Outrider
- Thread starter Sammy
- Start date
I went to Cherry Red to go the stand up comic thingy called "The Elevated." Rebecca Rine was doing her first stand up set and KOKO decided to go and support her since she's come to so many of our shows.
The Elevated takes place in Cherry Red's back room, which is a bar/space all of its own. While killing time in the main area, which was awash, strangely enough, in red, I realized this a place that I would never go...ever. It's a dancey, drinky kinda place that both bores and intimidates me--it bores me because I don't dig that scene and all the bullshit that goes with it and intimidates me because I don't dance and probably wouldn't have the first clue on how to hold a conversation with a complete dancing, drinking stranger in there. The cool thing, however, was that ALL the drinks were two bucks. Nothing like knocking back a few cheap Blue Moons and discussing miniatures and Vidiocy with John Ostendorf in an almost empty club.
COOL MOMENT: A gaggle of ladies walked in and headed toward the back room. The bartender tried to get one of the ladies attention:
"Hey!"
"Hey, excuse me!"
"Ma'am!"
"Hey! Hey!"
"HEY!"
*Lady stops*
"Honey, you're banned. You know that. You gotta leave."
*Lady, not missing a beat, turns on her heels and leaves*
Ostendorf and I shared a look. We both wondered what the hell she did. We finally got the nerve to ask the bartender. He told us she was stalking one of the comedians. John and I decided that was a kind of cool reason to get banned from a bar.
Well, cool, as in "pretty interesting" not as in "something we should emulate."
* * *
Now, about stand up.
It's not my thing. I had an impressive Cosby, Carlin and Pryor cassette collection (my buddy was into Sam Kinison and Diceman--that was not for me). and I totally loved watching the TV specials back in the 80's (and who didn't?). But pretty much since college, I've lost my appetite for stand up--it just became off putting to me. Nothing against the stand-ups themselves, just something about the whole thing didn't do it for me. Anyways, that Jerry Seinfeld documentary "Comedian" piqued my interest and since Rebecca was doing some, I thought it'd be a nice break from improv to support her and check out what I hadn't seen in a while.
Long story short: I enjoyed myself. Not enough to go back on a regular basis, but enough that I might check it out again in a couple months.
One thing that irked me to no end throughout the entire evening: Please don't apologize for a joke or bit that bombs. Just move on. You know it bombed. We know it bombed. Don't make things more uncomfortable by mumbling a disheartened apology.
Afterwards, KOKO got our Unhinged paperwork packets from Abby. Basically, to get paid for this gig, we have to fill out new hire paperwork like we were working there on a regular basis. I forgot how much freakin' paperwork you have to fill out when you start a new job. I brought it to work this morning, filled it out and then faxed it over...worried the entire time that people would think I'm applying for a new job while at the current one.
* * *
Reminder to self: Michigan license expires in six months--start things rolling for Illinois license.
The Elevated takes place in Cherry Red's back room, which is a bar/space all of its own. While killing time in the main area, which was awash, strangely enough, in red, I realized this a place that I would never go...ever. It's a dancey, drinky kinda place that both bores and intimidates me--it bores me because I don't dig that scene and all the bullshit that goes with it and intimidates me because I don't dance and probably wouldn't have the first clue on how to hold a conversation with a complete dancing, drinking stranger in there. The cool thing, however, was that ALL the drinks were two bucks. Nothing like knocking back a few cheap Blue Moons and discussing miniatures and Vidiocy with John Ostendorf in an almost empty club.
COOL MOMENT: A gaggle of ladies walked in and headed toward the back room. The bartender tried to get one of the ladies attention:
"Hey!"
"Hey, excuse me!"
"Ma'am!"
"Hey! Hey!"
"HEY!"
*Lady stops*
"Honey, you're banned. You know that. You gotta leave."
*Lady, not missing a beat, turns on her heels and leaves*
Ostendorf and I shared a look. We both wondered what the hell she did. We finally got the nerve to ask the bartender. He told us she was stalking one of the comedians. John and I decided that was a kind of cool reason to get banned from a bar.
Well, cool, as in "pretty interesting" not as in "something we should emulate."
* * *
Now, about stand up.
It's not my thing. I had an impressive Cosby, Carlin and Pryor cassette collection (my buddy was into Sam Kinison and Diceman--that was not for me). and I totally loved watching the TV specials back in the 80's (and who didn't?). But pretty much since college, I've lost my appetite for stand up--it just became off putting to me. Nothing against the stand-ups themselves, just something about the whole thing didn't do it for me. Anyways, that Jerry Seinfeld documentary "Comedian" piqued my interest and since Rebecca was doing some, I thought it'd be a nice break from improv to support her and check out what I hadn't seen in a while.
Long story short: I enjoyed myself. Not enough to go back on a regular basis, but enough that I might check it out again in a couple months.
One thing that irked me to no end throughout the entire evening: Please don't apologize for a joke or bit that bombs. Just move on. You know it bombed. We know it bombed. Don't make things more uncomfortable by mumbling a disheartened apology.
Afterwards, KOKO got our Unhinged paperwork packets from Abby. Basically, to get paid for this gig, we have to fill out new hire paperwork like we were working there on a regular basis. I forgot how much freakin' paperwork you have to fill out when you start a new job. I brought it to work this morning, filled it out and then faxed it over...worried the entire time that people would think I'm applying for a new job while at the current one.
* * *
Reminder to self: Michigan license expires in six months--start things rolling for Illinois license.
Last edited:
Ben Moser's journal tallied up a nice, tight 26 pages and got me through the afternoon copying--and since I had to eat lunch at my desk, his journal shall forever more be associated with cold sausage pizza dipped in Bleu Cheese.
