Harold in the Hammer

For the past seven weeks, I've been attending a course in long-form improv, under the wise tutelage of Scott Lloyd of Flint Improv Co.   As you might have guessed, long-form improv is just like short form improv only longer.  I've learned a lot, set painting, building relationships, some other stuff that I forget at this moment. I've also had a lot of fun (I always have fun when I learn).

Well tomorrow night the long-form improv classes are putting on a show. My four classmates and I make up the improv troupe HUGE Pimpin'.  The other two teams, Know Konsensus and JJJAWSS are made up of highly talented people I know from boot camp. (A lot of them have been in shows already and they are all sure to provide oodles of awesomeness).

I wish I could pick out the best scenes from the past few weeks and put them in the show, but improv doesn't work like that.  No, everything will be made up on the spot (which is easier than it seems, and yet requires more preparation than you'd imagine). We are all capable of greatness, and we've gotten better and better the more practice Harolds we perform. I'm a little nervous, but I think we'll kick butt together.

If you are in the Hamilton area and want to come and see the show (and you do, trust me), then call Staircase and reserve your tickets.  They are a steal at $10 ($8 if you are a poor student).  The big production starts promptly at 8 and should go for an hour, hour and a half, something like that (I dunno, it's improvised).

Z is for Zen

It can be said that I achieve inner peace in unusual ways.  While writing this I'm taking breaks periodically to have a bite of pickled tongue, all the way from Montreal.  Some can't stand the harsh vinegar taste, others don't like the idea of a snack that licks them back; for me the pork delicacy from my childhood is the perfect comfort food.

I've just come home from three hours of improv workshops.  I'm tired, but it's a good tired. I get a similar feeling from visiting contemporary art galleries, saturated with ideas and beauty and meaning. On the car ride home my friend asked me to name my favourite scene of the night, and I couldn't remember a single one.  It was as if I was trying to remember a dream.  I know I laughed, I know I played, but the details slipped away.

There are so many other things that bring me contentment, reruns of Star Trek, the smell of oil paint, sea food, hugs, a good book, a bad movie, karaoke, the list goes on.  What are some things that are zen to you?

N is for Next Level

So on Saturday I attended Staircase Theatre's monthly Next Level workshop, taught by the talented and humble Jerry Han.  There were only four of us in the class this time around (Me, Becca, Arthur and Marianne). Bad for Staircase's revenue, but great for us. We got personalized critique of every scene and were allowed to go off on interesting tangents with our questions.

The topic of this workshop was show craft.  We practiced introducing a show, getting ask-fors, and even putting on an entire show with Jerry as the audience.  For the first time, we had to decide when the scene had ended instead of waiting for the teacher to do it for us. Jerry's comments were always informative, and I helped me imagine how an okay scene could have been amazing.  Hosting was actually the hardest part.  It's much easier to imagine what a character would do, than to stand there and be yourself.  But Jerry reminded me that if I were really hosting a show, it would be completed okay to prepare stuff to say in advance. The scenes are improvised; not everything has to be.

Of course we also had a lot of fun. Through the course of the afternoon I played a sexy french maid, a stroke victim, a chicken, a fairy Mom and Super Mario. Arthur and I performed an opera about prime rib.

I is for Improv Withdrawal

I actually considered going to Ikea with the kids today so I had something to talk about for I.  I mean, it isn't as if I could blog about improv, could I?  I mean, I've written about my new passion enough, haven't I? Some of you have even seen my name in a newspaper article on the subject.  And besides, Easter Monday meant this week had no improv classes.  My weekly fix of playing pretend in the pursuit of high art has yet to be fulfilled.

Luckily, this Saturday the Staircase is running one of their monthly "Next Level" for improvisers as experienced as I (I've been at this since OCTOBER already!)  I'm told we'll be learning the art of putting together a show.  The last workshop I went to was a blast so I have high expectations.  I'll let you know how it goes when I get to N.

In conclusion, here's a scene from the once-popular improv show "Who's Line is it Anyway?" (I always preferred the British version to the Drew Carey version):

My friends and I are in the paper!

When I began attending Improv Bootcamp on Monday nights at the Staircase Theatre, I had no idea that it would bring me fame and notoriety so quickly. My first show is a distant fleck on a possible horizon.   And yet my name, along with friends Columbia and Rebecca, is mentioned in the Spectator this morning:

http://www.thespec.com/news/local/article/690503--the-mothers-and-fathers-of-improv-invention

The article, by Jeff Mahoney, is all about "the Mothers of Improv". Jeff talked to the three of us for all of five seconds, during which Becca came up with an awesome quote. Despite the short time he talked to us, you can tell he gets it, the draw of improv, the fun of it, the magic of the Staircase Theatre. For those of you who get the Spectator (or will get it knowing I'm in there), the article is on A4.  My picture is in the print version, but not the online version.

I don't know if the idea of improv "appeared in a balloon over our heads", as Jeff puts it.  It would be more accurate to say that I wanted to try it, and I dragged my friends along. I like Jeff's version better. In any case, all three of us fell in love with it.

One of my favourite characters to play is very much like my daughter, cute to the point of being obnoxious. I've thrown tantrums to rival my son's.  It's all very therapeutic. I always thought that I'd be a good mother, because I'm silly and fun-loving, but it's hard to be that way while in mom mode.  I can't let loose when I have to be the one to say "don't hit, don't throw, don't jump," and sometimes, believe it or not, "don't laugh." At improv I can be myself and, at the same time, I never have to be myself.

