For those of you who haven't heard, I've moved back to Nashville after doing some improv comedy training in Chicago. My next big project: open a full-time improv comedy theater and training center.
What do I need most? People. People like you.
Who, me?
Yes, you. Along with the person sitting next to you.
I'm no comedian... I'm a [butcher/baker/candlestick maker].
Not a problem. Some of the funniest people I've ever performed with have been teachers, lawyers, accountants, computer techs, and a whole lot of other professions. Heck, I was a cop for nine years myself.
I've never had any training, though.
Improv experience is nice, but it's not required. Nor is experience a guarantee that you'll become part of the ensemble. I'm looking for a group of people that are pleasant to work with, who are willing to go through a training session for a few months.
How much will all this improv comedy training cost me?
If you audition and make it into the ensemble, it's free!
When and where are the auditions?
It's still to be determined. Let me know if you're interested, though. I'll be starting a mailing list.
I've never done an improv comedy audition before. It sounds scary.
I plan to do a pre-audition workshop the week before auditions. It'll give you a little taste of what to expect, as well as what we're looking for. Again, let me know if you're interested.
How long will the training take?
I'm going to try to condense a whole bunch of training into three months. Then we'll form teams within the ensemble and have some time to rehearse as teams. Of course, the availability of a permanent theater space might cause this timeline to change. Figure on once a week training sessions of 2 hours each.
What if I start the training and realize that improv is not for me?
That's perfectly understandable. No hard feelings.
You didn't answer my question here.
Call me, text me, email me, or send me a Facebook message. I'm not hard to find, and always willing to answer your question as best I can.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Bacon is for lovers
So, a friend of mine posted something bacon-related on his Facebook status update (I knew that my love for bacon had gone too far when I was choking on a piece of it earlier today and thought, "this would be an awesome way to go."), and I decided it would be fun to reply with a bacon-related picture. Where does anyone go for a good bacon picture? Why, Google Images, of course.
If you have never done a Google Images search for bacon, do it now. I'll wait.
Okay, welcome back. Let's discuss my favorite images, shall we?
That's what I get for setting my "SafeSearch" to Moderate. Pictures of girls wearing nothing but uncooked pork products. Obviously, this is not a wardrobe choice that would make it into a Victoria's Secret catalogue. Of course, I never let reality stop the train of thought that ran through my head after seeing this.
Women would need to use thick-cut bacon, obviously. Anything less wouldn't provide the proper support. Let's say you were able to cover yourself using one pound of bacon. A complete brassiere would cost you about $2.99 -- maybe less on double coupon Wednesdays, or if you bought the store brand. Of course, you'd have to refrigerate the bra if you wanted to re-use it another day. Still, you figure the amount of times you can re-use it is limited. Still probably more economical to buy cotton.
The real function, of course, is to seduce bacon-loving men. Although a dab of bacon grease behind the ears might excite the pheromones just as effectively, let's say you went the baconssiere method. Sure, this is something that even the most awkward teenage boy would know how to unclasp. Technically, I guess it falls into the category of "edible undergarments." Really, though... raw bacon? I'm not sure how passionate I'd feel if I just gummed my way through a pound of raw bacon. Putting on pre-cooked bacon would be difficult. You'd either have good, crispy bacon that snaps into pieces as you try to put it on, or sad, soggy bacon (the default Waffle House style) that is almost as unappetizing as raw bacon, or you'd have to put it on while it was still sizzling and let it conform to your shape. Or you could lay down on a hot plate, I suppose. Though the agonizing screams would probably be a mood-killer.
So ladies, if you're trying to seduce me with bacon, just keep it simple. Bacon-wrapped turducken for dinner, bacon apple pie for dessert, and a bacon martini afterwards. Now THAT'S how you get a man!
If you have never done a Google Images search for bacon, do it now. I'll wait.
Okay, welcome back. Let's discuss my favorite images, shall we?
- Massive piles of bacon
- Massive bacon sandwiches
- A briefcase made out of bacon
- Bacon strips adhesive bandages (I actually have a box of these)
- Gummy bacon
- Bacon-flavored toothpicks
- Bacon floss
- The bacon roll-up
- Bacon doughnuts (sure makes the "Police Officer Hat Trick" easier)
- Diet Coke with Bacon (my personal favorite)
- Bacon-wrapped hot dogs
- Bacon martini
- Bacon-wrapped turkey
- A bacon lunch box
- Apple bacon pie
- Bacon chocolate chip cookies
- Bacon tuxedos
- Kevin Bacon (how did he get in there?)
