Yes, and...

New Year's Resolution, 2010...Read a book every month.

2010-01-13T16:53:00.000-08:00

January: Spock's World, by Diane Duane

I won this book in a White Elephant at the Roving Imp. It's, you guessed right, a Star Trek novel, and the book that launched my book-a-month idea.

This is the first non-fiction book I've finished in approximately 10 years (shameful.) I breezed right through it...Star Trek is fun to read. Some of the references were definitely lost on me, and there was more than a little fanboy pandering, but there was a really interesting narrative of the tribal history of Vulcan woven into the adapted-from-television format. Great literature? Probably not. But a tasty little treat, indeed. I'll have to work some more Star Trek novels into my future reading.

Holy shit...I just wrote a Star Trek blog.

ImpFest

2009-10-26T15:56:00.000-07:00

I don't think there is any way this weekend could have been more exceptional. The inaugural ImpFest at the Roving Imp was a great blend of entertainment, learning, and hanging out with people who (despite our geographical proximity) I rarely get to see or work with.

A few highlights:

A breakthrough moment: I had the good fortune of taking one of Jill Bernard's workshops...Fix 'Em Up Shop. Jill has a great capacity for pinpointing what's holding one back as an improviser, and she hit the nail on the head when she told me what I was lacking was belief in myself. I've been looking back at the moments I've felt off onstage lately, and they all have one thing in common--the little "You suck!" voice in the back of my head. My goal this next month is to put that voice in a coma by whatever means necessary (it's funny how improv goals sometimes mirror real-life goals. :) )

Tim Marks: Tim's workshop activity of boiling down a scene to what's really important was an eye-opener, and he created a safe space where I could really take some chances and allow myself to fail...and, of course, as soon as you allow yourself to fail, you won't.

An audience largely made up of improvisers/seeing other people do improv: There's an unfortunate reality that, as a community and due to concurrent performance schedules, we rarely get to see each others' shows. It was nice to see Spite, Tantrum, Improv-Abilities, Brownies Don't Lie, and Anomaly Orange perform: it was also nice to have these talented people in the audience. There is so much to be gleaned from watching improv as a performer, and I can honestly say I learned at least one thing from each set I saw. (I also enjoyed the crap out of them.) More on that later.

I could honestly kvell all day, and I'll do some more specific blogs in the near future. Short story-I leave the festival feeling significantly closer to improv nirvana. Success!

Improv Goals

2009-10-13T23:16:00.000-07:00

At the end of every class at the Roving Imp, we're asked what about our performance that day we would like to work on the next time we're on stage.

My Saturday class goal: To let things simmer before I add the spice.

We're trained to have predator mind, to constantly be on the sidelines waiting to help out and clarify or heighten. The hardest part of this for me is knowing when the best thing to do is wait out a scene or, in some cases, stay the hell out of the soup. Case in point: A brilliant scene involving a kid and his dad discussing the dad's new wife. I immediately entered as the highly juvenile wife, instantly interrupting the action. I was so excited to, first of all, be a part of this scene and, second of all, play a really fun character, that I inadvertently jilted the balance of the scene. Everyone, including myself, could feel the awesome energy shift into weirdness. John's suggestion? Wait it out. This scene will be a lot more fun if you let the people onstage build a relationship before you come in and mess around with stuff, he said. 2 minutes later, I re-entered the scene when the moment seemed right, on a family outing to the zoo, and the character got a huge laugh.

In short, hold your horses. Sometimes the fun is in the build-up.

Monday class goal: Play a very masculine philanthropist.

Weird, overly specific goal, yes. But I've realized most of the men I play are either, A: Southern chauvenists or B: Midwestern chauvenists. My obvious issues with men aside, I need to play men who are good. I know they're out there (I know quite a few of them), and right now, my bag of characters isn't adequately representing humanity. It's simple, really. I won't threaten to hit my wife in any scenes. I won't demand my wife to make me dinner. And I'll play a man whose IQ is above the curve.

Goals

2009-08-04T18:39:00.001-07:00

I'm unemployed and basically schedule-less. It's time for me to be my own drill sergeant.

My goals for the next month:

1. Find (and keep) an effing job.

2. Go to the gym at least twice a week.

3. Read a book.

If I write them down, I'll do them!

6 Months Later

2009-06-25T11:57:00.001-07:00

I have returned to the blogosphere! Oh, dear. Are they still calling it that? I've been away quite a while. Several factors have kept me away from this blog... writer's block, lack of consistent computer access, and (mostly) laziness.

Updates...

I quit my job! After 2 1/2 years of self-imposed torture, I got out. With no safety net. Thank goodness for supportive parents and a lot of luck, because I'm still unemployed, 3 months later.

I'm teaching improv! I've started teaching the Beginner's Class at the Roving Imp. It's been a while since I've taught, and this is my first experience teaching an adult class. It's a challenge, but in the two weeks I've been doing it, I've gotten a lot more comfortable and I think it's made me a more attentive performer in general. It's fun to revisit things in lesson plans I may have forgotten about along the way!

