Ground up!

[Conklin]

Last night I did a bit about starting a journal in the "New Direction" thread. Now I'm starting a journal. It's called commitment, friends.

I most certainly have not been committed to my employers. I'm on my third job since my BA in English (with a concentration in Feminist and Gender Studies) was conferred in May.

First there was a chain record store. I was fired because they wouldn't give me time off for my cousin's wedding so I just didn't go to work. I told them about a week in advance I wasn't going to be at work, but I guess they didn't believe me. The joke was on them, at least until they fired me. Incidentally, about two weeks before I abandoned my post, I called out from the UCB Theatre. At approximately 100 miles, it was the furthest I've ever been from my boss while pretending to be sick.

The next job I quit over a nickel. At least that's how my friend (and partner in crime) Alexis describes it. It was at a crappy trendy clothing retailer. I worked there one day and it was like having my soul sucked out through my eye. The next day I went to get on the bus and realized I was a nickel short. So I called and quit. It was either that or start panhandling. Instead of the customary two weeks, I gave them the 40 minutes before my shift started.

Now I'm working at a chain office supply store. It's not what I had in mind when I took out $30,000 in college loans, but it's the best of the three thus far. I'm not looking to get rich. I just want a paycheck while I pursue my totally unmarketable artistic goals. My apartment is cheap, and I'm pretty frugal. All I need are enough nights off to rehearse and hopefully, in the near future, perform.

While there isn't much improv content here yet, I don't feel like making this post any longer. I hope this is enough to prove that I am, in fact, a verified improviser. If not, please consult Ross White, assuming he's not a random post generator. In any case, I'll be expecting my Verified Improviser Certificate (suitable for framing!) in 7-10 business days.

Goodnight.

 

[Conklin]

dewy decimal my brain, please.

Imagine my delight to see that I was approved for imrpov consumption! Thank you, Moderator Mullany!

A scant few hours after completing my entry last night, spurred by what I can only describe as some sort of compulsion, I decided I needed pens and notebooks. This was at approximately 2:00am. Fortunately I live within a block of both an ATM and a 24-hour pharmacy with a decent stationery department. So I walked over to pick out new pens and notebooks. I just had this bizarre sensation in my head that if I had the right supplies, I would write down pure brilliance. But I couldn't find what I wanted. I must have looked like some sort of freak -- I handled just about every pen and notebook in the store. In case I didn't look odd enough already, everything was split between two different aisles, so I had to walk back and forth to compare. I spent over a half hour mulling this over. I knew immediately that I wanted pens with caps, not retractable "clicky" pens. At first, I thought I might want an unlined notebook, but I couldn't find one that felt right, so I eventually went with gregg ruled steno pads (my long-time favorite). I was somewhat disappointed to choose a notebook that is sort of typical for me, rather than what I was hoping which was picking one up and feeling lightning strike.

I think it's bad for me to work at an office supply store. I spend all day surrounded by piles of notebooks and pads, reams of paper, rack upon rack of pens and pencils, not to mention all of the organizational materials like acordian files, hanging folders, and more binders of various types than I ever realized existed. All day my brain screams at me, "If you had all this, I would generate enough worthwhile thoughts to necessitate this level of organization!" I don't think I would've ended up shopping at 2:30 in the morning if I hadn't spent those 9 hours stocking merchandise for all the little back-to-schoolers.

I've always been able to keep up with the paperwork for a short while. During the spring semester, I kept track of all of my scenes at rehearsals and shows in a little notebook. It was a great experience. It helped my improv memory tremendously -- I trained myself to be able to recall the details of my characters, their relationships, their environments, etc. Plus, it helped me identify trends in my scenes and fallbacks and crutches in my choices. It helped me bust out of a long funk and feel like I was improving again (that's as in "improve" -- i'm an English major snob and I don't use "improv" as a verb). This summer, since everything has been sort of loosey-goosey, I haven't done as well at recording my work. Maybe that's why I'm feeling insecure about my notebooks in the middle of the night: repressed guilt.

aww, crap. I'm getting longwinded again. Tomorrow, I'll get more into my current improv situation, dish the dirt on my meeting with the IRC's Meljo, plus discuss some of my lofty goals and plans for unscripted theatre and the city of brotherly love. If that sounds like a doozy of an entry, it's probably because it is.

