1 pm CST. Friday, February 24, 2012. Chicago, IL.
It has been 49 days since 1 pm CST on January 6, 2012, when the powers-that-be first spoke to me and said this:
"The TC has determined the date for your Level 3 admission audition at the end of this term. You will be auditioning on Friday, February 24th from 4:00- 6:00pm in the Skybox Theatre. There is no alternative audition date."
The booming e-voice of fate. This, ladies and gentlemen, is a big, big day.
For those of you not inclined toward basic math, 4:00 pm is in about 3 hours. At that time, I will file into a theater on North Wells Street with 60 to 80 other adults. I will perform one, two-minute three-person improvised scene and take part in a five-minute improvised montage. Based on my performance during these tasks, I will or will not be offered the opportunity to pay $1200 more of my savings and 120+ more hours of my ever-shrinking life in exchange for these words on my resume:
"is a graduate of the Second City Training Center."
This is exactly what I've been waiting for: the chance to be both busier and poorer in exchange for more meaningless accolades.* I'm so amped about what this exciting new future may hold that I'm already practicing living in it. I turned down $100 worth of work to accommodate the opportunity to be at Second City this afternoon. And if they like me . . . if they really, really like me . . . maybe I'll get to do that every day of my life.
Oh, boy. Oh, boy. Oh, boy. I hope they like my 3 minutes of stage time. I really, really do. My whole present may just hinge on this moment.
-----
* I wonder where I put that college diploma . . .
Friday, February 24, 2012
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Basic Math
Given: 95 people "like" me as an artist. (4,917 people "like" George Clooney as an artist.)
Given: I, as an artist, am currently in the State Theatre's production of A Crowded House: An Explosion of The Winter's Tale.
Given: All 95 of my "like"-rs want to come and support my artistry.
Given: There are 16 possible ticket "slots" for the show, and 15 people fit in each slot.
Given: 16 times 15 is 240. There is room for 240 people to see this show.
Given: There are 80 other artists involved in this show. I don't know how many of them have facebook "like"-rs, but I'm going to guess "all of them."
Conclusion: If my 95 "like"-rs don't get cracking, other artists' "like"-rs might buy up all the seats to my show and therefore render it other artists' show. We can not let this happen.
Solution: As an incentive to my "like"-rs to make sure this is my show, I would like to offer the following kickstarter-esque ticket bonuses.
One ticket: Any "like"-r who buys one ticket will receive an autographed quarter-sheet program with a handwritten thought from yours truly.
Two tickets: Any "like"-r who buys two tickets will receive two autographed quarter-sheet programs with handwritten thoughts from your truly.
Four tickets: Any "like"-r who buys four tickets will receive four autographed quarter-sheet programs with handwritten thoughts from yours truly and a lifetime subscription to my blog.
Eight tickets: Any "like"-r who buys eight tickets will receive eight autographed . . . (you get it) . . . and a lifetime subscription to my blog and a free tour of the "love refrigerator" inside St Paul's Cathedral, Wicker Park.
Twenty tickets: Any "like"-r who buys twenty tickets will receive all of the previous rewards, plus I will say my lines twice for you, once in the show and once at the time and place of your choosing.
Forty tickets: Any "like"-r who buys forty tickets will receive all of the previous rewards, plus free admission to my Story Lab performance on February 15, 2012 at the Black Rock Pub and a signed nude photo of George Clooney. (I'm sure I can scrounge one up.)
Eighty tickets: Any "like"-r who buys eighty tickets will receive all of the previous rewards, plus I will personally add his or her name to my lines. ("I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful: in every one of these, NAME OF LIKE-R." That sounds good.)
One hundred tickets: Any "like"-r who buys one hundred tickets will receive all of the previous rewards, plus I will let him or her play my part and wear my costume for one of the sixteen repetitions of my performance.
One hundred fifty tickets: Any "like"-r who buys one hundred fifty tickets will receive all of the previous rewards, plus I will rename The Winter's Tale to a new title of his or her choosing.
Two hundred tickets: Any "like"-r who buys two hundred tickets will receive a personal reprimand from your truly, because you have now prevented some of my other "like"-rs from attending my show. If you choose to purchase 100 tickets, you had best be the hottest, kindest, and most charismatic of my "like"-rs. I'm looking at you, "like"-r number 77.*
-----
* "Like"-r 77, please call. I'll give you my digits.
