Just a heads up that this post isn't about improv, and it's not about pop culture either; it's a personal one for me, so if that's not your bag, no worries, probably just keep on keeping on. If you choose to read on, caveat emptor, and don't say you weren't warned.
I had a best friend growing up; for the sake of maintaining some degree of anonymity, I'll call him "Ray". Ray was my absolute best friend; there never was a time that I didn't want to go to Ray's house, or play with Ray, or just be with Ray. Ray wasn't rich, but everything Ray had felt like just fun; he made every video game, movie, Lego set, or whatever, just cool by sheer virtue of his participation in it, and I, in turn, felt cool by sheer virtue of my proximity to him. One day, I insisted that Ray come over to my house to play Legos - I had come up with some story or adventure or some other nonsense that needed Ray to "make it". He didn't really want to go, but eventually I begged and pleaded enough that he did come over, and after that play date, he didn't speak to me again for three years. I had pushed our friendship too hard from him (though maybe squeezed, as in "blood from a stone" is more apt), and he didn't want me in his life, hanging on like a tick, any more.
I had a different friend in San Diego; he was the first friend I made out there, and I'll call him "Arnie" this time, and I really liked Arnie. He was a little younger than me, but we had similar interests and likes, and we got along real well. Over the two-ish years that he and I hung out though, we started having friction occasionally - things I told to him in confidence he would turn around (almost immediately) and share with other people, and he would never apologize or even seem to recognize a transgression. Eventually, he got a girlfriend and a new set of friends, and we had a (shouting) fight, and we didn't speak for three years, and not even once since then.
I used to work at a movie theater, and one day my parents came to see a movie, and one of my coworkers came up to me and said "your parents are so nice, why aren't you nice?". I was hanging out with a new friend in SD one Friday night, and I told him we probably wouldn't ever hang out again because I could tell he was starting to get tired of me. And sure enough, about a week later he got moved onto a different team and we haven't spoken since. And another SD friend of mine, who I'll call "Matthew" and I started out as very good friends, but over the course of 8 years of friendship we became barely more than colleagues, as I learned I couldn't trust him as a friend, and also that I was always going to be his "backup friend".
I need to break this up a little bit by saying that I have maintained a few friends; my best friend in college, JP (actual name) and I were near inseparable until he had to switch schools senior year, and my other best friend Noel (also actual name) and I lived together for about a year and a half after school.
What I have learned over ~35 years of life is that I am trouble for the people around me. Not in an Inspector Gadget, Mr. Magoo, physical peril kind of way, but in an eventual intolerable way. I'm never "not enough", and I'm always "too much". The real me is pushy, eager, but mostly just not "cool". He likes the right things, but never in the right way, and he likes the right people, but never correctly. He gets old for people, real fast, and I don't think anyone could ever tell you why, just that the real me isn't "right" and is off, just a little bit. The real me isn't wrong for any of the things he does, just the manner in which he does them. The real me wants people to like him, and really wants people to think he's a good guy, but he just can't do it. And I absolutely hate the real me. The real me has cost me so many friends, buds, acquaintances, friendlies, contacts, girlfriends, and a million other small, amicable relationships, because the real me is an absolute garbage fire. He just rubs people the wrong way, and most people don't want to deal with that. 99% of people want someone who is fun to be around out of the box, not someone who will always be the fourth friend.
My spirit animal will probably always be Pete Campbell from "Mad Men". Try as he might (and he really does) to be like Don Draper, he never will be. He'll get close, but in the end, he'll always rub people the wrong way.
The other thing that I have learned over ~35 years is to shut my mouth, stay out of people's way, and avoid overstaying my welcome. In friend groups, I have learned to very carefully measure the temperature of the room to know when my presence is about to reach people's tolerance limit. And most importantly, I never show the full, real me, because he won't earn people's affections. I have become Zelig-like, in my skill of matching and imitating the local flavor of the group and hiding the real me behind a screen of acting like everyone else is. And you can get pretty far with most people by mostly staying out of the way and matching their collective energy. I don't share more than a little of myself with anyone (currently only my friend Laurel bears the onus of my trust), and keep all my comments banal and tepid. Chances are if you've met me, I've never let you see the real me, because the real me drives people away and I hate that about myself.
I have come to despise phrases like "be yourself, everyone else is taken" or "live your best life" or "follow your bliss", because they only work if the big, bad, scary "U" on the inside is the kind of monster that other monsters get along with, and we humans are mostly social creatures. We're only thriving if we have trust and community to rest inside of, and for me, that person would be the first person voted off of every island, for no other reason than "we just kind of don't like him". This isn't an invitation for people to try to get to know me either. Every single person that I have let in has wished they stayed outside. We all have something wrong with us, sure, but for me, my defect is that I'm just not that likable. The real me doesn't deserve friends or companionship, but hopefully the me I wear everyday is at least tolerable.