 

[Conklin]

who/what/where/when/why/how

If I want to improvise, specifically the long-form style, what the hell am I doing in Philadelphia?

I love that here and now there are no rules and expectations. I love that we found a beautiful rehearsal studio (spacious, airy, hardwood floors, etc) for $8 an hour. I love that I've met people who are excited about improv for no other reason than that it brings them joy. Nobody is going to land an agent; shit, I'd be surprised if anyone landed even a post-show free drink. The only real incentive to improvise here is to improvise; the work is the reward. And the people I'm working with are fantastic.

First, there is Alexis. We've been improvising together for as long as we've been improvising. I don't think there's anyone I trust and respect more onstage, and very few offstage. It seems that at the top of 90% of our scenes, neither of us has an initiation, but they still turn out wonderful regardless. Alexis has some of the best improv instincts I've seen when it comes to editing, heightening, calling back, connecting, etc. I referred to her as my partner in crime in the first entry of this little journal and I stand by that description, even though I've come to find it lame since.

Then there's Matt, who's been voted "Most Likely to Read This" by an impartial panel of judges consisting of me. While he hadn't done much long-form prior to this project, he has an incredible wealth of knowledge regarding games and exercises. They've helped us immeasurably in the short time we've been working together. Plus, he's done so many scenes that he's had no problem adjusting to the long-form. He's also really good at playing moms. It's a little weird, but a very useful skill.

Next we have Nathan. He's the least experienced out of our little cadre, but I doubt anyone would pick that out by watching us. He's what people refer to as a natural. Also, he is a martial artist and brings an interesting physical edge to our work because he's so aware of body and motion. One thing that stands out in my memory is a mimed bat he swung at Matt in a scene. I instinctively winced at the moment of "contact" -- his swinging motion was so realistic that I was expecting Matt's head to fly off.

There have been a few others, but I haven't really played with them enough to do a fair assessment at this time. I consider the aforementioned three plus me to be the core of this little start-up.
- - - - -
Another of the people I've met here in Philly is Melody (aka "Meljo"). Just the other day actually. I scooted into a University of the Arts building behind a key-holding student, scored some free food, watched some kids play DDR and discussed improv. it was a pretty cool afternoon.

I had previously, through this message board's PM function, offered a general pledge of support and let her know that I was available to help in any way she wanted. Well, she's interested in having me do some workshops at U of the Arts. It's more trust than I expected a relative stranger to put in me, and frankly I'm flattered. While I'm not that experienced by New York standards, I am a pretty good option here, and specifically I have with a decent amount of success working with college students with little to no improv experience. I was kinda/sorta the director of my college troupe and we went to the Del Close Marathon this year and held our own.

This is a big deal because it seems to me the biggest thing preventing improv from taking off in Philadelphia is a lack of awareness. One of the goals of our little psuedo-troupe is to go to all of the area colleges and perform free shows. There are close to a dozen; that's a great deal of young people looking for cheap entertainment. Hopefully some of these people can be converted into paying fans eventually should that time come. In any case, this U of the Arts connection allows me to play a role in getting people in this city excited about improv, which is thrilling to me.
- - - - -
I think i'm finally through most of the exposition. Next time maybe I can just journal instead of boring everyone to tears with all this backstory.

now, i'm going to the pharmacy to look at office supplies. seriously.

**addendum**
i purchased more pens, some folders, and candy. i'm just one or two items away from getting my life under control. i can feel it.

 

[Conklin]

Rehearsal tonight had some ups and downs. We moved into our new space and it was fantastic (see previous entry). We were asked to improvise in our socks, so as not to screw up the floor. By the end, I had forgotten that i was shoeless.

We had two new people tonight. it threw us for a little but of a loop, i think. I'm not really comfortable discussing pros/cons, strengths/weaknesses or whatever else on a message board. It did sort of drive home the point that we've grown so much in a couple months that it's easy to forget that it's hard to be the new person coming into a semi-established group. we have something of a rapport, and i'm not sure if we did a great job integrating the new people, both socially and improv-wise.

I'm looking forward to the day when I'm in a real performance troupe and we can have a more structured way to work with new and different people. I previously mentioned that we have a core group of 4 people who have worked together pretty consistently for several months. we have worked with 4-6 others over the course of the summer. Not everyone is someone I'm interested in pursuing a longterm improv relationship with. But since they came to a "rehearsal" rather than an "audition" i think some people have built up expectations that they are now "in a group" when in reality there is no group. We're just some people who love improv and are trial-and-error testing the waters to see who's out there and what's possible. I think at the next gathering we need to make this clearer so that no feelings are hurt down the line.

