I'm at the library for a minute picking up some holds, and judging by the way the snow is coming down I have serious doubts about whether I'll make it to Coach Girl's birthday party or Mike Trask and Mudhill's CD release bash tonight. I feel bad about both, but we've already established that I am a big old chicken about driving in bad weather.

And because I am, in fact, old, I am also hoping really hard that Gloryhound left New Brunswick really early this morning and arrived home safely before the snow started coming down too hard.

However! I got home last night and found a message from the post office, telling me I had a parcel to pick up. Yes! My DVDs of the history plays have arrived!

I was feeling sort of toasted last night so I just popped out Henry V and looked up the Crispin's Day speech. As with the "winter of our discontent" soliloquoy, the actor delivered it in a naturalistic manner, sounding like a guy trying to buck up his officers and himself before the battle. Like he knows they might all die and fail, and he's trying to come to grips with it.

I am old and sick and sentimental so I was all wobbly by the time he got to "we few," which you may recall I've said I cannot imagine how many times you'd have to rehearse before you didn't tear up as the actor. This production handled it by letting Henry get wobbly himself, like he understands what he's asking if his officers and men and he loves them for it.

Massive win, from what I can tell. At this rate Dad is definitely getting those tragedies for Father's Day.

And for Mother's Day... well, Leonard Cohen is coming to town that week. But more on that later.