As a parting note - I don't even think I know who the real me is anymore. I've buried, compartmentalized, neutered, and flattened all the parts of the real me that I possibly can. I probably haven't been the real me since maybe 2012, and seven years later I'm still trying to keep the rough edges sanded away enough to warrant others' sustained rapport, and the easiest way is to keep myself from persisting with people for too long.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to stop before you get sick of reading this.
Saturday, February 9, 2019
Monday, January 28, 2019
'Where are my improvisers at, and what are ya'll doing?': Results of the 2018 Improv Census
In 2018, an improv census (hereafter referred to as “census” or “survey”) was conducted using Google Forms to administer, collect, and analyze data. The census was opened officially on July 22 2018, though there were two entries prior to this from trusted parties assisting in test driving the question set. The census was officially closed on January 5, 2019, though the last entry was made on September 5, 2018. The census’ original goal was to analyze two primary goals: 1) assess the demographics of the improviser(s) filling out the survey and 2) assess behaviors and preferences of serveyants.
In response to 1), the survey asked questions regarding age, education, city size, improviser role, style, length of improv tenure, amount of improv education, requirement to complete a training program to perform at a home theater, and existence of a sexual harassment policy at a home theater. In response to 2) respondents gave information about how often they were performing, rehearsing, learning, and watching improv as well as reasons for taking or not taking classes. An early draft of the questionnaire included a question regarding gender (male, female, prefer not to answer) for demographics purposes. This question was vetted through two individuals - a cis, straight, white male and a cis, queer, non-gender - though the latter thought the question was fine, objections by the former led to the removal of the question as the probative value of the demographic information was circumspect, and basically, not worth the trouble. A question regarding race was considered, but ultimately rejected on similar grounds.
The survey was not password protected, so it is entirely possible for respondents to complete the survey multiple times; additionally all information was collected anonymously, so all responses are considered as accurate as the individual(s) completing the survey. The survey was advertised using various Facebook improv groups including encouraging respondents to also invite friends, teammates, and fellow community members.
A total of 218 respondents completed the survey; the breakdown is as follows:
AGES
0% were less than 18, 5% were 18-24, 31.7% were 25-34, 32.6% were 35-44, 19.7% were 45-54, and 11% were 55 or older.
This is a reasonable cross-section of improviser ages, though in the opinion of this author, a greater than expected percentage of improvisers aged 45 and older is incredible, especially given complaints of ageism in certain improv communities. This makes the upper end very respectable in representation. The lack of under 18 improvisers likely reflects lack of access to these improvisers and/or their lower representation in Facebook groups and shifting cultural technology preferences.
CITY SIZE
17% of respondents were from cities >3 million in population (according to the most recent U.S. census data, defined as New York City (NYC) and Los Angeles, CA (LA)), 36.7% from cities 1-3 million in population (according to the US Census: Chicago, Houston, Philadelphia, Phoenix, San Antonio, San Diego, Dallas), 28.9% from cities 500 thousand to 1 million in population (examples provided: San Jose, Austin, Indianapolis, San Francisco, Detroit, Boston, Seattle, Denver), and 17.4% from cities less than 500 thousand (examples provided: Omaha, Raleigh, Miami, Cleveland, New Orleans). Overall, this is a decent spread through various community size; obviously city population does not directly correspond to “improv density” in any given community - for example Chicago probably has as many large improv “institutions” as does NYC or LA despite a population disparity; and Austin has more such “institutions” than San Diego, despite a inverse population proportion. The biggest deciding factors for community size are length of time since initial establishment and population and tastes/preferences of surrounding environment. (It is no surprise that communities that have a higher than average population of young, educated individuals with disposable income and free time are more likely to generate permanent communities in an artform that necessitates those attributes). Nevertheless, for a survey such as this, it ensures a fair representation of city size and gives an idea of what kinds of communities are being represented. One comment did note that the SF and San Jose cities have a lot of overlap, a factor which will need to be considered in future iterations for assessing “city size”.
EDUCATION
2.3% of respondents held a high school diploma (or equivalent) or had not yet done so, 13.8% had completed some college, 43.6% had a bachelor’s (or equivalent), 6.4% had completed some graduate work, 31.7% had a graduate or advanced degree, and 2.3 % had completed a non-college technical/trade certification. There are no real surprises in this data; certainly none that would dispel the image of the “default” improviser as a college educated, middle class white male.