Fuck. Maybe that is too much to say on a public message board. No one should read anything into it. Frankly, i haven't seen enough of anyone to make any real judgments as to anyone's talent or ability. I have some gut feelings about individuals, but it's all intuition at this point. One of my big gut feelings about the situation as a whole is that people who come to a rehearsal think that the group that they're with on that particular occasion will someday perform onstage in that exact incarnation. That's not necessarily true; it's not necessarily untrue, either though. I just don't want people's expectations to run wild and leave reality in the dust.
- - - - -
maybe i'm a little down because last week was really unbelievably good. Anything probably would've been a letdown after that.

Matt, Alexis, and I went out to the college for our last rehearsal in the burbs, at least for now. Some others were supposed to come, but got stuck in Labor Day traffic and thus decided to turn around rather than be an hour late. We managed to pick up Scott, who Alexis and i worked with in The Throng last year and who happens to be a fantastically talented improviser. The four of us did an outstanding job of rocking out, including an hour straight of scenes that wound and twisted each other up in new and interesting ways. It was a little glimmer at the end of a frustrating post-college tunnel indicating that our improv does have the chance to be transcendent and magical, even if it's tough some weeks.

Like this week. Nothing was bad, per se, it just didn't flow as easily. There were hitches, and it felt a little more like hard work at times.

i've always been my own worst critic.

 

[Conklin]

September 11th improv rehearsal, two Throng members (LeMar and Scott), Alexis, and me. Actually i'm slightly annoyed because I wrote a sappy email about how I wanted to play with them and got denied by 4 out of 6. Those ingrates will never see my sensitive side again. Plus I rode the subways/trolley for like an hour! All I wanted was to play!

In any case, the four of us warmed up and did some scenework. I think lately Alexis and i have both been working individually on identifying some of our improv-crutches and casting them aside (like Mary Lou Retton at the end of Scrooged). This has led to us doing some interesting and inspired scenework that I couldn't picture us doing 6 months ago. Two memorable scenes: 1) two southern men talking about Jesus as if he were an old friend; 2) therapist (me) trying to help an athlete (Alexis) through "big game anxiety" as he choked at every little task. The descriptions don't really do the scenes justice. They had very clear games and developed relationships and were both a joy to play.

LeMar and Scott were down at the end of the rehearsal, thinking it hadn't been that good. I have decided this is one of my pet peeves. There is always something good to focus on as you walk out of that door. Concentrate on the positive, then address the negative at the next rehearsal with games or exercises rather than pointless moping.

I'm guilty of this frequently. I should heed my own advice.

- - - - -

Work at office supply store continues. Both my arms and one of my hands are cut up pretty good from moving around boxes of furniture and safes and boxes of copier paper and other heavy things around. While I'm not a weakling, I'm horribly uncoordinated so moving heavy objects is not something that comes naturally to me. Especially when a ladder is involved.

I don't know how much longer I'm going to work there. I like the job and all, but I need regular, 9-5 Mon-Fri hours if I want to make a serious pass at all of my other goals. Plus, they gutted my hours for next week. I have something like 18-20 instead of the 35-40 I've gotten the past two weeks. A man cannot pay rent on 18 hours of retail work.

- - - - -

I just noticed that the puke smilie seems to be shooting some of the vomit from his nose. I didn't think it possible, but I dislike that smilie even more now.

 

[Conklin]

oh, rehearsal.

Tonight was a big improvement over last week. Myself, Alexis, Matt, and IRC's Meljo. With a smaller group, I was able to see more of Melody's work. She's very enthusiastic and willing to try anything, which is very important when you're entering into a group that has some established exercises and games that are foreign to you. For example she performed very well in the challenging exercise "Make that more interesting!" which is solo mimed thingy. I've done it a couple times and still find it somewhat nerve-wracking. It's a lot to ask of someone, but she did it and did it well (and I'm not just saying that because she will read this).