Given: I, as an artist, am currently in the State Theatre's production of A Crowded House: An Explosion of The Winter's Tale.
Given: All 95 of my "like"-rs want to come and support my artistry.
Given: There are 16 possible ticket "slots" for the show, and 15 people fit in each slot.
Given: 16 times 15 is 240. There is room for 240 people to see this show.
Given: There are 80 other artists involved in this show. I don't know how many of them have facebook "like"-rs, but I'm going to guess "all of them."
Conclusion: If my 95 "like"-rs don't get cracking, other artists' "like"-rs might buy up all the seats to my show and therefore render it other artists' show. We can not let this happen.
Solution: As an incentive to my "like"-rs to make sure this is my show, I would like to offer the following kickstarter-esque ticket bonuses.
One ticket: Any "like"-r who buys one ticket will receive an autographed quarter-sheet program with a handwritten thought from yours truly.
Two tickets: Any "like"-r who buys two tickets will receive two autographed quarter-sheet programs with handwritten thoughts from your truly.
Four tickets: Any "like"-r who buys four tickets will receive four autographed quarter-sheet programs with handwritten thoughts from yours truly and a lifetime subscription to my blog.
Eight tickets: Any "like"-r who buys eight tickets will receive eight autographed . . . (you get it) . . . and a lifetime subscription to my blog and a free tour of the "love refrigerator" inside St Paul's Cathedral, Wicker Park.
Twenty tickets: Any "like"-r who buys twenty tickets will receive all of the previous rewards, plus I will say my lines twice for you, once in the show and once at the time and place of your choosing.
Forty tickets: Any "like"-r who buys forty tickets will receive all of the previous rewards, plus free admission to my Story Lab performance on February 15, 2012 at the Black Rock Pub and a signed nude photo of George Clooney. (I'm sure I can scrounge one up.)
Eighty tickets: Any "like"-r who buys eighty tickets will receive all of the previous rewards, plus I will personally add his or her name to my lines. ("I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful: in every one of these, NAME OF LIKE-R." That sounds good.)
One hundred tickets: Any "like"-r who buys one hundred tickets will receive all of the previous rewards, plus I will let him or her play my part and wear my costume for one of the sixteen repetitions of my performance.
One hundred fifty tickets: Any "like"-r who buys one hundred fifty tickets will receive all of the previous rewards, plus I will rename The Winter's Tale to a new title of his or her choosing.
Two hundred tickets: Any "like"-r who buys two hundred tickets will receive a personal reprimand from your truly, because you have now prevented some of my other "like"-rs from attending my show. If you choose to purchase 100 tickets, you had best be the hottest, kindest, and most charismatic of my "like"-rs. I'm looking at you, "like"-r number 77.*
-----
* "Like"-r 77, please call. I'll give you my digits.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Oh Clooney, Where Art Thou?
What do you do each morning? What's your routine?
What? You defer to me to answer first? What a polite conversationalist you are!
What? You think my answer is probably more interesting that yours anyway? How humble of you to say!
Wait a minute. Who am I talking to here? George Clooney? But George . . . why the modesty?
Okay, well, to answer my own question (if you insist), I get up just long enough to retrieve my laptop from the cold bedroom floor and bring it to bed with me. I open it to facebook, and I check how many "like"-rs I have. Then, I check how many "like"-rs George Clooney has. (This requires only a cursory glance, as my internet browser is always open to George's fan page.) I calculate and recalculate the date when I will catch George in the facebook "like"-r competition he started with me some years ago. I plan my social and financial life accordingly, then I get out of bed, put on clothes, and have some Cinnamon Toast Crunch.
This morning was particularly special. Would you like to hear about it? You would?! Ah, George, you are such a polite human being. I hope one day we'll be friends and not enemies.*
Well, it was special because the usual "fan" page I look at for research purposes appears to be gone! All I can find of your face-presence, George, is an artist page and a band page. By the way, you're more popular as a band. And as an artist, only 4,917 people "like" you.
Did you hear that, George?! Only 4,917 appreciate you as an artist. Sure, that's still a lot more than the 95 who appreciate me, but in this pissing contest, your shrinkage means my growth. And mine isn't the only fan page nipping at your heels. How are we supposed to take you seriously when only 170 more people appreciate you as an artist than as an attractive backdrop for little canines?
I'm sorry, George. I didn't mean to get belligerent. You've obviously hit a tough stretch here. I'll leave you alone to your thoughts and your new-found modesty.
