For the Improv Blog Th(r)ing

This month's question: What makes a good improv troupe?

Commitment, from every single member. Emotional commitment in scenes. Commitment to responsibilities as a troupe member, including one's own continuing improvement as a performer. Commitment to putting on a good show, by whatever standards you as a group define it. If your personal standard is poop jokes and stereotypes, make that "commitment to the group's ever-so-slightly-higher standard." Commitment to show up at rehearsals, and commitment to communicate when the rest of your life is going to interfere for a while. Nobody's saying the Troupe owns Every Member's Soul, but criminy, give a heads-up. I don't think trust can exist when someone's commitment is faltering.

Lots of other things, including trust and talent and generally being able to get along with each other. But especially commitment.

Who Is This Jen-H7 Person?

It's been brought to my attention that few people in the improv community know I exist, and even fewer know anything about me. For most of my theatrical career, I've preferred it that way, but I guess it can make discussion participation a little awkward. So, here's my story.

I'm mostly a backstage person. I've been a stage manager, a set designer, a prop-builder, a costumer, a lighting tech on old-school boards... the only area I haven't done much with is sound, besides on-off. I've been Everyone's Bitch in a large arts organization, and I've produced small operas with my own hands, cash, and heart. If you happen to remember when there was a piano downstairs at the Westport Coffeehouse, they set that up for a show of mine. Er, sorry if it was in your way. I have most of a Theatre degree (blah blah blah) from KU, with a minor in modern dance, and I've tried directing plays, one of which I wrote. I also was half of the duo who gave birth to the magazine and website KC Stage one night at the old Chubby's diner. Eventually, I burned out on almost all theatrical activity, and decided I wanted to work for $6/hour (and a health plan!) at a bookstore.

My Hype 7 bio is pretty simple, and available on the website, but the reason I kept working with them is respect. They always made me feel like part of the troupe. Not once did I have that "why am I even here?" feeling. They also entertained me, and why should anyone work on boring shows? I mean, unless you're being paid well, but we've already established that even an AGMA-scale paycheck wasn't doing it for me.

Some people make improv look easy, but most people make improv look fun. Eventually I worked up the nerve to join in on troupe warmups. This year, after the drastic shift in H7's cast, I asked to start playing the games, just in rehearsal. I do this for a few reasons. For the troupe, I can give better feedback if I experience that which I observe. It also gives other troupe members a chance to observe my rookie mistakes and answer my rookie questions. Personally, it makes me feel more creative, and writing often flows easier after an improv session. I'm trying to combat a pathological shyness in most areas of my life. Eventually, it might even help me to stop dwelling on insignificant things for inappropriately long periods.

Although I can be a pretty organized person, and a stickler for detail, I have little patience for corporate culture. I am not the person you send to a meeting with the suits. I can fake it to a point, but sooner or later my facade is bound to crumble. I am easily distracted. What was that noise?

Reality Check

You aren't reading this, are you?

I Iz An Improviser?

A week ago I took my first improv class ever. Everything I knew prior to that was absorbed through observation and a few pointers, and a couple of books. My world feels a little different now. Communication with people is suddenly more interesting. I'm mentally recording the weight of the everyday objects I use, should I ever need one in a scene. I'm obsessed with the idea of a group mind, now that I've bordered on experiencing it (and maybe did for a few seconds). I wonder if government-mandated tai-chi breaks at work strengthen the group mind for an entire nation. Obviously the military creates its own group mind, which is more than a little scary. When I watched the Final Four games, I thought about the group mind and team bonding, and I almost understood competetive improv (still don't quite get it, sorry).

Maybe the difference is having done a little improv with complete strangers, rather than the people I already knew and trusted when I asked to start playing the games. It suddenly felt like something I'm able to do, and might become good at, not just something that gets me out of the house. It also helped that I didn't have to be funny. I can be funny in conversation sometimes, but I'm really bad under pressure (worse if it has to rhyme). Also, I like dramatic scenes. I usually prefer dramatic entertainment to so-called funny... a former H7 member once asked me the last funny movie I saw, then he specified made within my lifetime, and I couldn't name anything later than the 1980's. Except Reservoir Dogs, of course. That movie's f*ckin' hilarious. Anyway...

AAANNDD... it's tomorrow (not that I post every day, but I wrote that yesterday when I was away from the internet). I have now taken two improv classes, or technically both sections of one class. Not that I feel like an expert or anything. I feel more clueless than ever. And more than a little shredded, emotionally. We were definitely not going for "funny ha-ha" today. Nicole, Patricia and I screamed at each other and said horrible things and hugged each other and loved and hated each other. We had subtexts and not-so-sub-texts. Or, our characters did. Today's focus was character, and I was definitely having trouble staying out of my head. But time-jump as elephants (talking elephants, of course) was awesomely fun.