Wait, tangent based on that parenthetical note:
i keep this journal for me. I'm referencing people, places, and things that are unknown to the vast majority of the improvisers here. I myself am virtually unknown. A wrench has been thrown in because some people I know read this. So i can't be totally forthcoming always. But i don't lie. I'll leave parts out, perhaps, but everything is true.

back to rehearsal:
One thing we need to improve on is how clever we try to be. And that's going to be hard because we are clever and can usually get away with it. Eventually, however, we need to open up and be vulnerable and make characters and relationships come to life, rather than acting out situations and ideas.

Another thing we need to work on is heightening. for such an idea-based group of people, we really do a poor job at raising the stakes on our ideas sometimes. We're good at calling back, and can occasionally do a really nifty inversion or shift on an idea, but we rarely heighten. Maybe it will be easier once our characters are more distinct.

- - - - -

i can't quite articulate it yet, but i think part of why improv is always described as a "you had to be there experience" has to do with the way we endow words and ideas with a greater or alternate sort of meaning through creating a context that exists only within the confines of a particular improvisation.

Let me try to explain this from a more practical description.

We've been doing lots of word association work. We'll sometimes do two or three different word association formats in a single rehearsal. Inevitably, we stumble into patterns that we repeat. Then, after repeating a certain chain of words, we will start to leap around among words that might have been two or three steps apart previously but now seem to go together naturally although they never would have before this particular word association. It's as if things come into focus, and the words that previously existed in the causal chain were blur that has been removed, leaving the important words and ideas together. For example, sneaker --> sport --> game --> play --> Shakespeare. Eventually, through reiteration and repetition, that might get pared down to sneaker --> Shakespeare. The connection remains even as the words that provided the connection disappear. Sneaker and Shakespeare go together perfectly and naturally in the context of this game, but never again. And if you weren't there to see how that context was created, the great scene about Shakespeare's sneakers won't mean as much to you when your buddy tells you about it the next day.

huh. i think i better stop there before i confuse myself and everyone else further.

 

[Conklin]

So my crappy stupid job scheduled me during 24Live. They gave the weekend off to three other people. But not me. They scheduled me for only three days that week. Friday and Saturday are two of them. They are A-#1 rat bastards.

In a related story, I have decided that I need a 9-5, M-F job now. The M-F stands for "Monday through Friday," not "Mother-Fucker" -- I already have a job of the latter variety. So tomorrow I am doing nothing but resumes. Tonight is about candy and video games and self-pity. Rite Aid is selling selected candy bars 4/$1 so I'm seriously ready to pig out. Then I will wake up tomorrow and be dilligent.
- - - - -
Before my job got me all flustered and murderously angry, I was thinking about improv today. Something I read in the big Second City book in somebody's bio (Mike Meyers, maybe?) about finding your voice as a performer. And it got me thinking. The first character one plays when in an improv show is, for lack of a less stupid title, "the improviser self." Whether it's walking onto that stage with grim determination or dancing like a nut, everyone decides what sort of improviser they want to be seen as. In most show set-ups, even while not actively performing the improviser is still in the view of the audience, still an object of attention. And defining that neutral position is the first key to performing. It is against that neutral position that all the characters are defined. For some, maybe for most, this comes very naturally. And for others, those who are too self-conscious, or maybe not self-conscious enough, it is a challenge. Lately my neutral position has been a mess. I've had tics and twitches, i've paced on the back line, I've grimmaced while doing word associations and pattern games. I think it's hurt the energy in my scenework. It's something to watch out for.

Or maybe, as usual, I'm overthinking and overstating everything. Maybe I need to relax in order to, well, relax. What a neat little tautology that is.

 

[Conklin]

What up, journal? My ears are still ringing from rehearsal tonight. Yellprov indeed, Ms. Meljo. I hate a bad rehearsal. A bad rehearsal means going 13 days between good rehearsals, assuming the preceeding and following rehearsal are both good. Two bad rehearsals in a row is almost unbearable. Three bad rehearsals and it's time to start stabbing. And that's all there is to be said about it at this time.
- - - - -
When I was just a fetus, the god of crazy sublimated itself into my mommy's uterus and smacked me in my pre-natal face with its two-by-four of lunacy. Figuratively, of course. This occasionally results in odd behavior, for example, bolting away from a bar at 2am without really explaining myself or saying goodbye to my companions, and then deciding to walk home in the rain for 5 miles through neighborhoods I don't know. Or calling someone repeatedly despite having nothing to say and leaving odd voicemails (man, do I miss the anonymous days before caller ID -- I could call as much as I wanted and it was totally untraceable -- now i almost have to leave a voicemail since people know I called). So if you see me late at night wandering around in the rain with a cellphone pressed to my ear and utter nonsense spilling out of my mouth, just leave me be. I'm taking care of myself the best I know how.

