Outside of watching ‘Mr. Popper’s Penguins’ (which was totally predictable, silly animal fun) and not a very original film at all (You knew he was going to get back together with his family, you knew they couldn’t leave the penguins in the zoo) but it certainly had some moments, and the Sherman and Peabody movie and Monster University, both of which I’d seen before, it wasn’t a very stimulating day culturally, although I had a few arguments about poetry on Facebook.
An interesting debate about whether William Shakespeare was actually the author of William Shakespeare’s works (I believe he was). It started with somebody pointing out that there were no books in his will, which doesn’t really strike me as too odd, there really weren’t a lot of books around at the time, and he wrote plays and poetry. Most people of his day wouldn’t have owned any books. Of course, it’s a bit odd for a writer, but maybe he’d given them to friends before his death, or had some verbal agreement.
They were saying that there was no actual proof of him authoring all those works, but on the other hand there’s no proof of anybody else authoring them either. You get back to the 16th century and there’s no proof of a lot of stuff. Was Joan of Arc delusional because of some bacteria in the milk or was she just a religious fanatic? We’ll never know. Was Elizabeth I really a virgin? We’ll never know. Richard III, good guy or bad guy? We’ll never know. And I’m sure I have written here several times my theory of the Gunpowder Plot (false flag, inside job). We’ll never know.
So, doubters will continue to doubt that Shakespeare could have been a great enough genius to have been Shakespeare, and I can’t prove them wrong. Nonetheless, I remain unconvinced.