* * *
This weekend, I plan on seeing a couple of shows. Tonight there's Slamprov, a combination of Spoken Word poets and improvisors at midnight. Tomorrow, after I tech the Arab-Israeli Comedy Hour, I'm gonna see Zumpf and We3 and then zip over to Stage Left to see a pH show. Finally, on Sunday, I have Home Run Kid rehearsal at 10:30 in the morning (ugh) and then a HRK harold show at IO that night. If I'm feeling frisky, I just might stick around after notes for Powerball (random performers drawn from the audience to play) and then the unstoppable force of improv that is FourSquare. Then on Monday, Abby Sher will be the guest on Inside the Improvisor's Studio after the Armando.
Sidenote: It'll be nice to be back with the HRK this weekend--I've spent the last month and a half doing Unhinged and couldn't make rehearsals. That entire time, I missed playing with my peeps, so this will be plenty of fun.
After this weekend, my "whoa there pony!" phase of chilling the eff out when it comes to seeing improv begins. I'm gonna throttle back and just do HRK rehearsals/shows and maybe some rehearsals for Roger Ellington. But other than that, I'm gonna try to take it easy this month and do things outside of the ol' impro...because once September hits, I'll have five separate projects rolling (HRK, KOKO, Roger Ellington, Deuces Wild, The Bruise) and who knows how October will shake out.
So yeah, let's chill the fuck out in August.
* * *
This weekend, I plan on seeing a couple of shows. Tonight there's Slamprov, a combination of Spoken Word poets and improvisors at midnight. Tomorrow, after I tech the Arab-Israeli Comedy Hour, I'm gonna see Zumpf and We3 and then zip over to Stage Left to see a pH show. Finally, on Sunday, I have Home Run Kid rehearsal at 10:30 in the morning (ugh) and then a HRK harold show at IO that night. If I'm feeling frisky, I just might stick around after notes for Powerball (random performers drawn from the audience to play) and then the unstoppable force of improv that is FourSquare. Then on Monday, Abby Sher will be the guest on Inside the Improvisor's Studio after the Armando.
Sidenote: It'll be nice to be back with the HRK this weekend--I've spent the last month and a half doing Unhinged and couldn't make rehearsals. That entire time, I missed playing with my peeps, so this will be plenty of fun.
After this weekend, my "whoa there pony!" phase of chilling the eff out when it comes to seeing improv begins. I'm gonna throttle back and just do HRK rehearsals/shows and maybe some rehearsals for Roger Ellington. But other than that, I'm gonna try to take it easy this month and do things outside of the ol' impro...because once September hits, I'll have five separate projects rolling (HRK, KOKO, Roger Ellington, Deuces Wild, The Bruise) and who knows how October will shake out.
So yeah, let's chill the fuck out in August.
Only 25 minutes left at work, maybe 10 at best on this computer.
Random thoughts:
-I went god knows how many hours with a piece of something green in my teeth the other night. Thanks for not telling me people.
-Thursday night the Summer Intensives had their student shows. The IO cabaret was packed to the rafters. The first one was of typical 5b caliber. The second one was Holy Shit! awesome. Seriously, you could have held a seminar on finding the game, heightening and pushing patterns off their show! I'm willing to wager their show was better than 70% of the Harold shows you see downstairs--it was that good. I'm genuinely sad to see some of these people go...but with any luck they'll be back to stay...
-Work bought lunch for the last couple of days. Now I know why lawyers charge so much: it's to feed their overworked, stressed and generally starving office staff.
-I'm almost crying with joy because I can taste weekend freedom only moments away.
-I finally talked to Charna. Well, actually, that was last weekend. She surprised me because I didn't think she remembered, but she did and took me aside. We talked about what I needed to do to get my professional stuff in order and what steps to take if I wanted to coach a team in the future. Let's see how that goes...
-Three and a half years ago, I moved to Chicago. I lived in a studio with no furniture, slept on the floor and spent most of my time at IO. Now, I live in a studio with no furniture sleep on the floor and spend most of my time at IO...but I live in a much nicer neighborhood now.
-I saw an old classmate of mine, from my first Training Center go 'round i.e. the Jumping Miles era, play in the Summer Intensive show. He decided to take it to work his way back into improvising. I was proud of him for doing that. I was pissed at him for playing the same exact way he did three years ago, a style of play that has only hurt him in the long run. You have a lot to offer dude. You're on the stage. Make a bold declaration. Make yourself heard. Play with confidence. Take a chance. Fail hard. But just don't stand out there, man! Play! Improvise! Gambol and Frolic!
-Pierrrrrrrrro and I discussed how awesome it would be if we could afford to schedule time off to take a summer intensive course. When I first moved to Chicago, I was doing IO level one (or two) and did the week-long Second City Minority Voices workshop for Asian-Americans. It was the total brush-up and drilling my stage skills needed at that time. I want to do that again: take a focused, week-long class to work on my basics. If I don't know how to wax the car or paint the fence, how will I ever beat Johnny?
-My radio's for crap at home. I can only get a couple of stations and it isn't worth the hassle of tuning them in to change stations. So for the last couple of weeks, I've listened only to NPR--in the morning, afternoon and night. I'll be honest--I'm beginning to dig jazz thanks to NPR. I still won't donate, but I sure will listen!
OK, one last copy job and I can jump on the EL and get the hell out of Dodge.
See you on the other side...
Random thoughts:
-I went god knows how many hours with a piece of something green in my teeth the other night. Thanks for not telling me people.
-Thursday night the Summer Intensives had their student shows. The IO cabaret was packed to the rafters. The first one was of typical 5b caliber. The second one was Holy Shit! awesome. Seriously, you could have held a seminar on finding the game, heightening and pushing patterns off their show! I'm willing to wager their show was better than 70% of the Harold shows you see downstairs--it was that good. I'm genuinely sad to see some of these people go...but with any luck they'll be back to stay...
-Work bought lunch for the last couple of days. Now I know why lawyers charge so much: it's to feed their overworked, stressed and generally starving office staff.
-I'm almost crying with joy because I can taste weekend freedom only moments away.