- Bacon ice cream
- Donut bacon cheeseburger
- Bacon turducken
- A bacon assault rifle
- Bacon vodka
That's what I get for setting my "SafeSearch" to Moderate. Pictures of girls wearing nothing but uncooked pork products. Obviously, this is not a wardrobe choice that would make it into a Victoria's Secret catalogue. Of course, I never let reality stop the train of thought that ran through my head after seeing this.
Women would need to use thick-cut bacon, obviously. Anything less wouldn't provide the proper support. Let's say you were able to cover yourself using one pound of bacon. A complete brassiere would cost you about $2.99 -- maybe less on double coupon Wednesdays, or if you bought the store brand. Of course, you'd have to refrigerate the bra if you wanted to re-use it another day. Still, you figure the amount of times you can re-use it is limited. Still probably more economical to buy cotton.
The real function, of course, is to seduce bacon-loving men. Although a dab of bacon grease behind the ears might excite the pheromones just as effectively, let's say you went the baconssiere method. Sure, this is something that even the most awkward teenage boy would know how to unclasp. Technically, I guess it falls into the category of "edible undergarments." Really, though... raw bacon? I'm not sure how passionate I'd feel if I just gummed my way through a pound of raw bacon. Putting on pre-cooked bacon would be difficult. You'd either have good, crispy bacon that snaps into pieces as you try to put it on, or sad, soggy bacon (the default Waffle House style) that is almost as unappetizing as raw bacon, or you'd have to put it on while it was still sizzling and let it conform to your shape. Or you could lay down on a hot plate, I suppose. Though the agonizing screams would probably be a mood-killer.
So ladies, if you're trying to seduce me with bacon, just keep it simple. Bacon-wrapped turducken for dinner, bacon apple pie for dessert, and a bacon martini afterwards. Now THAT'S how you get a man!
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Authentic Mexican Egg Fu Yung
So I started getting hungry on the way home from improv class today (3 p.m.). I saw Chan's restaurant on Clark Street and thought, "Hmmm... some General Tso's Chicken would hit the spot!" Unfortunately, it wasn't open at 3 p.m. So I kept walking. I saw Hofbrau and thought, "Maybe they have weinerschnitzel. That would hit the spot!" Unfortunately, they're closed on Tuesdays all day. So I kept walking. I saw a neon sign in a window that advertised Chicken Teriyaki. Plus, they were open! I entered.
Apparently, the restaurant is actually called "Hamburger King." Not a place you'd go for chicken teriyaki, but what the heck. Looked like a Steak & Shake on the inside. I sat down and perused the menu (everything from bacon & eggs to sweet & sour chicken). I decided on Egg Fu Yung and an egg roll on the side.
While I was waiting for my food, I heard my waitress talking to another customer in Spanish. It was loud enough for me to hear, but I guess I look like a guy who doesn't understand a word of Spanish. Although I didn't get the entire context of the phrase, I clearly heard the waitress say:
"...cucarachas en la pared."
After pondering this for a while, I realized that there is no good context to ever hear that phrase uttered in a restaurant. (FYI... it means "cockroaches on the floor.") My egg fu yung arrived shortly afterwards (covered in brown gravy for some reason). Believe me, I cut my food into small bites before eating any of it. It was actually kinda tasty. My appetite doesn't get spoiled nearly as easily as it used to.
So if you want some Chinese food, made by Mexicans (?), and slathered in hamburger gravy, and possibly including some extra passengers, join me on my next exciting dining experience.
Apparently, the restaurant is actually called "Hamburger King." Not a place you'd go for chicken teriyaki, but what the heck. Looked like a Steak & Shake on the inside. I sat down and perused the menu (everything from bacon & eggs to sweet & sour chicken). I decided on Egg Fu Yung and an egg roll on the side.
While I was waiting for my food, I heard my waitress talking to another customer in Spanish. It was loud enough for me to hear, but I guess I look like a guy who doesn't understand a word of Spanish. Although I didn't get the entire context of the phrase, I clearly heard the waitress say:
"...cucarachas en la pared."
After pondering this for a while, I realized that there is no good context to ever hear that phrase uttered in a restaurant. (FYI... it means "cockroaches on the floor.") My egg fu yung arrived shortly afterwards (covered in brown gravy for some reason). Believe me, I cut my food into small bites before eating any of it. It was actually kinda tasty. My appetite doesn't get spoiled nearly as easily as it used to.
So if you want some Chinese food, made by Mexicans (?), and slathered in hamburger gravy, and possibly including some extra passengers, join me on my next exciting dining experience.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
A Pirate Marriage Proposal
Ahh... the conclusions we make.
