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Gurus and Madmen

“This class takes scene work to the next level by addressing the problems that plague most improvisers. With an acute focus on point of view as well as getting out of your head, this intensive will get you to the next level improvisationally.”

The things you get to read in an improv theater as you take a piss.

I contemplated the image of a lost Level 1 student dumping 100 bucks into that workshop as I got settled in to start the last day of the fourth week. It’s weird having come this far and still a week and a half away from home. I think back to 4th of July playing dominos on Oddo’s bass case in my front yard and that night in Austin with Hubbell talking out my fear of this great unknown adventure that awaited me. A couple of times over the past few weeks Dave related his view on death in the middle of scenes, comparing it to going on a vacation. “When the moment comes you never want to leave because it’s the unknown, but once you’re there you’re having a blast. I’ve never been on a holiday I didn’t have a great time on, so I imagine death to be the same way.”

Today was a series of back-to-back Harolds. I was in two of them. The second time I had a lot more fun, but I didn’t feel the greatest about my scene work. Jeff really liked the scenes, though, and commended me on having the attitude of trying something risky or different when I executed a poorly-conceived tap out that failed spectacularly. I’m sure he wasn’t patronizing me, that’s not his style (if he was I’d be pissed because that’s not what I’m here for), but it’s not the kind of work I want to do yet.

In general, it was a relaxing final day of Level 4. After the lunch break I just committed to having fun and being myself and being natural. I trust everyone in my section implicitly. Ken, Deborah, Janie, Dan, Dave, Rob, Charis, Stephen, Alice, Chris, Javier, Kevin, Matt and I have formed the bond of common experience and we now exist with the luxury to relax into each other’s personalities and blend effortlessly.

As it turns out, Jeff wrote a book called Guru that chronicled the last two years of Del’s life. Jeff was assigned by Charna to help Del run errands since by that time he had been quite impaired by his health issues and rampant insanity. I’d vaguely heard of the book but Jeff brought some to sell if we wanted a copy. Intrigued (and feeling a little bad about my initial negative opinion of him), I decided to pick one up. He signed it, “To Chris, So great having you in class. Keep on improvising. It’ll make you rich! Jeff Griggs” I handed him a 20 and that was it.

After class, backpacks and book in tow, we all went out as a full group for the first time ever. We went across the street to Vines for some food and beer and discussed everything under the sun. We played a few hilarious rounds of “Fuck/Marry/Kill” and “Never Have I Ever” and traded crazy life experience stories. Then, as the sun set, we walked down to Trader Todd’s for karaoke. In the window of a book store a block down from iO I saw gleaming copies of Guru in the window identical to mine with a big sign that said “Del Close: Guru $6.” Motherfu…oh well, it was still cool to get the book directly from the author and even cooler that he taught me for a week and that I got it signed. Rob wasn’t particularly happy, though. “That fucking bastard.”

We got to the karaoke place, a tropical themed bar that smelled like coconut and Jimmy Buffet rejects. The MC of karaoke looked like Michael Domangue’s crazy uncle with huge crazy hair and a giant Lincoln beard. We ended up closing that place down in style. Janie had this huge 18-dollar margarita that she kept refilling that we were all sipping on and I was hammering back pina coladas and beer. I sang “Say It Ain’t So,” “Sweet Caroline,” and a duet with a stranger on Tenacious D’s “Fuck Her Gently.” The whole time Del’s face sat impishly grinning on the cover of Jeff’s book in the center of our table and I imagined him the spiritual guide on this bonding experience, blessing it like he did in his SNL days as House Metaphysician or his times with the Merry Pranksters or those crazy early weird days with The Compass Players, a whole life of creating and sculpting the structures of our art form ahead of him. We weren’t the first group of wayward improvisers being shepherded by him, we won’t be the last, but we exist like those before in a state of limitless potential energy. Somewhere out there, in the future, we exist at the height of our improvisational ability. We 14 may never be in the same room again after next Thursday, but this was the moment when our roads converged. This was the early times. This was the 2012 iO Summer Intensive.

We ended the night with a member of our party scoring the waitress’ number and I stumbled my way toward Deena’s. As I got to walking it suddenly popped in my mind that I’d yet to have a Wiener’s Circle chardog and get yelled at by the servers there so I wandered down and got that taken care of. I was patiently waiting for my two dogs and fries when one of the servers (I thought) asked me a question, to which he quickly said, “Shut the fuck up!” I was really excited to receive this abuse and didn’t have anything to come back with so I just threw my hands up and went, “HAHALL RIGHT!” and stepped to the side. The server standing next to my abuser smiled warmly at me, amused.

I sat out front wolfing down my chardogs and fries and a girl started coming on to me when I heard a lot of commotion at the register. “Oh, someone ordered a chocolate milkshake,” the girl informed me. “What’s that?” I asked. I remembered Jeff telling me to order one and see what happens but it had completely escaped my drunken mind. “You go up to the counter and order a chocolate milkshake, then they flash the lights on and off and make a lot of noise and the girl at the counter shows you her breasts and they tack five dollars on your bill.” Seriously?

I finished up my meal and started to wander home when the girl ran after me to give me her number. Without thinking, I drunkenly turned around and kissed her, told her to have a nice night, then walked the rest of the way into the night. On the way home, a rabbit hopped out in front of me and I wasted a couple of minutes trying to chase him. Unfortunately, rabbits are Chicago's answer to squirrels so he wasn't interested in getting picked up. Oh well.

Week four. In the bag. Let’s hope I’m not too drunk for the rest of Susan Messing’s workshop tomorrow.