-I finally talked to Charna. Well, actually, that was last weekend. She surprised me because I didn't think she remembered, but she did and took me aside. We talked about what I needed to do to get my professional stuff in order and what steps to take if I wanted to coach a team in the future. Let's see how that goes...
-Three and a half years ago, I moved to Chicago. I lived in a studio with no furniture, slept on the floor and spent most of my time at IO. Now, I live in a studio with no furniture sleep on the floor and spend most of my time at IO...but I live in a much nicer neighborhood now.
-I saw an old classmate of mine, from my first Training Center go 'round i.e. the Jumping Miles era, play in the Summer Intensive show. He decided to take it to work his way back into improvising. I was proud of him for doing that. I was pissed at him for playing the same exact way he did three years ago, a style of play that has only hurt him in the long run. You have a lot to offer dude. You're on the stage. Make a bold declaration. Make yourself heard. Play with confidence. Take a chance. Fail hard. But just don't stand out there, man! Play! Improvise! Gambol and Frolic!
-Pierrrrrrrrro and I discussed how awesome it would be if we could afford to schedule time off to take a summer intensive course. When I first moved to Chicago, I was doing IO level one (or two) and did the week-long Second City Minority Voices workshop for Asian-Americans. It was the total brush-up and drilling my stage skills needed at that time. I want to do that again: take a focused, week-long class to work on my basics. If I don't know how to wax the car or paint the fence, how will I ever beat Johnny?
-My radio's for crap at home. I can only get a couple of stations and it isn't worth the hassle of tuning them in to change stations. So for the last couple of weeks, I've listened only to NPR--in the morning, afternoon and night. I'll be honest--I'm beginning to dig jazz thanks to NPR. I still won't donate, but I sure will listen!
OK, one last copy job and I can jump on the EL and get the hell out of Dodge.
See you on the other side...
My kitchen is a foreign country.
It's amazing to me that I live in a decent-sized studio yet I rarely venture into the separate kitchen. I feel so guilty walking in there it's like I'm trespassing in my own home.
(By "rarely," I mean maybe once every other day to throw something in the garbage.
By "something," I mean leftover fast food.
By "fast food," I mean the entirety of my diet.)
Some reasons for the severe underutilization of my kitchen space:
#1 - I rarely cook
In fact, I've cooked only once since moving in a couple of weeks ago. I've always wanted to be an awesome cook (like Jack Tripper impressing a date awesome, not Iron Chef awesome) but the fact of the matter is that I'm one lazy sumbitch. Also, when you live by yourself, in my mind, it's less sad to be the guy eating fast food and playing Space Cadet 3D Pinball than cooking a meal for just you all by your lonesome.
Yes, this makes no sense. Don't try to understand.
#2 - I hardly have any food at home
Top of the head inventory: one half gallon of milk (possibly spoiled), one box-thingy of Silk Vanilla Soy Milk, a resealable pouch of assorted Turkey meats (possibly spoiled), two boxes of Sugar Pops (one almost empty) and an almost empty bag of Terra Sweet Potato Chips. Non-edible but relevant: two boxes of assorted plastic eating utensils (with a noticible dearth of spoons due to Sugar Pops fixation).
The easy answer is, "Buy more food on the cheap from the 24-hour Jewel that's half-a-block from your apartment, Dumbass!"
My retort: I guess you're right.
(By "retort," I mean embarrassed agreement.)
#3 - I hate doing dishes
Self-explanatory. I had stew about a week ago. I've let the one pot and the one bowl soak since then. During my guilty forays into the kitchen to throwaway my latest fast food banquet (mmmm...Meximelt), I conscientiously run the water and put a dollop of apple-scented dishsoap in the pot and bowl and get 'em all soapy. This satisfies my low, low standard for "I did something with the dishes" for the day.
Maybe this week will be the week things will change.
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhaahahhahahahahahahahaha
yeah, right
It's amazing to me that I live in a decent-sized studio yet I rarely venture into the separate kitchen. I feel so guilty walking in there it's like I'm trespassing in my own home.
(By "rarely," I mean maybe once every other day to throw something in the garbage.
By "something," I mean leftover fast food.
By "fast food," I mean the entirety of my diet.)
Some reasons for the severe underutilization of my kitchen space:
#1 - I rarely cook
In fact, I've cooked only once since moving in a couple of weeks ago. I've always wanted to be an awesome cook (like Jack Tripper impressing a date awesome, not Iron Chef awesome) but the fact of the matter is that I'm one lazy sumbitch. Also, when you live by yourself, in my mind, it's less sad to be the guy eating fast food and playing Space Cadet 3D Pinball than cooking a meal for just you all by your lonesome.
Yes, this makes no sense. Don't try to understand.
#2 - I hardly have any food at home
Top of the head inventory: one half gallon of milk (possibly spoiled), one box-thingy of Silk Vanilla Soy Milk, a resealable pouch of assorted Turkey meats (possibly spoiled), two boxes of Sugar Pops (one almost empty) and an almost empty bag of Terra Sweet Potato Chips. Non-edible but relevant: two boxes of assorted plastic eating utensils (with a noticible dearth of spoons due to Sugar Pops fixation).
The easy answer is, "Buy more food on the cheap from the 24-hour Jewel that's half-a-block from your apartment, Dumbass!"
My retort: I guess you're right.
(By "retort," I mean embarrassed agreement.)
#3 - I hate doing dishes
Self-explanatory. I had stew about a week ago. I've let the one pot and the one bowl soak since then. During my guilty forays into the kitchen to throwaway my latest fast food banquet (mmmm...Meximelt), I conscientiously run the water and put a dollop of apple-scented dishsoap in the pot and bowl and get 'em all soapy. This satisfies my low, low standard for "I did something with the dishes" for the day.
Maybe this week will be the week things will change.
hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahhaahahhahahahahahahahaha
yeah, right
I always find myself taken aback when I find out my improv idols are younger than me.
Despite bits to the contrary, I don't consider myself old--and I definitely don't look like a 30-year old. I guess I automatically assume everyone's who been around longer than me has to be older than me. You know, like high school. Then when you find out how old they are, you get that brief "What the!?" moment. Then you realize it really doesn't matter.
But still, your idols should be older than you, right?
Despite bits to the contrary, I don't consider myself old--and I definitely don't look like a 30-year old. I guess I automatically assume everyone's who been around longer than me has to be older than me. You know, like high school. Then when you find out how old they are, you get that brief "What the!?" moment. Then you realize it really doesn't matter.
But still, your idols should be older than you, right?
While I have seen many funny shows this week, the funniest and most engrossing moment was watching Jason Chin trying to get the poker players to finish up their game and leave late after Armando Monday night. Miles Stroth wasn't having any of it. He yapped back and forth with Chin for a bit, Miles at a poker table on stage and Chin in the doorway. It was interesting to watch Chin try to be the voice of reason and Miles just being Miles. (What's even funnier is that Jason is one of the people who brought poker into the forefront at IO.)
Good times.
Anyways, I think poker's just the latest fad and will pass...
Good times.
Anyways, I think poker's just the latest fad and will pass...
There's so much I want to write about but since I don't have internet access at home and my work computer has been assigned to a temp, I only get on a few times a day for a paltry handful of moments. Gah! (I even have a little notebook I'm keeping notes on stuff I don't want to forget about writing about.)
Anyways, the most important thing you should know:
The grimy pot and moldy bowl have been finally washed.
It wasn't an easy decision, but it was one that had to be made.
Anyways, the most important thing you should know:
The grimy pot and moldy bowl have been finally washed.
It wasn't an easy decision, but it was one that had to be made.
The other day, I explored The Veranda.
One of our attorneys (who's technically "of counsel" but I have no idea what that means) is a full on, nonstop smoker. In fact, I'll call her Smoker. Everytime Smoker gets the urge, she heads to the stairwell by the receptionist's desk and says, "I'm going to The Veranda." She leaves, I hear the slam of the stairwell door and she's gone for 15 minutes until she returns, fully nicotined-up.
Totally intrigued (and looking for an escape from copying), I decided to check things out. I guess this is my version of Urban Speleunking, except it's at my office and totally legal.
After making sure the stairwell door was propped open, I descended one flight of stairs. On the very next floor, I found a narrow set of swinging doors leading to the roof. They weren't locked. In fact, they didn't even have locks. Through their grimy windows I could see open space beyond them. I pushed them open and stepped into a porchlike area--it was like a tiny industrial brick cave that overlooked silver-colored roof. Smoker had set herself up a large bowl for an ashtray and it was logjammed with snuffed cigs.
The view isn't much--since basically this was some sort of access cubby, so, I decided to wander around the roof.
The first area was just silver-painted roof. Barren, except for the six very dead, very decomposed birds laying about. I craned my head up and tried to figure out if they had hit the building on the higher floors at night. I gave up after I realized I know shit about birds and what they think.
I then stepped off that part roof and onto an iron staircase that led to other parts of the roof. Two words: Rusty. Scary. Immediately about me were AC units and lots of spider webs (weird). However, the view had improved--I could see more of the surrounding Loop skyscape from my new location.
Feeling a bit guilty, I looked at the windows that opened to this part of the building--I was afraid someone would see my wandering around the roof, think I was some sort of nutbag and sic the cops on me. (My building is next to THREE Federal buildings, across the street from the Loop Post Office and a block from the Chicago Board of Trade--so, it's not totally unreasonable to be worried about nutbags on rooftops.) All the windows had their blinds drawn shut or lowered. Guess looking out on the rooftop full of rusty staircases and dead birds ain't all that relieving from the daily grind.
I had the option of crossing over to the other wing of the building or checking out the exterior fire escape that ran down the remaining 24 or so floors to the ground. Wanting to experience the view, I decided to visit the fire escape. Before stepping on it, I gave it a thorough look-see: new paint, sturdy construction and totally safe looking.
I stepped out onto it and looked down.
Big mistake.
I had a super attack of vertigo--I was looking through the grill of the fire escape and seeing the ground 24 stories below. I got light headed and felt everything shift around a bit in my head. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and called myself an asshole. Twice.
After getting it together I made myself walk to the railing of the fire escape. In my head, I was walking normally. In reality, I was taking these weird reluctant, stumbling babysteps. No matter how hard I tried to walk normally, it wasn't going to happen. When I made it to the railing and felt the warm iron in my hands, everything settled down. I spent the next few minutes gazing westwards out over the Loop and enjoying the weather. I briefly flirted with the idea of climbing down a flight of stairs--y'know, for manly reasons--but I nixed that with a third "Sam, yer an asshole" mantra.
I babystepped back to the roof and crossed over the other wing via a small path. There were more catwalks and stairs. As I climbed up a new set of stairs, I noticed a bunch of spiderwebs strung out all over the place. I figured the hunting couldn't be that good on a rooftop in the Loop.
Big mistake #2.
I realized I was smack dead in the middle of a swarm of mosquitoes. A bunch things raced through my mind: the hunting's good, must be lots of still water in pipes and under catwalks, mosquitoes bite, the dead birds may have died of West Nile (improbable but possible), I'm asshole.
I waved my arms around like a madman, clambered back down the stairs and raced back to the side I originally came from. To calm myself, I went back on the fire escape and tried to enjoy the view. But all I could think about was mosquitoes and West Nile.
Defeated, I trudged back to the access cubby (avoiding the dead birds) and returned to my office.
"Enjoy the veranda?" asked the Secretary.
"Not really."
One of our attorneys (who's technically "of counsel" but I have no idea what that means) is a full on, nonstop smoker. In fact, I'll call her Smoker. Everytime Smoker gets the urge, she heads to the stairwell by the receptionist's desk and says, "I'm going to The Veranda." She leaves, I hear the slam of the stairwell door and she's gone for 15 minutes until she returns, fully nicotined-up.
Totally intrigued (and looking for an escape from copying), I decided to check things out. I guess this is my version of Urban Speleunking, except it's at my office and totally legal.
After making sure the stairwell door was propped open, I descended one flight of stairs. On the very next floor, I found a narrow set of swinging doors leading to the roof. They weren't locked. In fact, they didn't even have locks. Through their grimy windows I could see open space beyond them. I pushed them open and stepped into a porchlike area--it was like a tiny industrial brick cave that overlooked silver-colored roof. Smoker had set herself up a large bowl for an ashtray and it was logjammed with snuffed cigs.
The view isn't much--since basically this was some sort of access cubby, so, I decided to wander around the roof.
The first area was just silver-painted roof. Barren, except for the six very dead, very decomposed birds laying about. I craned my head up and tried to figure out if they had hit the building on the higher floors at night. I gave up after I realized I know shit about birds and what they think.
I then stepped off that part roof and onto an iron staircase that led to other parts of the roof. Two words: Rusty. Scary. Immediately about me were AC units and lots of spider webs (weird). However, the view had improved--I could see more of the surrounding Loop skyscape from my new location.
Feeling a bit guilty, I looked at the windows that opened to this part of the building--I was afraid someone would see my wandering around the roof, think I was some sort of nutbag and sic the cops on me. (My building is next to THREE Federal buildings, across the street from the Loop Post Office and a block from the Chicago Board of Trade--so, it's not totally unreasonable to be worried about nutbags on rooftops.) All the windows had their blinds drawn shut or lowered. Guess looking out on the rooftop full of rusty staircases and dead birds ain't all that relieving from the daily grind.
I had the option of crossing over to the other wing of the building or checking out the exterior fire escape that ran down the remaining 24 or so floors to the ground. Wanting to experience the view, I decided to visit the fire escape. Before stepping on it, I gave it a thorough look-see: new paint, sturdy construction and totally safe looking.
I stepped out onto it and looked down.
Big mistake.
I had a super attack of vertigo--I was looking through the grill of the fire escape and seeing the ground 24 stories below. I got light headed and felt everything shift around a bit in my head. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and called myself an asshole. Twice.
After getting it together I made myself walk to the railing of the fire escape. In my head, I was walking normally. In reality, I was taking these weird reluctant, stumbling babysteps. No matter how hard I tried to walk normally, it wasn't going to happen. When I made it to the railing and felt the warm iron in my hands, everything settled down. I spent the next few minutes gazing westwards out over the Loop and enjoying the weather. I briefly flirted with the idea of climbing down a flight of stairs--y'know, for manly reasons--but I nixed that with a third "Sam, yer an asshole" mantra.
I babystepped back to the roof and crossed over the other wing via a small path. There were more catwalks and stairs. As I climbed up a new set of stairs, I noticed a bunch of spiderwebs strung out all over the place. I figured the hunting couldn't be that good on a rooftop in the Loop.
Big mistake #2.
I realized I was smack dead in the middle of a swarm of mosquitoes. A bunch things raced through my mind: the hunting's good, must be lots of still water in pipes and under catwalks, mosquitoes bite, the dead birds may have died of West Nile (improbable but possible), I'm asshole.
I waved my arms around like a madman, clambered back down the stairs and raced back to the side I originally came from. To calm myself, I went back on the fire escape and tried to enjoy the view. But all I could think about was mosquitoes and West Nile.
Defeated, I trudged back to the access cubby (avoiding the dead birds) and returned to my office.
"Enjoy the veranda?" asked the Secretary.
"Not really."
#1 - I hate when I read a journal and the writer mentions how they wrote this long entry and the IRC ate it, resulting in a choppy shorter version.
#2 - I wrote a long entry and the IRC ate it. Here is a choppy shorter version.
#3 - Damn you, IRC, damn you!
* * *
September looms.
Next month begins a most rigorous and demanding improv schedule: the Home Run Kids will begin twice-a-week rehearsals (one with our Coach, Bill Arnett, and one with various workshop coaches), The Bruise begins rehearsals, KOKO begins rehearsals and Roger Ellington begins rehearsals...not to mention whatever shows I get to perform in.
Five rehearsals and a show or two a week.
God damn, I love being a Chicago improvisor!
* * *
Boo to me.
Boo for cracking myself up on stage.
Boo, Sammy, boo!
Booooooooooo!
At the Friday midnight HRK show, I broke a couple of times mid-scene, sometimes mid-sentence, because I couldn't hold it together (both in the show and freeze tag). I wasn't trying to be funny but what came out my mouth made me laugh. It's like my mind races ahead of my mouth and processes my words before they're even spoken. So, as the words tumble out my mouth, my mind pre-hears the response, finds it funny and cues laughter as I'm trying to say the freakin' line. Like I said, I'm not trying to be funny, but sometimes when I'm having so much fun onstage I end up amusing myself by saying something I didn't expect to.
Not very professional I admit.
Then again, sometimes the shit we come up with is pretty damn funny
* * *
Thursday night, I went over to Gilley's to borrow some computer games to play over the weekend. I caught him as he was leaving for the Toronto Improv Festival. So, he just gave me a big old blue plastic tub full of computer games to take back to my apartment.
Ladies and gentlemen, Christmas came early on Southport that night.
Right now, I plowing through Diablo II. Then I'm gonna do a little tactical planning and "strategerizing" in Rainbow Six: Rogue Spear. Who knows, I might fire up some classic cars in Interstate '76 or even take flight in X-Wing vs. Tie Fighter! Yes, they're oldies...but they're definitely goodies. Looks like I'll spend more time at home than at the theater...
...yes, my love for improv can only be trumped by my love for computer games.
#2 - I wrote a long entry and the IRC ate it. Here is a choppy shorter version.
#3 - Damn you, IRC, damn you!
* * *
September looms.