Never really did a lot of "people watching." Never sat in the middle of a mall with a few friends and made guesses about what a person does for a living, or made a bunch of assumptions based on a first impression. Good date night, I suppose.
Today, however, I unintentionally did some people watching on the way home from class. I was walking along Addison Street and looked across the street to see a guy down on one knee, boombox to the left of him, two people standing in front talking to him, and another guy further off to the side with a camcorder on a tripod. Oh, by the way... the guy on one knee was dressed like a pirate.
Yep, buccaneer shirt and one of those black tri-corner hat deals. Not sure why there's a pirate in Wrigleyville in March (the Pittsburgh Pirates aren't playing at Wrigley Field until May 14th). I suppose the fact that there was a camera guy could mean they're filming "Pirates of the Caribbean 4: The Pirates Take Cook County" or something. But that's not the conclusion I drew. No.
This guy was practicing for a marriage proposal. He was going to turn on the boombox to lure out his lover, get down on one knee, propose, and have the camera guy capture the moment. All while dressed like Long John Silver.
I'm not exactly sure what a pirate says to a woman he wants to marry. Not really known for commitment, that sort. Mostly just find a port, go to an alehouse, spend your plundered doubloons on tankards of mead and turkey legs, find a lusty wench or barmaid, spend a night of drunken revelry with them, and awaken to find yourself in a horse trough being nuzzled by some nag. That's a pirate's idea of a committed relationship. You don't typically think of a pirate getting on one knee and saying, "Will ye do me the honor of being me wife?"
So ladies, remember... if a pirate proposes to you, say no. Sure, he'll promise you riches (his share of the booty), but his true love will always be the sea. He'll sail home every two years or so, give you a scraggly-beard kiss, be surprised at the new Pirate Junior additions to the family since he last saw you, then sail away again in search of adventure. Don't settle for a pirate. Give your love to a ninja. You might not see him much, either... but he's always around.
Never really did a lot of "people watching." Never sat in the middle of a mall with a few friends and made guesses about what a person does for a living, or made a bunch of assumptions based on a first impression. Good date night, I suppose.
Today, however, I unintentionally did some people watching on the way home from class. I was walking along Addison Street and looked across the street to see a guy down on one knee, boombox to the left of him, two people standing in front talking to him, and another guy further off to the side with a camcorder on a tripod. Oh, by the way... the guy on one knee was dressed like a pirate.
Yep, buccaneer shirt and one of those black tri-corner hat deals. Not sure why there's a pirate in Wrigleyville in March (the Pittsburgh Pirates aren't playing at Wrigley Field until May 14th). I suppose the fact that there was a camera guy could mean they're filming "Pirates of the Caribbean 4: The Pirates Take Cook County" or something. But that's not the conclusion I drew. No.
This guy was practicing for a marriage proposal. He was going to turn on the boombox to lure out his lover, get down on one knee, propose, and have the camera guy capture the moment. All while dressed like Long John Silver.
I'm not exactly sure what a pirate says to a woman he wants to marry. Not really known for commitment, that sort. Mostly just find a port, go to an alehouse, spend your plundered doubloons on tankards of mead and turkey legs, find a lusty wench or barmaid, spend a night of drunken revelry with them, and awaken to find yourself in a horse trough being nuzzled by some nag. That's a pirate's idea of a committed relationship. You don't typically think of a pirate getting on one knee and saying, "Will ye do me the honor of being me wife?"
So ladies, remember... if a pirate proposes to you, say no. Sure, he'll promise you riches (his share of the booty), but his true love will always be the sea. He'll sail home every two years or so, give you a scraggly-beard kiss, be surprised at the new Pirate Junior additions to the family since he last saw you, then sail away again in search of adventure. Don't settle for a pirate. Give your love to a ninja. You might not see him much, either... but he's always around.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Clues for the Facebook Clueless
Okay, so you're new to Facebook. We understand. What? You've been on Facebook since 2007? And you did THAT? This blog is for you, the Facebook Clueless.
- Target, Wal-Mart, Best Buy, and any other company you see is not, I repeat **NOT** going to give you a $1,000 gift card for being one of the first 20,000 people to join a fan page. Seriously, think about it. That's TWENTY MILLION DOLLARS they'd be giving away to anyone with the handful of brain cells necessary to click "Become a Fan." Not going to happen. Sorry.
- There are no magical pages, groups, or applications out there that let you "See Who is Browsing Your Profile." They are all fake. Every single one of them.
