This is mostly nonsense
Hey, I haven’t performed improv since trip to Chicago! Well, luckily for it’s time again for Minnesota to get its fill of the Mustache Rangers. Here are the details.
What: Mix Tape Comedy
Where: Comedy Sportz Theater
When: February 13th, 2009 at 10:30 PM
Price: $10
Also performing are HUGE Theater and Boytron, two highly recommended groups. Really, I recommend them highly.
I don’t know why you wouldn’t go. Valentine’s Day is a day for sleeping in, after all. That’s what love is about.
I made this video a year ago. It has been sitting on my hard drive doing nothing. Now it is on internet.
Last Thursday I was going to see Ka-Baam!!, the improvised comic book show put on by HUGE theater, for the second time. My plan for the evening was to sit at work and eat canned soup until 6pm, so I wouldn’t have to drive home and then immediately turn around and head for the Bryant-Lake Bowl theater. The eating beef and vegetable soup while watching edited Star Trek: TNG clips part of my plan worked fine. And so, at the correct time, I was off to the theater.
I arrived at Bryant and Lake at around 6:30. I was early enough to hop over to the gas station to buy some gum. With the quenching power of gum, I wouldn’t have to buy anything to drink at the theater. And I wouldn’t have to bother with tips or being interrupted in the middle of the show. Aric, you genius you! Gum in pocket, I entered the Bryant-Lake Bowl.
But inside, there were no improvisors getting ready to peform. Instead, there was jazz business going on. Odd. Maybe they were backing the theater time slots together a little tightly, to maximize profits in the floundering economy. I went into the bathroom in the hopes that the jazz would be ending as I was exiting with an empty bladder and clean hands.
Nope, the jazz was still there. I looked around for a poster, and found that Ka-Baam!! was actually at 10pm instead of the regular 7pm slot. Aww, nuts. I wasn’t going to hang around until 10pm. So, I left.
While pointing my mini van towards north western suburbs, I realized the Uptown trip could be salvaged. I wasn’t far from Matt’s Bar, where my high school chums hang out every Thursday. Hooray! I’ll go there, drink some Grain Belt, and do some catching up!
When I arrived at Matt’s, the place was packed. The foyer was thick with people waiting for a table. Okay, I just needed to move past them and check for my friends. Umm, didn’t see them. Maybe they were at the back table that I couldn’t quite get a look at without feeling like a jerk who was budding in line. That table looked awfully packed. If it was them, there probably wouldn’t be any room for me. OhmanIneedtogetoutofhere.
Outside. Phew. Good work, pal. You’ve failed to save your evening. And your friends were probably in there.
So I went home, miserable and ready to sleep. Too dumb to see some improv and too anxious to see my friends.
Oh, wait! There was a Tweet-Up at Gumpy’s! Wait, where was Grumpy’s? And did I really think my growing social anxiety would subside by the time I got there? Subside enough to talk to partial strangers? Probably not.
Strike three. It was time to go home and play video games until my wife got home. A regular Thursday night, really. Except for all that other stuff.
[Photo by Ed Kohler]
I don’t have many drinking stories, and don’t drink very often, but embarrassment can be found in a shallow puddles and deep oceans alike. So here they are. Each item on the list can be preceded by “during an evening of drinking.”
I think the most embarrassing part is that my drinking stories aren’t very good.
I entered the Borders bookstore in Minnetonka and was drawn, as all customers are, to the tables near the entrance. These are the tables that hold pretty looking hardcovers that just came out. While I had more than enough unread books at home, new and shiny things were nice to buy. I walked to the tables on an impulse. And, soon, I would be fighting another impulse with every fiber of my being.
You see, I was not the only patron that day. My back was to the entrance when a horrifying sound found its way in to the bookstore. A textured and unearthly sound. A deep and wet sound. The sound (pause) of a monster!
I know, I know. Monsters are not real. They are trapped forever within the walls of fiction. But I’m telling you folks, with as little profanity as I can, that there was a fucking monster behind me.
There I was, frozen in place while a monster slowly sucked in the streams of saliva that regularly flowed in and out of its massive jaws. Its throat was raw and coated with a dust of its previous victim’s bones. Would that last thing I see be a dumb Star Wars encyclopedia?
Every muscle in my body wanted to run away, screaming in terror. I wasn’t fighting, so obviously I should be flight-ing. But I neither fought nor took flight. I was stood in place. Because monsters are not real and I am (debatably) a grown man.
Still in a slight panic, but controlling my breathing and mind, I turned myself slightly so I could move on to the next impulse table. Being polite enough to not stare directly at the monster, I saw the creature out of my peripheral vision. The monster was a man in his 60s, bundled up in scarf and hat, acting like he had just run a marathon. This man, without any effort on his part, had created most terrifying sound I have ever heard.
And you know what? If that had been a monster, I would be dead. I would be dead because I didn’t want to hurt some guy’s feelings. I fought natural instinct because I didn’t want to cause a scene. And I will pass my damaged, society pleasing, genes on to my children because a monster didn’t tear me limb from limb like it should have.
Now, dear reader, you have two easy ways to sneak up and kill me. Either be very quite or be very loud and terrifying. The second ways sounds like a lot more fun for you.
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