Next month begins a most rigorous and demanding improv schedule: the Home Run Kids will begin twice-a-week rehearsals (one with our Coach, Bill Arnett, and one with various workshop coaches), The Bruise begins rehearsals, KOKO begins rehearsals and Roger Ellington begins rehearsals...not to mention whatever shows I get to perform in.
Five rehearsals and a show or two a week.
God damn, I love being a Chicago improvisor!
* * *
Boo to me.
Boo for cracking myself up on stage.
Boo, Sammy, boo!
Booooooooooo!
At the Friday midnight HRK show, I broke a couple of times mid-scene, sometimes mid-sentence, because I couldn't hold it together (both in the show and freeze tag). I wasn't trying to be funny but what came out my mouth made me laugh. It's like my mind races ahead of my mouth and processes my words before they're even spoken. So, as the words tumble out my mouth, my mind pre-hears the response, finds it funny and cues laughter as I'm trying to say the freakin' line. Like I said, I'm not trying to be funny, but sometimes when I'm having so much fun onstage I end up amusing myself by saying something I didn't expect to.
Not very professional I admit.
Then again, sometimes the shit we come up with is pretty damn funny
* * *
Thursday night, I went over to Gilley's to borrow some computer games to play over the weekend. I caught him as he was leaving for the Toronto Improv Festival. So, he just gave me a big old blue plastic tub full of computer games to take back to my apartment.
Ladies and gentlemen, Christmas came early on Southport that night.
Right now, I plowing through Diablo II. Then I'm gonna do a little tactical planning and "strategerizing" in Rainbow Six: Rogue Spear. Who knows, I might fire up some classic cars in Interstate '76 or even take flight in X-Wing vs. Tie Fighter! Yes, they're oldies...but they're definitely goodies. Looks like I'll spend more time at home than at the theater...
...yes, my love for improv can only be trumped by my love for computer games.
The ImprovOlympic Harold Schedule is out.
The Home Run Kids lost two players and gained one.
This is the largest IO Schedule ever--30 (!) teams are on The Roster.
The next Schedule will be a bloodbath. A most needed bloodbath, but a bloodbath nonetheless.
More thoughts on the Schedule later...
The Home Run Kids lost two players and gained one.
This is the largest IO Schedule ever--30 (!) teams are on The Roster.
The next Schedule will be a bloodbath. A most needed bloodbath, but a bloodbath nonetheless.
More thoughts on the Schedule later...
Last edited:
My improv (olympic) attitude:
Fuck the Schedule.
Fuck IO politics.
Practice hard.
Play harder.
Do good work.
Accept failure.
Waste no energy on things outside your control.
Things will take care of themselves.
I wish everyone thought that way. I really do. The happiest and most enjoyable part of my improv career has been pretty much the last half year or so because I am working hard (maybe too hard) at embodying those dictums.
While I still have a healthy dose of cynicism (pessimism?) in me, it only informs and rounds out my world-view of the IO microcosm--it doesn't become the only way I see and process things. Believe it or not, I enjoy talking to people who do possess the semi-negative attitude, if only to keep me honest in my own opinions. Of late, however, it really has begun to affect/infect my own sensibilities when I have to deal with these attitudes on a constant basis. And I don't want to become the guy who harps on everyone and everything*--I want to be the guy who enjoys what he does and strives for the ideal but acknowledges the limits of the real.
There is enough drudgery in life without actively seeking it out.
(*=as some would gamely point out, I do my fair share of bitching. But I also do my fair share of hard work. I may grouse and grumble, but at least I do what I can to make things better--whether it be helping seat people, getting chairs, pulling lights, cleaning the green room or giving Pierrrrrrrrrrro an unnecessary wedgie.)
This has gotten a lot wordier than I originally planned. If I had only one thing to say to new Harold Team people it would be this:
Give 100% focus to the things you can control--Everything else is bullshit.
Fuck the Schedule.
Fuck IO politics.
Practice hard.
Play harder.
Do good work.
Accept failure.
Waste no energy on things outside your control.
Things will take care of themselves.
I wish everyone thought that way. I really do. The happiest and most enjoyable part of my improv career has been pretty much the last half year or so because I am working hard (maybe too hard) at embodying those dictums.
While I still have a healthy dose of cynicism (pessimism?) in me, it only informs and rounds out my world-view of the IO microcosm--it doesn't become the only way I see and process things. Believe it or not, I enjoy talking to people who do possess the semi-negative attitude, if only to keep me honest in my own opinions. Of late, however, it really has begun to affect/infect my own sensibilities when I have to deal with these attitudes on a constant basis. And I don't want to become the guy who harps on everyone and everything*--I want to be the guy who enjoys what he does and strives for the ideal but acknowledges the limits of the real.
There is enough drudgery in life without actively seeking it out.
(*=as some would gamely point out, I do my fair share of bitching. But I also do my fair share of hard work. I may grouse and grumble, but at least I do what I can to make things better--whether it be helping seat people, getting chairs, pulling lights, cleaning the green room or giving Pierrrrrrrrrrro an unnecessary wedgie.)
This has gotten a lot wordier than I originally planned. If I had only one thing to say to new Harold Team people it would be this:
Give 100% focus to the things you can control--Everything else is bullshit.
I'm still at a loss to explain what happened.
$400
No, 400 + dollars.
Gone.
Just like that.
Holy shitballs, Batman!
* * *
It was a long, long crappy Friday at the Small Chicago Law Firm--the moment I walked in the door at 8:30 am I was sent gallavanting all over the Loop on various legal document retrieval tasks. The ladies at the U.S. Bankruptcy Court started cracking jokes about how often I was there, the City Hall people recognized me and my futile "estimate of tax redemption" quest and even the security people at the Equity Building at Dearborn and Whacker ("The Address You Know" / "The Place You Want To Be") didn't ask for my ID anymore. I would return from a trip, try to hide in my little cubby and check the internet...but -BAM- 3 minutes later I was back out on the street, legal forms in hand, hustling off to battle with the forces of bureaucracy.