I got a puppy! Wrigley is half black lab, half something to be determined, and won't rest until I'm reduced to barefoot status. He's also quite the spooner. :)

I'm going to make an honest effort to keep this thing updated, I promise.

Blog

2008-12-12T06:57:00.000-08:00

I'm blogging! (More blogs to follow.)

The Makeout Party

2008-04-20T20:17:00.000-07:00

This story came up in a round of "Cocktail Party" the other night at the Roving Imp. Some of you have heard it, some haven't.

Unfortunately, it's true. Here goes:

I was an awkward kid when I became involved in theatre. I didn't have much self confidence (some would argue I had good reasons: 1. I wore skirt suits to school. 2. I had, quite possibly, the nastiest case of chin acne in the entire county. 3. I was known to pound an entire box of Oatmeal Cream Pies in one sitting.)

My first show had just gone into production, and being the new-ish kid, I never expected to be invited into the "cool kids" room at a cast party. But, there I was, beckoned into the sanctuary that was (we'll call him JK)'s bedroom. I sat dorkily on the bed, expecting, I don't know, Truth or Dare (or something crazy like that!), surrounded by about ten of my castmates. In what seemed like a split second, they were all over each other, mouth on mouth, mouth on chest...things you might see illustrated on a piece of greek pottery. I scooted closer to the wall, my mouth betraying my shock. I stared at the popcorn ceiling.

All of a sudden, he was on top of me. We'll call "him" RF. I don't know what came over me, the need to be accepted, trying desperately not to look like a dork, or realizing this was the most action I'd gotten, since, well...since I had tongue-kissed that picture of Greg Brady. I puckered up. I must have looked like one of those twee porcelain figurines of little boys and girls kissing under umbrellas that sit on your grandmother's mantle. RF was having none of that. His tongue almost shattered my teeth. If it had gone any farther down my throat, he could have licked my aorta. I coughed, jerked my head away, and, remembering where I was, turned back to apologize to him. He was already tonsil-deep in JL's mouth.

First rule of the cool kids room? You don't leave the cool kids room, no matter how horrified you are. I bucked up. A few friendly pecks later, I tried to strike up a particularly un-interesting conversation with JL: "So, how do you think the sh..."

And then, SHE LICKED MY FOREHEAD. Hairline to hairline. Like a momma cat.

I spent the rest of the evening on the not-so-cool side of the door.

There are some things even more important than being popular. Like not being covered in your friend's saliva.

I am the Grim Reaper of Cars!

2008-04-01T07:17:00.001-07:00

It seems that, no matter how carefully I drive, I always manage to demolish the vehicle I'm driving. To be fair, the last one wasn't my fault. My God, it was time for that thing to go. It was running on adrenalin shots and an iron lung.

It also seems that, every year, something terrible happens on my birthday.

So, imagine my excitement at combining these two wonderful karmatic quirks!

I was headed to my own birthday soiree at Yardhouse. Driving down K-7. Hands at 10 and 2. Music at a moderate level. Completely sober. The point is, I wasn't doing anything irresponsible. But have you ever tried to stop a Ford Ranger on a rainy highway?

I saw the car in front of me stop with plenty of time to react. I tapped on the brakes, hit a puddle of water, and heard the words "Oh shit!" go through my head. It just wouldn't stop.

The collision was a lot louder than I expected. Looking at the damage, I was actually amazed I wasn't injured. I had to have been going 25-30 mph. The other car, a massive SUV, had a few scratches on the bumper, but the truck was leaking radiator fluid, smoking, missing the left headlight, the hood was pushed back a good few inches, and the driver-side door wouldn't open. The cops wouldn't let me drive it, which was probably a good idea. It most likely would have caught on fire within minutes.

Ironically, what was going through my head seconds before the crash was, "Something bad happens every year on my birthday. I've really lucked out this year!"

An Unprovoked Essay

2008-02-29T20:52:00.000-08:00

I’ve never known how to handle other peoples’ weaknesses. Sick, injured, just a little sleepy? Please go stand somewhere else. It’s not that I don’t care, it’s just that any course of action seems awkward to me.

There was a girl on my block growing up. Sharita. We used to ride bikes. One day, as we passed my house making the neighborhood circuit, she fell off. I rode away like I hadn’t noticed. I totally had. I rode around the block one more time, my head swimming with guilt and embarrassment. How was I going to explain this?

As I rounded the corner to my street, I saw that my sister (the better adjusted one at the time) had gone to get my mother, who was now tending to my scuffed-up friend lying prostrate in the street.

“Jennifer!” my mother shouted. Shit. “You just left Sharita here in the street? What were you thinking?”

My ten year-old mind couldn’t quite form the thought, “I’m socially awkward and didn’t know how to respond to the situation in an appropriate manner,” so instead I quipped, “I don’t know.”

Unfortunately, that brilliant retort did little to save the friendship. To the best of my recollection, that was the last time that Sharita and I played together. I moved away a year later, and that Sharita bitch can sure hold a grudge.

But I digress. My point is this. If I leave your metaphorical scuffed-up body in the metaphorical street, don’t be offended. In my head, I’m making you chicken soup and giving you a great big hug. And I’m working on getting my body to follow suit.