 

[Conklin]

two entirely too personal stories involving my nether regions.

Last night I had a dream that I was involved in a drug bust. Instead of a real gun like everyone else was brandishing, I had two water pistols: one orange and one purple (the translucent kind that look sort of like a 1950s idea of futuristic). I hope this isn't some kind of precognition about my impotence, either in improvisation or, you know, the genital kind.
- - - - -
Whenever I go to my stupid job, I get a bad case of ass-itch. I'm fine walking there, but within 20 minutes of arriving, I get a horribly distracting tingle that begs for attention that I'm unwilling to provide in a place of business. Then, as mysteriously as it arrives, it disappears within twenty minutes of leaving at the end of my shift. I'm a hygenic dude, and I employ all the traditional, tried-and-true safeguards against ass-itch, short of medicated powder. I'm only 22 so I refuse to use medicated powder. I like to think I'm of hearty stock, and powder would deflate that image with a quickness. In any case, this is very mysterious to me. Worrying about this little problem is taking far more more of my time.

Tonight, however, my sagging spirits got a boost. I noticed a coworker walking about 15 yards ahead of me. He didn't realize anyone was behind him, as it was just before closing and the store was mostly empty. He had two fingers digging for all they were worth (above the pants, in case that needed any clarification).

Suddenly, I felt like less of a freak and more the victim of some sort of horrible occupational conspiracy.

More on this as it develops.
- - - - -
hey Jas, if you read this:

foot!

I'm hilarious!

 

[Conklin]

Melody told me to write tonight while i still remember some of what happened. we saw the throng show at haverford and i couldn't be more proud of those kids. they called me onstage and i did one scene and it was okay but i wanted to punch Scott anyway, fist fight joe said i. then we had a nice relaxed evening and i unwound until typing is difficult. then we played hotspot and did some scenes. and i stole someone's corduroy blazer but i don't know who. but i'm wearing it and i didn't have it when i left.

 

[Conklin]

Sometimes i feel like two improvisers. There's the shitty one who is normally behind the wheel and then there is a good one who is typically locked in the trunk. Most nights, trunkman can only kick and scream as his dark little abode fills with water after shitty drove yet another scene off a bridge. Every so often though trunkman wriggles himself out and muscles the wheel away from shitty. those are the days i live for.

 

[Conklin]

Internet has returned to the household, and after several weeks I can finally update. Please return from edges of your respective seats.

The title of this journal has two meanings, at least to me. On the one hand, it signifies my excitement at trying to start something from nothing, to build from scratch. At it's most pessimistic, "Ground up!" refers to the unsettling feeling that I am a pile of meat and every moment that passes I have decomposed a little more without doing anything substantial to justify or validate my existence. Normally, the balance between these two poles is maintained relatively well. I might lean 70-30 for one entry, or 34-66 another day. I pretty much hit both extremes in the past week.

I am a person capable of doing horrible, thoughtless things that negatively affect people I care about in addition to being self-destructive. I spend so much time reminding myself of that fact. But sometimes I can get it right, too. Right?

 

[Conklin]

Communication is a game we all agree to play. Sound is essentially meaningless except insofar as we subscribe to the belief that it conveys meaning. Symbols have no necessary connection to that which we say they represent. As none of these relationships of signification are natural/concrete/whatever, there's no reason to perpetuate them within an alternate reality on stage. The goal of the improviser should be to create an entirely original syntagmatic structure within the context of the work.

I'm not sure I believe what I just typed. It could lead to fun, subversive scenework or it could lead to self-indulgent, alienating wankery. Like most things, there's probably some truth buried in their. Maybe I'll go looking for it tomorrow.

 

[Conklin]

ice broken. eskimos soaking wet.