At 4 pm, my boss let me go home because I had skipped lunch to meet various deadlines. CTA pass in hand, Debit Card in pocket, I bolted straight for the EL and my first stop of a soon-to-be expensive night of spending.
4:30 pm / $0 spent so far
I first stop off at Lenscrafters at Diversey and Clark. Lucky for me, they were able to do an eye exam and contact stuff right away. Since I've been using the same pair of contacts for the last 4 months (but only for shows), I jump on the opportunity to get it done immediately. After the usual embarrassing eye exam stuff ("Can you see it yet?" "No." "How about now?" "Uh...no." "You still can't see it?!" "Sorry...no."), I walk out the door with a 3-month supply of Accuvue 2 contacts.
5:30 pm / $175 spent so far
Guessing that my favorite barbershop Gabby's is closed or close to it, I step into the Hair Cuttery next door to Lenscrafters. My sassy gay Filipino barber with the Spanish name weedwhacks my hair into a manageable mane (and gives me a shampoo to boot). Feeling pretty dapper, or maybe just pretty, I wander north...
6:30 pm / $190 spent so far
...to Marshall Fields at the corner of Halsted and Clark. After a fruitless search for plain black t-shirts (that would fit me), I buy a three-pack of classic white t-shirts. I then decide to look around for anything else I need.
That's when I should have realized I was in trouble.
For the last couple of years or so, I have managed to fend off impulse shopping attacks by calmly telling myself that if I wait a week and still want the item, then I can buy it without guilt...but usually A) I realize I don't want/need the item in the next couple of days or B) I can't afford it a week later. Unfortunately, my mind, initially fried by rushing 'round the Loop all day and then numbed by the optometrist and barber experiences, wasn't ready to act rationally.
So, it started small.
It started with some boxers. (Luckily, since it was Marshall Fields, this didn't end up costing me much.) I paid and was almost out shopping range when...
7:15 pm / $225 spent so far
...I notice the Back The School sale Linens and Things was having. I thought, "Hey, I could use some stuff for studio. They might have something cheap." When I walk in, the sound cue of a bear trap snapping shut should have played.
I needed a shower curtain.
Fine. After some browsing. I pick one out.
Well, geez. Maybe I should get a matching shower liner. Might as well.
Ok. Good. Got one.
Hmmm. I should get some of those ring-things to hang 'em from. Yeah, the fancy roller ones. Might as well spend the money and get something that looks nice.
Ooooh, I should get some stuff to match the curtains. Yeah, like a tooth brush holder. I need that for sure.
Well, hell, I should get the matching tumbler. And the garbage can--I need one of those too. Hold on, I need to get matching towels now--AWESOME there's a sale on towels! i'lljustgettwobathtowelsandtwohandtowelsandtwowashclothsandimightaswellgetsomematchingloofahsandohwhattheheckletsgetaclocktohanginthebathroomtomatcheverythingelseineeditanywaysinthemorningandOHMYGOSHTHATLAMPISSOCOOLISHOULDGRABTHATTOO...
2 hours and $195.58, I walk out of Linens and Things oblivious of what I had just done. I catch a cab home, snuggled in back with my preciousssss, preciousss goodsssssss.
9:15 pm / approximately $450 spent
I realize what I have just done.
9:45 pm
It actually sinks in.
10:00 pm
I put together my new lamp and don't enjoy it anywhere near as much as I thought I would.
10:45 pm
I realize that I'm supposed to pay the rest of my security deposit (along with rent) on Labor Day Monday and figure I have enough for rent, but not the security deposit.
11:15 pm
Eat a banana, drink Gatorade and play Diablo II. Successfully forget about the real world.
1:00 am
Real world refuses to be forgotten (despite my best efforts). Look over receipts, do the math and figure out budget until next paycheck. Also figure out good excuse to tell landlord. Then, lay in bed (i.e. the floor) and analyze my actions for a good 10 minutes or so. I decide that I've lived such a spartan existence for so long that now that I've found a place that I want to stay at for a good, long while that all the years of repressed decorating instincts have burst forth during a weak moment in my daily life. Also realize Jeff Griggs may taunt me in perpetuity for my bathroom spending spree.
* * *
I spent the rest of the weekend mentally shaking my head at myself and vowing not to return anything (to teach myself a lesson). It's gonna be a long two weeks...
$400
No, 400 + dollars.
Gone.
Just like that.
Holy shitballs, Batman!
* * *
It was a long, long crappy Friday at the Small Chicago Law Firm--the moment I walked in the door at 8:30 am I was sent gallavanting all over the Loop on various legal document retrieval tasks. The ladies at the U.S. Bankruptcy Court started cracking jokes about how often I was there, the City Hall people recognized me and my futile "estimate of tax redemption" quest and even the security people at the Equity Building at Dearborn and Whacker ("The Address You Know" / "The Place You Want To Be") didn't ask for my ID anymore. I would return from a trip, try to hide in my little cubby and check the internet...but -BAM- 3 minutes later I was back out on the street, legal forms in hand, hustling off to battle with the forces of bureaucracy.
At 4 pm, my boss let me go home because I had skipped lunch to meet various deadlines. CTA pass in hand, Debit Card in pocket, I bolted straight for the EL and my first stop of a soon-to-be expensive night of spending.
4:30 pm / $0 spent so far
I first stop off at Lenscrafters at Diversey and Clark. Lucky for me, they were able to do an eye exam and contact stuff right away. Since I've been using the same pair of contacts for the last 4 months (but only for shows), I jump on the opportunity to get it done immediately. After the usual embarrassing eye exam stuff ("Can you see it yet?" "No." "How about now?" "Uh...no." "You still can't see it?!" "Sorry...no."), I walk out the door with a 3-month supply of Accuvue 2 contacts.
5:30 pm / $175 spent so far
Guessing that my favorite barbershop Gabby's is closed or close to it, I step into the Hair Cuttery next door to Lenscrafters. My sassy gay Filipino barber with the Spanish name weedwhacks my hair into a manageable mane (and gives me a shampoo to boot). Feeling pretty dapper, or maybe just pretty, I wander north...
