MacBeth and Hoodies

[Catlady (Rita Prince Winston)]

Caius Marcius wrote in
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HPFGU-OTChatter/message/27289 :

<<  The "adage" that the Lady refers to is a popular Elizabethan
saying: "The cat would eat fish, but dare not get her feet wet." >> 

Thank you, I had never known to what she was referring.

Ms Tattersall wrote in
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HPFGU-OTChatter/message/27291 :

<< As I recall, my first real immersion in the plays did not occur
until
my junior year in high school (which was much closer to Shakespeare's
own time than it is now), when we began with that classic tale of
teen angst--R+J to the current generation--which, despite the
ultimate body count, remains a fairly tame and manageable story for
young skulls full of mush to muddle through. >>

My junior high class (in private school) read R+J as preparation to
see the Franco Zefferelli movie thereof which came out that year
(1968, acto www.imdb.com). My tenth grade (sophomore) class in high
school (public school) read Julius Caesar because it was part of the
curriculum and our teacher told us it had been chosen because it had
the least sex of all Shakespeare's plays. 

Carolyn wrote in
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HPFGU-OTChatter/message/27305 :

<< Or possibly banning all clothes - read and enjoy:
http://www.deadbrain.co.uk/news/article_2005_05_19_1832.php >>

Fun article, thanks.

A few years ago, reading in newspaper of the troubles a high school
had banning gang insignia and gang color (red for Bloods, blue for
Crips, purple for Grape Street Crips, brown for Fudgetown (?) Crips,
etc), my DH suggested that that problem could be solved by banning
clothing. 

Speaking of hoodies, I won't ever even try one on. When I was quite
young, four or maybe five years old, my mother the idealist got the
idea that pull-over hooded sweatshirts were the most logical thing for
young children to wear, and walked me and my brother to a local shop
to buy us each one. Obediently attempting to try one on, my head got
caught in a piece of cloth that blocked the neck opening. (About
twenty years later, I realised it was the facing -- why a hooded
garment had a neckline facing I can't imagine.) 

Neither my mother nor the saleslady had any idea what the problem was,
and just kept telling me to try harder, and the harder I tried, the
more trapped I was. My head trapped in the dark where I couldn't see!
I panicked. Eventually they allowed me to give up and exit via the
bottom of the sweatshirt. This left me with a *strong* distaste for
the feel of 'fleece' garments until a couple of years after I had
realised it was just the facing. I still haven't forgiven hoods.