What do you do when you're nuts and the Yankees lose and no one has any compassion because they're the Yankees? Why, walk 2.5 miles each way for candy and soda of course. Nevermind that there are several 7-11s much closer to my residence. I trucked it up to Chestnut and 12th. I like to walk. I find it soothing. I walk many miles per day. I walk to work and it's almost 2 miles each way, and I frequently walk 2 miles into Center City. I learned many years ago that exercise is very good for my brain chemistry. I forget why because I stopped enjoying in science halfway through the first semester of organic chemistry. I wish I had a little dedication because I think I could've been good at math and science. I love numbers and patterns. It even intruded into my English major, in its own weird way. If I were forced to categorize my thought, I would say that I'm walking the line between structuralism and post-structuralism. Again, I would only say that if forced. I believe strongly in an underlying order, and I just as strongly believe in the inability of an individual to begin to comprehend that order. When I envision a physical model of what the structure of language/literature would be like, I think back to my (limited) training in physics. Unimaginably large, filled with an incomprehensible number of things, all of which exert influence on all the rest. Sometimes its a large influence, and sometimes its small, but everything feels the pull of everything else. Everything is a product of its relationships to all the rest. That's not to say, in the case of language, that the order is essential. It is in all likelihood a construction. But that doesn't make it unreal.

So much bullshit for a 22 year old kid. I should be shot in the face.

 

[Conklin]

Holy crap! I'm a danger to myself and a burden to others!

Please indulge me in some literary theory for a moment. From the preface to Ariadne's Thread by J. Hillis Miller:

My real difficulties, however, I have only recently realized, arise from irreconcilable contradictions in the original project. One contradiction arises from the collision between the desire, on the one hand, to write an orderly, logical, rational, logocentric book, a book with a beginning, middle, end and firm underlying logos or ground. This desire was instilled by all my education and culture. On the other hand, the original insights generating this work were not amenable to such ordering. These insights were alogical, though not exactly irrational.

I swear I learn as much about improv from lit theory as I do from Truth in Comedy and Impro.

Our openings, our pattern games and our word associations and our organic work, are alogical. Note that I didn't say illogical, and that's not just because I'm aping J. Hillis. Talk of "logical" and "illogical" is irrelevant because this work exists outside of logic and any attempt to impose it is external and forced. That includes adapting the raw material from openings into scenes. Trying to force it into regimented segments that start with beginnings followed by middles and concluded with endings is trying to change the very nature of what we're working with. And yet it's what we've been taught to want, and what our audiences have been taught to expect.

I can't stop thinking about order and patterns and logic lately. It's the mental equivalent of a pebble in my shoe. But with the crap job I don't have the time to devote heavy thinking that will bring me to some sort of peace on the subject. Then again, if I didn't have the crap job, if I had all the leisure time in the world, would I care so much about order and patterns?
- - - - - - - - - -
From the absurd to the quotidian.

I have to walk into Center City and buy socks today. It is difficult to find what I want. Black ankle socks. It doesn't strike me that it should be difficult and yet it is. I checked Target and Modell's which both happen to share a strip mall with my place of employment. I can't think of anyplace more likely in South Philly, so I'm going to Center City to see what I can find. White socks get dingy so fast. If I drop my dough on socks, I want them to look fresh for at least a couple wears. So black it is.

 

[Conklin]

Good rehearsal tonight. We did our first Harold as an ensemble (plus Ms. Athena who was dropping in). It went off pretty well for a first run. I could nitpick it to death, and there were things that needed improvement, but as a whole it was good and fun. There's not really any point in tearing it apart.

Athena was cool. For some reason I'm fearing I've got her name wrong, despite being pretty sure I'm right. She meshed well and contributed fully, much more than I would have expected based on a few of our previous drop ins. She's only in town for a short while though and thus will only attend one more rehearsal.
- - - - -
What if, for the sake of this bizarre exercise, we pretend scenes were sentient beings that existed independently of improvisers, and rather than the creators the improvisers were different substances that influenced the way scenes behaved.

For those of you who are still with me, I would say that I'm nicotine. Scenes under my influence are jittery, always looking for something to do with their hands. Holmsie is also nicotine, but a fine cigar. Scenes comtemplatively puff on him as opposed to the quick, nervous drags they take of me. Nathan is a bottle of beer. Imported. Alexis subjects her scenes to speedballs. Scoop Shovel is shrooms and LeMar is weed. Peter is a martini.

I know more than one turpentine soaked rag who slowly chokes the life out of scenes while getting them dopey.

That's about as far as I want to go with that.
- - - - -
My great theory of improv project (please note sarcasm) is starting to develop, at least in my head. Each progressive section will be a more complex model of how improv works, and each section will spiral outward from the individual improviser to the troupe.

