Everyday Stranger

The One With The Gawpy Accent

Wish me luck this weekend, as Melissa arrives tomorrow morning.

Mr. Y and I decided that it's important to be part of a community. Now, I am absolutely crap at meeting and getting to know new people, and Mr. Y is perhaps a little bit hesitant as well, but we both view this as an important part of being a new couple: he "lost" most of his joint friends in his divorce, and I "lost" all of mine. So meeting new people and having mutual friends is an important part of building a future together, one that includes getting stupidly drunk with friends at a dinner and barbecue.

So we joined the local arts group-he as someone to assist with sound/lighting, and me as part of the cast.

I was in theatre for a very long time, actually. I not only took classes at a theatre near Dallas, I also taught there, too. I was an actor, director, stage manager...you name it. I was active up until I met, married, and divorced the lighting designer there (ironic, isn't it? I always seem to fall for the guys who have a thing for lights) and then I really no longer had access to the theatre. I then went on to play a role in a UPN series for kids in Dallas, which ran for a few years. The money was shit, and a new possibility came up-I was to play a conservative woman living with her gay brother in NYC, but last minute UPN discovered a niche market in African-American comedies and scrapped the plan.

I quit UPN and acting in general.

A similar TV series, "Will and Grace", was made on a rival network to monster success.

I hope UPN are kicking themselves to this day.

Anyway, Mr. Y and I attended the village fair a few weeks ago and were persuaded to join the new show. The casting was already done, but they were desperate for chorus members so we were welcome if we would sing. Actually, it was for a show that Mr. Y knew very well, since his grand-parents were in a local production of it when he was younger, during the summer week he had to be in it. I couldn't believe it when I heard.

The show they are putting on is "Oklahoma!".

Oh.
My.
God.

Mr. Y and I trooped off to a former World War II bunker where they hold the rehearsals, and immediately it fell into my "This is Really Weird" category. There were about 15 people there, all seated in various arranged "choir" seats. The director, a woman who could masquerade during the day as the village gossip, immediately placed Mr. Y in the back row with the men and put me in the middle row with the altos.

And so it began.

The man playing Curly stood up, pinky ringed finger curled over the perfectly highlighted script. He started speaking to the group of us, clearly pleased with himself. He spoke, and I got a chill down my back as I realized that he was putting on a thick, "I'm-a-Redneck" accent with a bit of a totty English accent.

In fairness, he didn't do too bad.

But the object of his affections, Laurey? Yeah, let's just say she might need a bit of dialect work.

"Ah say, Cur-leeee. Ah jus doan know how Ah shall survive this monstrous event. Wouldja' lahke a cuppa tea?"

And about half of her words sounded like J.R.-Eweing-with-a-stroke meets the Queen of England.

At the break, I went up to the director.

"You know, I am from Texas, and I am happy to help with the accent, if you need it."

Razors of ice shot from her eyes. "Texas is not the same as Oklahoma." she replied, sharp English accent at the ready.

That's for damn sure, ma'am. "No, they aren't, but they are right next to each other and the dialect is similar. I am just offering, perhaps you don't need it."

"Well." she replied, her lips pursing and disappearing into themselves. "We shall see, shall we?"

Ooooh. I already pissed off the director. "Yup. We shall see." I replied. I walked up to Mr. Y, who was drinking a glass of water.

"Hi honey," I said, wrapping my arms around his waist. "Having fun?"
"Ohmigod, this is excruciating." he replied, gulping water. "I am not singing in a show, I will do the lights, but that's it."
"Please?" I asked, thinking how fun it would be to put stage makeup on him.
In answer, he tipped his water glass down the front of my shirt. Thinking quickly, I hugged myself to him, soaking him as well. When we sat down, he got chortles from the men in the back congratulating him on the wet T-Shirt contest. The woman next to me looked at me quizzically, taking in my wet chest.

"I have a drinking problem." I replied smoothly.
"Oh." she said, understanding. "I've heard that about Americans."
This brought on the giggles from me.

The rehearsal kept going-from time to time we would get to sing when Curly and Laurey were deciding to keep their hands off each other, and when we did it was hell. My group, the altos, were clearly out of favor. There were only 4 of us compared to about a thousand sopranos who apparently were engaged in a compeition to see who could shatter the most glass, and the director kept referring to us as "The Number Twos" which put me in immature giggles every time. I would glance back from time to time to see Mr. Y singing away, mouth wide open but looking a bit like a deer trapped in the headlights.

At the end of it, we walked home hand in hand, Mr. Y swearing up and down that he would absolutely not be doing that musical. And to be honest, although I love theatre and want to be involved, I have to be honest-I think "Oklahoma" is a pretty stupid musical. I may be bowing out, too.

But that doesn't stop the irritating songs from bouncing in our heads. I may be doing the laundry and hear, from the bathroom upstairs, the sound of Mr. Y taking a wee and singing at the top of his lungs: "You're doing fine, Oklahoma! Oklahoma! O-K-L-A-H-O-M-A! OKLAHOMA!" rising to a fever-inspired desperate yelling frenzy at the end of it.

But I know the feeling. After all, I'm just a girl who can't say no.

I love living here.

-H.

PS-Karen, I received the books and the Twizzlers-thank you so much, I was sucking the life out of the very last of my Twizzler stock yesterday!

PPS-Last night Mr. Y and I watched The Game, ignoring our tickets to the theatre for an edge-of-the-seat-of-the-couch evening. Miguel-my congratulations. But that goal shouldn't have been disallowed :)

PPPS-I have been getting a few mails that maybe I am not real, either. You know. Like Pinocchio. Just because Layne disappeared, it doesn't mean that the rest of the blog world is a bunch of smoke and mirrors. I am real, my experiences and thoughts (as fucked up as they are) are real, and everything I write here (except for people's names and a few incidences to protect people I discuss on this blog) are real. Ask Simon (and his new weblog showcase)-he's actually met me and Mr. Y.

PPPPS-And I booked tickets for a long weekend in August for Mr. Y and I. We are off to one of the most romantic places in the world. See if you can guess :)

Posted by Everydaystranger at June 25, 2004 10:45 AM | TrackBack