One of the best things about the class was that even though I'm old for a newbie, it didn't feel that way. I was afraid I'd be stuck with a bunch of nineteen-year-olds who think they know stuff. When I went back to college after doing some time in reality, that was the most annoying thing. When the subject of "What Improv Classes Would You Like To Take" comes up, I always come this close to saying "Improv for Grownups, please." I also don't have the goal of performing for an audience, so I thought maybe "How Improv Can Help You in Your Normie Job" would be more appropriate (even though I don't have one of those right now). Turns out, it wasn't so important or intimidating.

I don't remember everything. I wish I could reflect in detail, but most of it's gone. I got sort of lost on the way home, because I was looking for a shortcut without a map, and when I got home I fell asleep for several hours. I was supposed to go paint at the old house - we're almost finished, it's almost ready to put on the market (and then I'm sure the nightmares will really begin) - but I pretty much lost the whole late-afternoon and evening. So class was the only worthwhile thing I've done today. Well, the night's still kinda young. Maybe I'll get some filing done.

Meet Old Sneaky

The day we found the house, there were several inches of snow on the ground. By the time we visited it again, making a final decision about the offer, a few warm days had revealed a little round koi pond, full of shadowy water, algae and leaves. Flat rocks were piled on one side, hiding a pump apparatus that creates a little waterfall when plugged in. The day after we closed, we painted inside, and brought the dogs with us to play in their new backyard. At one point that afternoon, I discovered Dylan in the pool, submerged to her belly and enjoying a drink.

Getting a cover for the pond wasn't my highest priority among all the moving-in duties, nor was cleaning it and testing the pump. It was still cold-ish (good old Kansas), so Dylan didn't jump in too often, and the water didn't seem treated with anything, not with all that algae. She'll drink from lakes, creeks, pretty much anything wet and disgusting.

At this point I should mention that while I am not religious, I can be superstitious. I also think the concept of patron saints is kind of neat. Please excuse my blasphemy. So, the day that a friend of ours came to see the house, looked into the pond, and fished out the top half of a St. Francis statue, there was no question of whether to keep him, bisected or not. I found a spot for him among the rocks, looking into the water.

After another week, I got around to measuring for a cover. Or at least, I got outside with a tape measure. It was a clear afternoon, and the water, up close, was surprisingy clear as well. I could see the outlines of the leaves, the subtle movement of algae strands - and a flash of bright goldfish orange. My first thought was precisely that: "Orange?" My second thought was, "I hope it's plastic, because I do not want to pull a dead fish out of the pond." I found a long, dried stalk of one of the many plants I have yet to identify, stuck an end in the water and gingerly pulled a leaf away from the orangeness. The orangeness darted across the pond and disappeared into a new leaf-cave.

I gasped and jumped back, which is the conventional response to movement of a fish that one believes to be plastic or dead (even though it isn't floating). Then I stirred more leaves, trying to get a better look at the fish whose estate I'd acquired. Then Dylan jumped in, oblivious. When the fish swam in to inspect (smell? bite?) one of her legs, I could see that this was no little bowl-dweller, but a good six inches from mouth to tail. It had survived the winter under the ice: hibernating, whatever it is fish do. Possibly hiding in the missing half of the patron saint of animals.

Finding a deep sense of admiration for the Fish Who Lived, I decided to honor him, or perhaps her, with a reference to the large and evasive creatures of fishermens' myths. Old Sneaky is the uncatchable quarry in "Welcome to Eudora," by former Lawrence resident Mimi Thebo. If it's not a book I'll remember the rest of my life, there was a certain aptness to the name.

Well, look what the cat dragged in!

Guess who hasn't bothered to post her most intimate thoughts to the interwebs in over a month? My goodness, someone should be ashamed of herself!

I've moved to a considerably smaller town than any of my previous residences. Though it is minutes away, the separation is evident. I have a feeling I will be "other" here. I've already been asked once by a complete stranger if I've found a church yet, and the quilting shop is a front for missionaries. People are nice, nonetheless.

I've moved to a somewhat bigger house, with an enormous yard. I can play out there for hours, planting stuff and pulling dead growth and sketching trees and throwing sticks for the dogs. They never bring the sticks back, but they like the chasing part. Inside, there are actually spaces available to dedicate to specific hobbies. No more of of that sewing-machine-in-the-bedroom, circular-saw-in-the-kitchen crap. And somehow, and this is the best part, it's been really easy to keep it clean so far. I mean, I can generate a lot of clutter in a month - but the house isn't junked up yet. I've even been doing real cleaning, like with sprays and rags and mops. What the...? I used to hate cleaning!

The improv troupe had a show tonight, a little on the off side overall. Weird energy, quiet audience, everyone with some recent major thing like moving or work shakeups, rehearsals missed, members lost... but in a low-key show like this one, some amazing moments can be created, and some lessons can be learned. On which I do not feel like elaborating right now, but I probably will soon. Anyway, the show goes on.

Oh, and I love cooking on a gas stove. Fire good.