Get Thee To A Nunnery!

So I've been taking an intro to acting class as an elective for the second summer session. Our first assignment concerns a monologue of our choosing. For some reason I chose one of Hamlet's...maybe because while living at the House of Beverage Matt would recite lines from it endlessly...or maybe because its the only monologue I could find where I actually knew something of the storyline. Whatever the reason may be, I proceeded to recite it until I was off book (memorized)...which just so happened to be the night of the first class. Jess and Ayla were still off "roughing" it at the Taconic State Park with Grammy, Dudu, Aunt Erica, Jonathan, Uncle Johnny, Aunt Wendy, and India so I really had nothing better to do than work on this piece. Needless to say, I had it down pretty quick and by the time the girls got home I was going to sleep whispering it and waking up with it on my mind. Ayla, the sponge that she is, quickly started to pick up on it. The above video is the result. She's got about half of it memorized give or take a word and with verbal prodding can get through the whole thing. She cracks me up. I can't watch this enough. I hope (if anyone still checks this blog) that you enjoy it as well.

Hamlet act I scene II:

O, that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew,
Or that the Everlasting had not fixed
His canon 'gainst self slaughter. O God, God,
How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on't, ah, fie, 'tis an unweeded garden
That grows to seed. Things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely. That it should come to this,
But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two, (AYLA stops)
So excellent a king, that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr, so loving to my mother
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth,
Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on, and yet within a month --
Let me not think on't; frailty, thy name is woman --
A little month, or ere those shoes were old
With which she followed my poor father's body
Like Niobe, all tears, why she, even she --
O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason
Would have mourned longer -- married with my uncle,
My father's brother, but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules. Within a month,
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing of her gallèd eyes,
She married. O, most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not nor it cannot come to good.
But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue.