It must be spring. My hands smell like varnish.

We don't really know the cause, but pseudo-scientific tests have confirmed that my brain has turned to mush. The prevailing theory has to do with the undoubtedly mutagenic chemicals in the varnish, but I have a sneaking suspicion that three nights of forcefully-applied iambic pentameter might have something to do with it.

The Shenandoah Shakespeare Express was in town this week for three shows. Slated for performance this year were Hamlet, A Midsummer Night's Dream, and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead.

Midsummer was first up on Wednesday night, and it was sold out. Heather and Jess were able to get tickets at the very last minute. I got a glowing report, but didn't get to see the play. (Only a little disappointed, I was.) The next night they called me up from the ticket line and said, "We have you a ticket, but you have to come NOW. We're going to sit on the front row again, and you need to join us."So I did. Ahhhh, Hamlet. It's one of my three favorites of Shakespeare, but up to now I'd never gotten to see it performed live. We hung around for a few minutes afterward and had a few pictures taken—and bought tickets for Friday's showing of Rosencrantz.