Again, that's about as far as I want to go with that at this time.
- - - - -
Broad Street between City Hall and Washington is my favorite stretch of sidewalk to walk in the world as far as I know. They have square sections on the sidewalk turned diagonally. They are spaced perfectly for my stride. My footstrikes hit corner - corner - middle - corner - corner - middle for like a mile and a half. Each time my foot lands perfectly, I feel more like everything is right, and my pace quickens and it's awesome.

 

[Conklin]

not about you.

I just had a vestibule door-holding standoff at the Rite Aid. This woman who was entering was holding the outside door for me as I was leaving and holding the inside door. Johnstone would have called it a classic status transaction. I mostly found it annoying because I had some ketchup chips i wanted to go home and eat. By the time I got to my house, I was so flipped over ketchup chips that I tore the bag open upside down, so the end I was sticking my hand into was the bottom, where all the ketchup chip residue had collected. My knuckles are still bright red, despite a good scrubbing.
- - - - -
So, I leave for a French vacation a week from tomorrow (well, it's technically thursday now since it's after midnight, but nobody likes a time nerd). In any case, I can't believe it. All I've been doing is working lately, both to make up for the spending I'll do and the hours I'll miss. As it works out, I'll be working 15 out of the 16 days leading up to my trip. Including a just completed 11 hour day today and another tomorrow (or today if you're time-nerdy). It is especially impressive because last night I had a fever and crazy chills which caused my to shiver so violently the stairs posed a problem. I was sure I wasn't going to make it and I was seriously woried in between my shaking spells about the rent and what I would do if I were to miss a couple days. Also, since I had agreed to take on all of those extra hours, I would have felt bad calling out. But the fever broke sometime around 6am and I made it.

Sometimes I worry that I come off like one of those Wal*Mart freaks when I talk about my dedication to being a decent employee. You know the ones I'm talking about, the people that get interviewed everytime Wal*Mart gets in trouble and they say things like, "I'd take a bullet for Mr. Sam because he was a real American" and crap like that and it's all creepy because Sam's been dead a decade and Wal*Mart is about as evil a corporation as they come. Anyway, I'm not like that. I just want to keep my word and pay my rent. As long as they treat me decently, I have no problem giving them an honest day's work. But still, the only people I'd take a bullet for are Jasmine and Bill Murray.
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I hate working on the floor. I don't get to write in my plog (paper log) and people expect me to know things and help them. After two straight days of good improv plogging in the copy center, I got very little accomplished today. On the plus side, I didn't have to lug any furniture or climb any ladders or lug furniture up and down ladders.

The plog is the notebook in which I keep track of all of my scenes from rehearsals and shows (although I will occasionally slack off lately), plus any crazy improv ideas I have, both theoretical and practical (such as marketing ideas or rehearsal spaces or whatever). I take it pretty much everywhere. Alexis suggested that I start it -- can I point out that this girlie never steers me wrong? -- and it's been a great tool for me, in addition to being something that keeps me busy on SEPTA.
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I really let the crazy hang out last time, with the improviser-as-substance thing and my talk about Broad Street. Well, anyone who didn't know I was nuts hadn't been paying attention too closely. It seems that after a period of time people either decide I'm cool or too nuts to bother with. It makes life easier; people weed themselves out of my life so I don't have to. Far more people have left than stayed but I'm pretty anti-social anyway so it all works out for the best, even if it sometimes still stings when I get burned.
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random memory from sophomore year of high school many years ago

Mr. Casey: I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy.

Mr. Casey's son, attempting to mimic him: I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a bottle under me.

you gotta love it when teachers bring their kids to school.

 

[Conklin]

this is why i love my home

link

PHILADELPHIA, Pennsylvania (Reuters) -- A man described by authorities as a known sexual predator was chased through the streets of South Philadelphia by an angry crowd of Catholic high school girls, who kicked and punched him after he was tackled by neighbors, police said Friday.

Rudy Susanto, 25, who had exposed himself to teen-age girls on as many as seven occasions outside St. Maria Goretti School, struck again on Thursday just as students were being dismissed, police said.

But this time, a group of girls in school uniforms angrily confronted Susanto with help from some neighbors, police said.

When Susanto tried to run, more than 20 girls chased him down the block. Two men from the neighborhood caught him and the girls took their revenge.

"The girls came and started kicking him and punching him, so I wasn't going to stop them," neighbor Robert Lemons told The Philadelphia Inquirer.