My favourite line (other than Becca's quote):
"Hugh MacLeod, originator of The Staircase, can’t quite explain the influx [of improv Moms], especially in recent months, but it makes for a lively dynamic, especially as the other demographic bulge in local improv is young men." No Hugh, I can't imagine why a group of stay-at-home Moms would want to spend the evening playing pretend with young men, especially when so many of them are so adorable.

In other news I gave birth to Hugh MacLeod, originator of The Staircase, on Monday night during an improv scene.  It was his idea.

An Improveriffic V-day

Tonight I went to possibly the greatest Valentine's Day* show in the universe at the Staircase Theater, where I go to improv class every Monday.  After buying our tickets we filled out a card about how we first met, because in the show they choose three couples to interview on stage.  I was hoping I would be chosen, because I enjoy an outing a hundred times more when it's all about me.

On the card we were asked to describe our partner in one word.  My word for Adam was "huggable" and Adam's word for me was "distractable".  Hmmn.

We sat right in the front row and the host (Devlin, also one of my improv teachers) called us up first.  (I was told later that they picked randomly and didn't know that I was in fact "their Jen"). We sat on a comfy couch and were interviewed about how we first met (over balloons at a friend's birthday party).  Then we chose a couple of improv actors to play us in the reenactment.  

I chose Jessica to play me because I happen to know she is very funny, and also she wears glasses and looks a bit like I did in my early years of dating Adam.  I've already forgot the name of the guy who played Adam, but again, it's all about me.

Adam had told the story of how when he picked me up to go to a movie, my whole family was watching from the window, so they kind of melded that with our first kiss.  The actors playing us were having an intimate moment doing eskimo kisses and butterfly kisses, while all the rest of the improvisers pretended to be my family watching from behind a curtain. Most of them were gesturing with their tongues to encourage us to kiss, while the "Dad" was shaking his head and scowling.  Priceless.

We got flowers and a pack of gummy hearts for participating.  Then, later on in the show, I won a raffle prize.  Guess what? Tickets for two to improv bootcamp, where I go anyway every Monday!

I thought we were pretty boring, especially since the couple who went after us had sex on their front lawn the night they first met. After the show, though, people kept coming up to us and telling us how great we were. I'm not sure why. The improvisers were great, all we did was answer questions.

As we were leaving another one of my teachers told Adam that his wife is very funny.  Yay!

*My husband says that I should write about my son's birthday party instead, since that is a much more important event.  I agree that my baby turning five tomorrow is far more important and his birthday party we had on Sunday deserves a post, but the V-day show is fresher in my mind and more appropriate for a February 14th entry. Also I'm too lazy to upload the party pictures from my camera just yet. Maybe tomorrow on his actual birthday. Or sometime I don't know.

Future Fantastic

Today, as part of Professor's Wiseman's perfect diary, I'm going to write about my future. I'm to imagine everything has worked out wonderfully, all my dreams come true and all my goals realized.  Interestingly, this sort of visualization will not help me actually realize my goals.  For that, I'd have to create a step by step plan and imagine all the obstacles I'll have to overcome. But this isn't about achieving one's goals, this is about good good happy feelings.

Next year my book will be out and I'll be finished the second one.  Having one book published, I'll easily land an agent for the second book and she will be busily negotiating with all the big wig publishers. My improv skills will get me into the invite-only advanced class and I'll do my first show in front of an audience. People will see my mad skills on stage and run right home to purchase my ebook, hoping it's just as entertaining.  They won't be disappointed.  In fact, I'll receive rave reviews on both the show and the novel.  I'll get a little extra money with my new found fame and I'll take the whole family on a canoeing trip in Algonquin. Also I'll pay off my Visa and start work on my Star Trek basement. I'll get that new red couch I've had my eye on forever and no one will pee on it or chew it.

I've found my new Monday Night Activity.

Improv!

I discovered a five-dollar drop-in improv class at the Staircase Theatre in Hamilton.  Yesterday I was browsing online, looking for classes that I might want to ask for for my birthday.  That's when I saw the drop-in boot camp.  Monday night, I read, (Hey, it's Monday today).  Five dollars (Hey, I have five dollars in my wallet right now!) I've always wanted to take an improv class (by "always" I mean that I once thought about it for five seconds).  I mentioned the class to my friend Columbia and she enthusiastically agreed to come with me.

Holy Spock, we had so much fun!

There were twelve people in the class (I know because the teacher, Devlin, counted us).  There was an equal mix of men and women and I was neither the oldest nor the youngest, in fact I was right in the middle (I know because we lined up by age at one point.)

My favourite game (I won't bore you by describing the whole class) was "Emotional Symphony".  Four people on stage were each given a word and an emotion. They would then have to say the word in the emotion they were given whenever the conductor pointed to them.  The conductor could raise her arm to make the person emote more, or lower it to make them emote less.  Conducting is WAY more fun than it should have been.  SUCH POWER!

The sketches were my other favourite.  I got to throw a temper tantrum, sing a song, scream at the top of my lungs and pretend to have an orgasm.  I was often paired with Columbia, which is great because we work well together. At one point we were doing a sketch exercise with two guys.  The floor was divided into three sections, each with a designated emotion: depression, lust, and hate. The teacher had to stop the scene; the boys had forgotten to emote hate, because they were too busy watching Columbia and I in the lust section.  Hilarious!

There were two classes and we had so much fun we stayed for the second one too. I don't know if I've found a new career as a sketch comic, but it is definitely a great way to loosen up and get out of Mom mode for an evening.