Steinbeck Surrenders

...or at least, he ought to, considering the massacre I am making of his words.

Of Mice and Men, the classic American tale of horse shoe games and whorehouses, is written in a structure difficult for my modern mouth to wrap itself around.

(Yes, I know the masterpiece is about a bit more than horse shoe games and whorehouses, but these are the major components of my role in the play, so naturally, they remain very important to me.)

I am having no trouble whatsoever with the accent, related to an Oklahoma dialect with hard-hitting "r" sounds, and a tight-lipped delivery. I am, however, having trouble with the odd sentence structure Steinbeck uses. I freely confess that I am more comfortable in a tux, holding a martini glass, and tossing off bon mots.

But I shall soldier on. Lengthy tech this weekend (three days' worth) will be followed by a day off, then we open cold, and fairly unexpectedly, for a house of over 300 9th graders (how old are 9th graders these days anyway? 14 or so?) at the ungodly hour of 10:15 AM. Adding the time required to prep for the curtain, and the hour or so commute from my front door to Olney, and we are talking about a very early and very long day...

Wanna make an actor complain? Give him a job.