The Haircut

2008-02-10T20:36:00.000-08:00

Getting a haircut is a pretty big ordeal for me. I don't like to have it done. The neon lights in the salon make my skin look sallow. I get yelled at for my lack of good hair maintenance. And, invariably, the description I give to the stylist is misconstrued as "give me the Carol Brady."

That being said, it was time. My hair was to the point of only looking (kind of) good if it was in a ponytail. So, my mom and I went down to the fine folks at JCPenney's for a day of beauty.

After the (literal) 2-hour wait to get in, I was finally met by Linda...the type of woman you might see working in a diner in a Lifetime Movie. Her hair was more akimbo than you would ever want your stylist's hair to be, and she most definitely had the crazy eyes.

Linda's favorite television show, I soon learned, was Extreme Makeover Home Edition. "Are you going to watch it tonight? It's in Kansas City!" she squealed excitedly. I contained myself. This was not the audience to tell a Ty Pennington joke to.

In the end, she had spent an hour and a half on my hair, and I had gone through an exhausting workout of stylist-mandated sitting and standing to ensure it looked even from every angle. My head is now five pounds lighter.

Oh, and she managed to work in the Carol Brady flip. Thank goodness!

Betty Sue Kohake, 1986-2008

2008-01-26T15:30:00.000-08:00

My beloved car, Betty Sue Kohake, has passed away.

I saw this coming...in the past month, she's spent more time at the shop than at my apartment.

First, the battery kept dying (while I was driving it...it would just stop in the middle of the street). Then, the alternator went out. Then, the starter went. As soon as one problem would be fixed, another thing would pop up. But I suppose that's how these things go.

I got my car back for the last time yesterday afternoon. I excitedly got behind the wheel, and off I went on my way to Lawrence. As I accelerated to get on K-10, Betty kicked violently and repeatedly made a thunking noise. In retrospect, I think it was her way of saying, "Stop driving me. Seriously. Pull the plug." That's right...my car speaks in cliched phrases.

I made it to Lawrence just fine, though a little shaken up. Driving 60 mph while your RPM meter (I think that's what it's called) keeps flashing into red is a little disheartening.

On the way home, though, things got much worse. The kicking continued, and on a side street just short of the highway, the entire car just died on me. I gave it a few minutes, and it restarted. Two blocks later, it died again. After two more restarts, I managed to get on the highway, and after some on-edge driving (at a maximum speed of 55 mph), I made it home.

My stepdad once again took Betty into the shop this morning, only to find out the computer is completely gone...a problem that would cost $1500 to fix (literally five times the price of the car.) His exact words to me, over the phone, were, "Your car is trash."

So, I dedicate this blog to the memory of Betty Sue Kohake. Betty, I'll miss your metric measurements, your backwards hand-crank windows, your cracked windshield, and your Canadian accent.

You were a piece of crap, but we had some really good times.

No, really...tell me all about your life, stranger!

2008-01-08T13:07:00.000-08:00

You meet some pretty interesting people as a bank teller. It's sort of like being a bartender, but without the tips and with crazier, possibly drunker patrons.

There are a few regular customers that I'm genuinely happy to see when they come in, but for the most part, I duck and hide behind my computer and think "Not me...not me!" They usually come to my window.

There is one customer in particular that annoys me nearly to death...a customer who came in today. She'll actually wait in line until I'm available, because she wants to talk to whom she calls "Jennifer Aniston." In the past six months, I've learned about her granddaughter (a girl who is, in her words, very pretty, an atheist lesbian, pregnant, and half-black), her brother (who lives in her apartment, opens her UPS packages without her permission, and can't catch a break because he owes so much back child support), and, on one particularly interesting day, that she was raped on the Plaza in 1975. The last one she announced on her way out, from halfway across the bank.

Halfway through our exchange today, my eyes glazed over and I started envisioning myself banging my head into my desk. I apparently missed out on a lot, because the teller next to me later said she had explained all of the important dates in Elvis Presley's life.

The moral of my story is this...if, when you go to the bank, you notice your teller's eyes drifting to the ceiling and a vaguely annoyed twitch enter the corner of their mouth...you might be the bank crazy. Rethink your conversation style.

I Suck at Blogging

2007-12-27T20:17:00.000-08:00

I'm a pretty crappy blogger. I'll usually make it halfway through an entry, re-read what I've just written, and deem it too whiney or boring to actually post. I then backspace through the entire thing, cursing my own lack of creativity and poor word choice all the while. I read other people's blogs....that's what I spend most of my time at work doing, in fact. I'm impressed by them. I don't think they necessarily have more interesting lives than mine...they're just better at accentuating the interesting parts. For instance...while I might write, "Today, I vacuumed my bedroom. Then I watched Food Network and fell asleep on my couch," they might write, "Today, I started a California wildfire. Then I skydived into the Andes and went on a date."

Okay...they might have more interesting lives than mine.

But, it's New Year's time, and I figure I should get over my blogophobia. So here is my attempt at literary bravery.

And, yes, I have deleted and re-written this entry seven times.