- Any fan page that requires you to "send this invite to twenty of your friends" is getting you to do their spam work for them.
- Any page that has 50,000 fans and zero posts on the wall -- FAKE. Run away. Seriously -- if you were giving away Best Buy gift certificates, wouldn't you want people posting on your wall about how awesome you are? They disable the wall because no one ever got squat from them.
- If you have to "copy-paste this Javascript into your browser window to complete the application process" -- red flag. If you actually DO that, maybe you deserve to have your computer infested with viruses. Duh.
- Facebook is not going to "start charging $14.95/month on [insert date here]." That kind of thing has been around since the dawn of the Internet. It's as old as the "Nigerian Prince" email. AIM, Yahoo! Mail, MySpace, Facebook... all of them have had people forwarding angry messages about how they're going to leave if they start charging. None of them have been true. Even if they were about to start charging, is joining a fan page or group really going to change the minds of the people in charge?
- Snopes is your friend. Bookmark it. Heck, memorize the link (it's not that long). Always use it before you post something about the latest Amber Alert, Bill Cosby political views, or story about "Obama eats babies." Do some fact-checking, people.
- Here's one that was actually clever. A fan page created some realistic looking images of people commenting "Wow! I can't believe this worked!" for some free prize giveaway. There were icons, people's names, and the works. Only problems? It wasn't on the "Wall" section where people would actually post messages. Oh, and none of the people had last names displayed. Oh, and none of the links (including the people's names) were clickable -- the whole thing was a JPG that someone had Photoshopped to look like testimonials. When you clicked on the actual Wall, there were no posts.
- Just because we went to the same high school, that doesn't make us friends. Did we even have any classes together?
- Drunk FB status updating is the new drunk texting or drunk dialing. Except that instead of just an ex-girlfriend seeing/hearing it, 500 friends and family members see how stupid you are.
- You don't HAVE to post every achievement in FarmVille or Mafia Wars. It's optional.
- If I don't live in your city, I'm probably not going to come to your concert.
- People with bad spelling, punctuation, and/or grammar deserve to be mocked with sarcastic comments. This means you.
- Not everyone shares your ultra-liberal or ultra-conservative viewpoint. It's okay to have such a viewpoint, of course. Just don't couple it with a "I can't believe anyone else out there doesn't share the same point of view as me. Clearly, you're an idiot if you believe something else!" attitude.
- If you post a picture of your child, favorite cartoon character or anything other than your face, don't tell me who you are, we have no friends in common, and I haven't called you by name in the last 48 hours, don't be surprised when I ignore your friend request.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
I want to know stuff.
Here's an idea for any future improv theater company I take part in running. Knowing stuff.
It's great when an improviser gets a suggestion of a profession such as "doctor" and can rattle off actual medical terms and use them fairly accurately. Or the suggestion "Shakespeare" and be able to use "thee," "thou," "thy," and "thine" correctly. If you get suggestions like "spot welding" or "horseback riding," chances are that the person giving the suggestion already has some knowledge about the subject.
Granted, there will always be some subjects that an improviser knows absolutely nothing about. I know I had never heard the term "Octomom" before it was suggested to me in a show (I Googled it when I got home). I think we did something about an octopus during the scene.
Sure, it can be fun when an audience realizes "this improviser has no idea who [insert celebrity name] is." But it can be much more satisfying for an improviser who can play and have fun in a made-up world where you're firmly grounded with a few key phrases, terms, and concepts for the suggestion that's given. The audience member who gave the suggestion (and probably knew something about the subject) will be amazed that you know so much.
So here's my suggestion. Have various members of the cast each take a week where they will teach the rest of the cast something they know well. For example, I would teach classes on various things I learned in my days as a police officer -- how to do a traffic stop, how to give the field sobriety tasks, how to operate/fire a handgun, how to slim jim open a car door, how to search through a house, how to march/run in formation, etc. I'd love to have every cast member take what they know best and teach everyone something new every week. Not only would it be fun, but it would be a fun group bonding experience for the cast.
So, yeah... know-it-all training in Nashville. Coming in 2011.
It's great when an improviser gets a suggestion of a profession such as "doctor" and can rattle off actual medical terms and use them fairly accurately. Or the suggestion "Shakespeare" and be able to use "thee," "thou," "thy," and "thine" correctly. If you get suggestions like "spot welding" or "horseback riding," chances are that the person giving the suggestion already has some knowledge about the subject.
Granted, there will always be some subjects that an improviser knows absolutely nothing about. I know I had never heard the term "Octomom" before it was suggested to me in a show (I Googled it when I got home). I think we did something about an octopus during the scene.