Susanto was later treated for injuries at a local hospital. Police said he would be charged with 14 criminal counts including harassment, disorderly conduct, open lewdness and corrupting the morals of a minor.

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It seems like every time I check the Philadelphia news, it's a very tangible battle between good and evil being played out in the streets by angry, ass-kicking people. In the end, it seems like most get what they deserve.

 

[Conklin]

Dear Journal,
Welcome to November! I didn't realize how long I had gone between posts. I worked about a million days in a row in the end of October and beginning of November (actually it was 16 in a row and 21 out of 23, but who's counting?), then jetted to Paris for a week. The work sucked, but Paris was incredible. I saw my girlfriend for the first time in almost 3 months, and saw Paris for the first time ever. I did all the tourist stuff: Eiffel tower, Louvre, Notre Dame, Arc de Triomphe, etc. Plus I saw more creperies and little shops than I ever knew existed, and I met some of the student types Jasmine consorts with on a daily basis. Good times all around.

Since I've been back, my life has returned to its typical balance: crappy work juxtaposed against (usually) rewarding improvisation. We tried some new stuff at rehearsal tonight, which may be a promising direction for us, and then after our abbreviated work was done we started fiddling with finally naming the troupe. This is something we've tackled numerous times, only to end up ducking the issue and delaying a decision. Now, with a performance on the horizon we were forced to deal with it. We're called "Rare Bird Show" (look for plugs in both the plugs forum and other places!). I like it, but am unsure if it will stand the test of time. It may well end up changed after that first show. I don't think it will before, but of course, with the pressure off we'll probably think of 2 dozen awesome names in the next week alone.

I had to tell a friend some news he didn't like tonight. And I'm only going to have to do it about a half dozen more times with a half dozen more friends. It sucks pretty bad. Once I get through it with everyone, maybe I'll go into some details here. For now, all that's important to know is that I feel like I'm stabbing myself in the chest repeatedly in order to do something that will hopefully be very good for me down the line. I hate down the line. I have trouble with delayed gratification. Plus my damn phone has stopped working and it will take a few days to sort out and get it back to functional. It makes me feel sort of alone and isolated. I just want someone to talk to tonight but I don't have that. All I've got is you, Journal. You're a good listener, but you don't do shit as far as advice. I guess I'll have to wait until later to talk to a real person. I hate later.

I WANT EVERYTHING NOW!

 

[Conklin]

A little quote from "A Hunger Artist" by Franz Kafka:

"[N]o one could really produce first-hand evidence that the fast had been rigorous and continuous; only the artist himself could know that, he was therefore bound to be the sole completely satisfied spectator of his own fast."

Replace fasting with improvising, and perhaps we're stumbling onto the reason why new audiences have trouble accepting improv; they're too busy looking for the trick to appreciate the feat. Returning to Kafka briefly:

"For he alone knew, what no other initiate knew, how easy it was to fast. It was the easiest thing in the world. He made no secret of this, yet people did not believe him, at the best they set him down as modest, most of them, however, thought he was out for publicity or else he was some kind of cheat who found it easy to fast because he had found a way of making it easy, and then had the impudence to admit the fact, more or less."

I can't count the number of times that I've told people that improvising is easy and that anyone can do it. And always the person assumes I'm being modest. Likewise, I've been asked seemingly countless times what the trick is, as if there is some secret the audience isn't privvy to.

We need a way to convey to people that the actual enjoyment is in what they're seeing, not how it's being produced. We need to get them past the novelty. To throw in another unrelated example: it's damn impressive that Shakespeare's plays are in iambic pentameter; don't be the asshole counting syllables and missing the story.
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I'm phrasing all of this poorly. It's been many hours since I was furtively reading and contemplating this at work today. The things that were so clear and important then are only barely making sense now.

I think a little freedom would go a long way toward making me more comprehensible.
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Is it possible to be hated even without hating anyone else? Somehow it doesn't seem fair. Then again, "fair" has never been a prerequisite for any of life's many conditions.
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After reading Mr. Holmsie's Philadelphia journal, I am now left to wonder if our name has a "the" in front of it or not. I think I like "Rare Bird Show" better without the "the," but my mind certainly isn't made up on the matter. Even if we don't use a "the" we'll probably still get tagged with one, like Smashing Pumpkins did. No, that's not a misprint. SP had no "the." True story.