions that many would consider basic knowledge. Naturally, I cringe when people think that Eminem signed the Declaration of Independence or that Germany is a city in Oregon. As intended, I often scream at the television and wonder how there could be so many people who know so little about the world around them. For those who like to laugh at these misinformed folks (or rage at them in indignation), a new British survey has done for England what Mr. Leno has done for America.

Apparently, at least one third of the U.K. people interviewed did not know who Shakespeare was. Furthermore, a considerable portion of them believed he was one of the Kings of England. Truly. For some reason, this survey did not make me laugh, nor did it make me angry. Instead, it made me sad. As a Shakespeare blogger, of course I think everyone should read (and love) Shakespeare; however, it occurs to me that blaming or laughing at people for what they do not know is not really fair or helpful. Also, I would hate to have a microphone stuck in my face one day followed by questions about subjects with which I am unfamiliar for the sole purpose of being called a moron by a national audience. Inherently, these polls are not about the people who don’t know the answers; they are about the people who do know them congratulating themselves. If we are to prevent Shakespeare from becoming elitist, then knowledge should be shared and not used to create boundaries between people.

In the late 1980s, there were several Odd Couple-esque movies about men and their dogs. The clearest example is Turner & Hooch, which paired a neat-freak with a slobbering mutt who wreaks havoc on the man’s vacuum-sealed world. Although there are all kinds of theatrical/film axioms about not working with animals, they are still a major selling point for family audiences. Animals, like kids, are cute, and if that cuteness can be exploited, profits can be made. A corollary to this trend (reaching farther than the messy dog films of the 1980s) is the anthropomorphic or talking animal. It seems we just cannot get enough of animals who reflect our own personality quirks and sense of humor.

In this vein, a new play called Shakespeare’s Dog takes plays these ideas for the literary set. In this historical-fiction farce, young Will has a dog named Hooker who helps him become the playwriting legend he was meant to be. The production plays both sides of the animal coin, allowing Hooker to engage in cutesy dog behavior as well as offer commentary on Elizabethan England. Hooker and several other “animals” in the show are played by very human actors, a disjunction maximized for comic effect.

Aside from whatever leg-humping, tail-chasing jokes the play is able to mine out of the dog scenario, it also sets up the story for some very shrewd social commentary. Too often in historical plays, the characters are wise beyond their time and more self-aware than any real person ever would be. By telling the story from the dog’s standpoint, we get a true outsider’s perspective on the culture that produced the Bard and his plays.

In the past twenty years, product tie-ins have become a way of life. On television and in films, characters conspicuously drink name-brand sodas. Concerts by rock and pop stars always offer T-shirts, poster, and even bed-sheets emblazoned with the stars’ name or image. This kind of shilling has become so commonplace that the practice was recently lampooned on the brilliant sitcom 30 Rock (wherein star Tina Fey and company complain about product tie-ins on their fictional sketch comedy show and then proceed to sip a famous beverage and marvel at its taste and other fine qualities). Even in the theatrical world, merchandising plays a significant role in many theatre companies’ profits.

Still, the most unusual example of this trend came up in a recent blog. Apparently, someone has come up with a zinfandel named Writer’s Block and the logo is none other than William Shakespeare himself. I’m still trying to make the connection here. Don’t get me wrong; I’m sure Will loved to hoist a few every now and then. Other than that, I can’t see why his name would be a big selling point for wine. Is the idea to appeal to elitism? Shakespeare and wine, how very continental…. Finally, why call it Writer’s Block if you’re going to use the most famous writer of all time as the face of your product? Wouldn’t it be better to have Nicole Richie’s picture on there? Trust me, if you’ve ever attempted to read her book, you’ll know that she has SERIOUS block. Also, talent block. But that’s a topic for another blog…

In this blog, I frequently report or comment on the unusual lengths directors and actors go to in production to make Shakespeare unique. Also, I often share the various unusual ways in which Shakespeare is utilized in nonliterary and non-performance forums. In many ways, this blog is a record not just of Shakespearean happenings, but of Shakespearean fanaticism. Any time something becomes the object of great attention and acclaim, a fervent (and in some extreme cases, crazy) level of devotion is bound to develop. For example, I never thought I would be mentioning Shakespeare and Shredded Wheat in the same sentence, and yet here I am.

It seems that some people have been vandalizing Shakespeare’s birth house. Fortunately, the subject of this vandalism is a replica and not the original. It also happens to be something of a miniature version of it, standing only a few feet high. The other curious aspect about this replica is that it is made entirely of wheat. No, that is not a typo. The house was built and donated by Shredded Wheat. So, the first interesting point is that someone loved the Bard so much that they rebuilt his homestead OUT OF CEREAL. I’m trying to imagine what that meeting was like: “No, we can’t use Cheerios because of the holes. Corn Flakes are out, because they aren’t sturdy enough. Wait! I’ve got it!…..” The second point of interest is that someone disliked this tourist attraction enough to vandalize it. I’m not sure what kind of political or social statement this makes. Fortunately, the damage has been minimal since the vandals are mostly just tipping it over. Now, if these wheat-tippers wanted to create some real mayhem, they’d pour milk on it and let it soak.

Perhaps some people aren’t superstitious. They step on cracks, walk under ladders and break mirrors without breaking a sweat. That carefree approach to life may explain a truly unique Shakespearean-themed wedding proposal. Following a performance of a Bard play, a man took his unsuspecting girlfriend on stage and, in front of cast, crew and audience, asked her to marry him. The girl readily agreed to the delight of the onlookers. The play that served as the backdrop for this romantic event was Romeo and Juliet.

On one level, of course, the play is incredibly romantic. It is about the passion and intensity of young love. In many ways, perhaps Romeo and Juliet can serve as ideals of what love should be…except for that Thelma and Louise of an ending. This proposal took place in the darkened crypt where Romeo gulped down a poisoned cocktail and Juliet bear-hugged a knife. Not exactly Cinderella, if you get my drift. Maybe a play about fatally unrequited love sets the wrong tone for a marriage.

Admittedly, it is a healthier relationship that the sicko power games the Macbeths are into, but I can’t help thinking there are Shakespeare characters who offer a more, shall we say, optimistic view of romance. For all of their fighting, Beatrice and Benedick, are a fairly well-matched couple: they aren’t sickeningly ingénue-ish for the cynics out there; they are fun and witty; most importantly, however, their romantic adventures end with both of them still breathing.