Sure, it can be fun when an audience realizes "this improviser has no idea who [insert celebrity name] is." But it can be much more satisfying for an improviser who can play and have fun in a made-up world where you're firmly grounded with a few key phrases, terms, and concepts for the suggestion that's given. The audience member who gave the suggestion (and probably knew something about the subject) will be amazed that you know so much.
So here's my suggestion. Have various members of the cast each take a week where they will teach the rest of the cast something they know well. For example, I would teach classes on various things I learned in my days as a police officer -- how to do a traffic stop, how to give the field sobriety tasks, how to operate/fire a handgun, how to slim jim open a car door, how to search through a house, how to march/run in formation, etc. I'd love to have every cast member take what they know best and teach everyone something new every week. Not only would it be fun, but it would be a fun group bonding experience for the cast.
So, yeah... know-it-all training in Nashville. Coming in 2011.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
My horrible supressed memory has returned to me.
So my roommate (John) went out and bought a bunch of snacks for movie night tonight (the 1989 "Batman"). Microwave popcorn, soda, Reese's Pieces, Nerds, and... Mike & Ikes.
Flash back with me to 1993. Freshman year of high school. Honors Geometry class. My teacher decides to put our math skills to the test. She has a huge jar of Mike & Ike candy on her desk. Our job is to try to figure out how many Mike & Ike candies are in that jar, using our calculate-the-volume-of-object formulae. We were each given one of her "spare" Mike & Ike candies to do our measurements of the candy's volume. We could each go up to the jar and measure it from the outside, making adjustments for the thickness and curvature of the glass. Then, of course, we had to account for the amount of air that was in the jar.
Long story short, I made a guess of 1,604. The actual total was 1,632. I won.
One guy calculated that there were 2,448 in the jar, but he forgot to account for the air between the candies. Turns out that there's a theorem out there that if you randomly drop objects into a container, it'll occupy 2/3 of the total volume (1/3 will be air). If he had multiplied his guess by 2/3, he would have been exactly right.
The first day of victory was awesome. I ate a few handfuls, and shared them with my classmates. Still plenty left. I'd munch a few here and there at home. Still plenty left. I took them with me to other nerd school functions (math club, Knowledge Masters). A few handfuls got eaten. Still plenty left. I took them to youth group. Still plenty left. Finally, I gave up on being able to finish the jar of Mike & Ikes. There was well over half the jar remaining when I dumped it in the trash, vowing never again to eat Mike & Ikes again. The jar, which still had that sickly sweet odor, was used to store loose change.
16 years went by...
Now I am confronted with the horrifying reunion ahead of me this evening. I surely will not open that package of candy. Someone else will. They might even pass it around or offer it to me directly. My screams will be heard throughout Cook County. Probably sometime between 7-9 p.m. Listen for it.
Flash back with me to 1993. Freshman year of high school. Honors Geometry class. My teacher decides to put our math skills to the test. She has a huge jar of Mike & Ike candy on her desk. Our job is to try to figure out how many Mike & Ike candies are in that jar, using our calculate-the-volume-of-object formulae. We were each given one of her "spare" Mike & Ike candies to do our measurements of the candy's volume. We could each go up to the jar and measure it from the outside, making adjustments for the thickness and curvature of the glass. Then, of course, we had to account for the amount of air that was in the jar.
Long story short, I made a guess of 1,604. The actual total was 1,632. I won.
One guy calculated that there were 2,448 in the jar, but he forgot to account for the air between the candies. Turns out that there's a theorem out there that if you randomly drop objects into a container, it'll occupy 2/3 of the total volume (1/3 will be air). If he had multiplied his guess by 2/3, he would have been exactly right.
The first day of victory was awesome. I ate a few handfuls, and shared them with my classmates. Still plenty left. I'd munch a few here and there at home. Still plenty left. I took them with me to other nerd school functions (math club, Knowledge Masters). A few handfuls got eaten. Still plenty left. I took them to youth group. Still plenty left. Finally, I gave up on being able to finish the jar of Mike & Ikes. There was well over half the jar remaining when I dumped it in the trash, vowing never again to eat Mike & Ikes again. The jar, which still had that sickly sweet odor, was used to store loose change.
16 years went by...
Now I am confronted with the horrifying reunion ahead of me this evening. I surely will not open that package of candy. Someone else will. They might even pass it around or offer it to me directly. My screams will be heard throughout Cook County. Probably sometime between 7-9 p.m. Listen for it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