6:30 pm / $190 spent so far
...to Marshall Fields at the corner of Halsted and Clark. After a fruitless search for plain black t-shirts (that would fit me), I buy a three-pack of classic white t-shirts. I then decide to look around for anything else I need.
That's when I should have realized I was in trouble.
For the last couple of years or so, I have managed to fend off impulse shopping attacks by calmly telling myself that if I wait a week and still want the item, then I can buy it without guilt...but usually A) I realize I don't want/need the item in the next couple of days or B) I can't afford it a week later. Unfortunately, my mind, initially fried by rushing 'round the Loop all day and then numbed by the optometrist and barber experiences, wasn't ready to act rationally.
So, it started small.
It started with some boxers. (Luckily, since it was Marshall Fields, this didn't end up costing me much.) I paid and was almost out shopping range when...
7:15 pm / $225 spent so far
...I notice the Back The School sale Linens and Things was having. I thought, "Hey, I could use some stuff for studio. They might have something cheap." When I walk in, the sound cue of a bear trap snapping shut should have played.
I needed a shower curtain.
Fine. After some browsing. I pick one out.
Well, geez. Maybe I should get a matching shower liner. Might as well.
Ok. Good. Got one.
Hmmm. I should get some of those ring-things to hang 'em from. Yeah, the fancy roller ones. Might as well spend the money and get something that looks nice.
Ooooh, I should get some stuff to match the curtains. Yeah, like a tooth brush holder. I need that for sure.
Well, hell, I should get the matching tumbler. And the garbage can--I need one of those too. Hold on, I need to get matching towels now--AWESOME there's a sale on towels! i'lljustgettwobathtowelsandtwohandtowelsandtwowashclothsandimightaswellgetsomematchingloofahsandohwhattheheckletsgetaclocktohanginthebathroomtomatcheverythingelseineeditanywaysinthemorningandOHMYGOSHTHATLAMPISSOCOOLISHOULDGRABTHATTOO...
2 hours and $195.58, I walk out of Linens and Things oblivious of what I had just done. I catch a cab home, snuggled in back with my preciousssss, preciousss goodsssssss.
9:15 pm / approximately $450 spent
I realize what I have just done.
9:45 pm
It actually sinks in.
10:00 pm
I put together my new lamp and don't enjoy it anywhere near as much as I thought I would.
10:45 pm
I realize that I'm supposed to pay the rest of my security deposit (along with rent) on Labor Day Monday and figure I have enough for rent, but not the security deposit.
11:15 pm
Eat a banana, drink Gatorade and play Diablo II. Successfully forget about the real world.
1:00 am
Real world refuses to be forgotten (despite my best efforts). Look over receipts, do the math and figure out budget until next paycheck. Also figure out good excuse to tell landlord. Then, lay in bed (i.e. the floor) and analyze my actions for a good 10 minutes or so. I decide that I've lived such a spartan existence for so long that now that I've found a place that I want to stay at for a good, long while that all the years of repressed decorating instincts have burst forth during a weak moment in my daily life. Also realize Jeff Griggs may taunt me in perpetuity for my bathroom spending spree.
* * *
I spent the rest of the weekend mentally shaking my head at myself and vowing not to return anything (to teach myself a lesson). It's gonna be a long two weeks...
A little honesty.
I sometimes wonder why I write this journal.
I sometimes wonder who reads this journal.
I sometimes wonder if this journal has helped me in Chicago.
I sometimes wonder if this journal has hurt me in Chicago.
I sometimes wonder if this journal has helped anyone in improv.
I sometimes wonder if this journal has helped anyone in anything.
I sometimes wonder why when I'm experience life, I'm already composing the journal entry in my head.
I sometimes wonder if this journal will follow me from awestruck Detroit improv newbie to arrogant Chicago success--or embittered Chicago journeyman.
I sometimes wonder why I'm afraid of contradicting myself.
I sometimes wonder why I'm not as candid as I used to be.
I sometimes wonder what would happen if I cut loose and spoke my uncensored mind on improv, on life...like we do at the corner of the bar. What if I said the things that we all talk about privately and refer obliquely to in public? Would it be creative catharsis followed by social doom? Professional doom? Why do I care? Because I'm supposed to right?
I sometimes wonder why, brick by brick, I've built this wall between me and...
I sometimes wonder why I begin to write things and back off because I think they're too much; too much information, too much emotion, too much this, too much that--too much more than I'm willing to write.
I sometimes wonder why I set limits on what I wrote.
I used to be more open.
A lot more vulnerable.
I sometimes wonder why I stopped.
I sometimes wonder why I write this journal.
I sometimes wonder who reads this journal.
I sometimes wonder if this journal has helped me in Chicago.
I sometimes wonder if this journal has hurt me in Chicago.
I sometimes wonder if this journal has helped anyone in improv.
I sometimes wonder if this journal has helped anyone in anything.
I sometimes wonder why when I'm experience life, I'm already composing the journal entry in my head.
I sometimes wonder if this journal will follow me from awestruck Detroit improv newbie to arrogant Chicago success--or embittered Chicago journeyman.
I sometimes wonder why I'm afraid of contradicting myself.
I sometimes wonder why I'm not as candid as I used to be.
I sometimes wonder what would happen if I cut loose and spoke my uncensored mind on improv, on life...like we do at the corner of the bar. What if I said the things that we all talk about privately and refer obliquely to in public? Would it be creative catharsis followed by social doom? Professional doom? Why do I care? Because I'm supposed to right?
I sometimes wonder why, brick by brick, I've built this wall between me and...
I sometimes wonder why I begin to write things and back off because I think they're too much; too much information, too much emotion, too much this, too much that--too much more than I'm willing to write.
I sometimes wonder why I set limits on what I wrote.
I used to be more open.
A lot more vulnerable.
I sometimes wonder why I stopped.