Oh, by the way, are you planning to do any shows in Chicago soon? Are you part of any film shoots in Kansas? No? Oh. That's too bad. I am.
I am, George. I am.
--------
* I really shouldn't have said that "out loud"^
^ I didn't.
What? You defer to me to answer first? What a polite conversationalist you are!
What? You think my answer is probably more interesting that yours anyway? How humble of you to say!
Wait a minute. Who am I talking to here? George Clooney? But George . . . why the modesty?
Okay, well, to answer my own question (if you insist), I get up just long enough to retrieve my laptop from the cold bedroom floor and bring it to bed with me. I open it to facebook, and I check how many "like"-rs I have. Then, I check how many "like"-rs George Clooney has. (This requires only a cursory glance, as my internet browser is always open to George's fan page.) I calculate and recalculate the date when I will catch George in the facebook "like"-r competition he started with me some years ago. I plan my social and financial life accordingly, then I get out of bed, put on clothes, and have some Cinnamon Toast Crunch.
This morning was particularly special. Would you like to hear about it? You would?! Ah, George, you are such a polite human being. I hope one day we'll be friends and not enemies.*
Well, it was special because the usual "fan" page I look at for research purposes appears to be gone! All I can find of your face-presence, George, is an artist page and a band page. By the way, you're more popular as a band. And as an artist, only 4,917 people "like" you.
Did you hear that, George?! Only 4,917 appreciate you as an artist. Sure, that's still a lot more than the 95 who appreciate me, but in this pissing contest, your shrinkage means my growth. And mine isn't the only fan page nipping at your heels. How are we supposed to take you seriously when only 170 more people appreciate you as an artist than as an attractive backdrop for little canines?
I'm sorry, George. I didn't mean to get belligerent. You've obviously hit a tough stretch here. I'll leave you alone to your thoughts and your new-found modesty.
Oh, by the way, are you planning to do any shows in Chicago soon? Are you part of any film shoots in Kansas? No? Oh. That's too bad. I am.
I am, George. I am.
--------
* I really shouldn't have said that "out loud"^
^ I didn't.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
No Place Like Home
Well, I conquered a city. I got big in Canada. Now, I'm going to the country.
Kansas. What will I do in Kansas for a week?
Day One) Film zombie movie with Chris Meister and Corn Bred films.
Day Two) Build an outhouse--for filming purposes (also for peeing purposes).
Day Three) Burn down outhouse--for filming purposes (also after discovering it is unnecessary for peeing purposes)
Day Four) Get swept away by a tornado and land on a wicked witch, only to return by clicking my little dog together.*
Day Five) Play some hooooops.
Day Six) Hate gays and teach Creationism.
Day Seven) Rest as the Lord intended.
Day Eight) Write "thank you" cards to everyone who supported the zombie movie project from the beginning. Tell them how much I enjoyed Kansas. Remind them that I will be Famous soon (very soon), and they were smart to get in good now.
Speaking of getting in good now, if you want a $5 download of the completed film, go give us that cash here. (Now.) You can also see my mooseknuckle at that link, as my overalls are a wee bit small.
That's right. I'm too big for my britches. What are you gonna do about it? Send me to Kansas?
-------
* Right? I don't remember much of this movie, except that part where "who knows which is which" plays right when the two witches appear and where it goes to color during Money.
Kansas. What will I do in Kansas for a week?
Day One) Film zombie movie with Chris Meister and Corn Bred films.
Day Two) Build an outhouse--for filming purposes (also for peeing purposes).
Day Three) Burn down outhouse--for filming purposes (also after discovering it is unnecessary for peeing purposes)
Day Four) Get swept away by a tornado and land on a wicked witch, only to return by clicking my little dog together.*
Day Five) Play some hooooops.
Day Six) Hate gays and teach Creationism.
Day Seven) Rest as the Lord intended.
Day Eight) Write "thank you" cards to everyone who supported the zombie movie project from the beginning. Tell them how much I enjoyed Kansas. Remind them that I will be Famous soon (very soon), and they were smart to get in good now.
Speaking of getting in good now, if you want a $5 download of the completed film, go give us that cash here. (Now.) You can also see my mooseknuckle at that link, as my overalls are a wee bit small.
That's right. I'm too big for my britches. What are you gonna do about it? Send me to Kansas?
-------
* Right? I don't remember much of this movie, except that part where "who knows which is which" plays right when the two witches appear and where it goes to color during Money.
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