Wedded to Calamity

I've spent the better part of the afternoon pacing the inside of my garage in a pair of shorts talking to myself.

Wait. I can explain.

I'm talking to myself because I'm memorizing my first scene as the wackily unfortunate Friar Lawrence in Romeo and Juliet. I'm pacing in my garage because moving helps me remember the lines, and its the only place in the house I can practice without my sister saying shut up, Oh my God why is your voice so loud, etcetera, etcetera. And I'm wearing shorts because, well, it was kinda hot. Saturated air and all that.
We've cut out a significant portion of my monologues, and at first, I have to say I was a bit indignant. "Cut out Shakespeare?", said I, "Surely you jest! You may as well rewrite the New Testament so Jesus dances back down to Earth in an angelic chorus line, or turn Moby Dick into a cop drama called White Fish and the Peg Leg. And then I started reading my lines. And I thanked the acting gods that they'd been cut. Its not really that there's so many, its just that the language is almost comically archaic. Even with the translation, I only have a vague idea of what I'm saying, and the wording only makes it worse. Seriously, Fie, fie, thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit, which like a usuer, abound'st in all. I don't think some of those words have been used in normal conversation for close to 400 years. Now, I've got nothing against the Bard's writing; when you understand the poetry, it's beautiful, and when properly acted, it's magnificent. But all the beauty doesn't make trying to say doth sit without saying doth shit any easier.
Ooops. When I was typing the word portion at the beginning of the paragraph, I accidentally typed formula. I just realized it. I think its because I'm watching Breaking Bad on AMC. Appaently, TVs having an adverse effect on my subconscious.
Whoda thunk it, right?

Well I'm accustomed to a smooth ride