The “high school” group was mostly older - typically 35-54, generally had been improvising for longer than 5 years, mostly saw less than 2 shows a month, typically played with 2 or more teams, uniformly had taken more than 100 hours of instruction, and generally pays more than $36 per workshop. The “trade” group was uniformly older - >35, has little festival participation, generally does not take classes due to time constraints, and typically plays on only one team. The “college group” almost uniformly plays at theaters with a sexual harassment policy, has (in almost all cases) been improvising for more than 2 years, about 50/50 does/does not do festivals, generally has taken more than 100 hours of instruction, and will almost certainly be taking class again next year (time being the biggest hurdle). The “graduate” group tends older, has been improvising for less time, shares a 50/50 festival attendance, either performs very regularly or very little, and will almost definitely be taking class next year. The “some college” group is a mixed bag, age-wise, forms the bulk of the staff respondents, sees a lot of shows each month, plays a lot, and is mostly interested in keeping skills sharp and learning new skills. The “some graduate” group is more interested in new schools and famous teachers and nearly uniformly plays at theaters with a sexual harassment policy. This last group has the fewest uniting factors of any other education group.
TIME IMPROVISING
0.5% of respondents have been improvising for less than 6 months, 1.8% for 6 months to 1 year, 10.6% 1-2 years, 13.3% 2-3 years, 15.1% 3-5 years, 27.5% 5-10 years, and 31.2% >10 years. The biggest discovery here is that in future surveys, the goal posts for each category should be moved to find a more probative selection criteria. There’s no real surprise that most improvisers have been improvising for a long time, especially among those that use Facebook to connect and collaborate with other improvisers.
ROLES
91.7% of respondents indicated that they are performers, 40.4% students, 39.9% teachers, 30.3% coaches, 22.5% theater front-of-house type staff, 14.2% theater artistic staff, and 5.5% theater owners. Overlap here is due to the fact that the survey permits multiple responses to this question, generating a number of “multi-hypenate” roles (performer-coach-owner).
SEEING SHOWS
13.8% of respondents do not see any shows in a typical month, 42.2% see 1 or 2, 29.8% see 3 or 4, 8.7% see 5 to 10, and 5.5% see more than 10. The “no show” group tends to be older (35 and up), tends to be educated, typically has been improvising for more than 3 years, either performs very little or a lot, has generally taken >100 hours of class, mostly takes classes for famous/reknowned people, and will either be taking a famous person’s class next year or will not be taking workshops. The “more than 10 group” tends a little younger, a little less time improvising, generally plays at multiple theaters, with multiple groups, almost blanket rehearses at least twice a month, and doesn’t really take a lot of classes.
FESTIVAL ATTENDANCE
36.9% of respondents do not do festivals, 48.4% do 1 or 2, 10.1% do 3 or 4, and 4.6% do 5 or more. The “no festival” group tends to not be a member of any teams and will generally be taking classes in any given year. The “five or more” group tends to be well educated, plays at multiple theaters and on multiple teams, has uniformly taken more than 100 hours of education, is very skill oriented for classes, and will definitely be taking classes next year. Unanalyzed in this survey is how many respondents currently have a festival located in or near their primary city of residence.
REHEARSING AND PERFORMING
63.4% rehearses at least twice a month, 19.9% doesn’t, and 16.7% is not a member of a team. 14.2% performs less than once a month on average, 32.6% performs once or twice, 28.4% performs 3-5 times, 21.1% performs 6-10 times, 3.7% performs 11 or more times. This latter group tends to only have a bachelor’s, has generally been improvising for less than 5 years, is definitely a festival goer and will definitely be taking classes.
10.1% of respondents do not currently perform (this mostly consists of staff and students), 43.6% play at one theater, 31.7% play at two, 9.6% play at three, and 5% at four or more. 17.6 % are not a member of any teams, 24.1% are a member of 1, 28.7% are a member of 2, 20.4% is a member of 3, 9.3% is a member of 4 or more. The “4 or more” group sees and plays a lot, and will almost definitely take classes, excepting time constraints.
TRAINING CENTER, SH POLICIES
62.8% of respondents play at a theater requiring completion of the training program to perform; 37.2% do not. 73.7% of respondents report that their home theater has a sexual harassment policy, 6% reply in the negative, and 20.3% are not sure or don’t know. 23.8% report that their home theater’s sexual harassment policy includes a 3rd party contact, 25.7% reply in the negative, and 50.5% are not sure or do not know. This is impressive and heartening to know that most theaters have adopted a policy regarding sexual behavior, which really should be considered industry standard at this point. The number that do not know is not surprising; even in communities with long term, well-established, and well-published programs there will always be those that “miss the memo”. Of course, some theaters may just not be making their policies a visible part of their indoctrination process. 3rd party contacts remain a minority procedure for theaters, owing to: lack of near universal/general adoption (what I think of as a domino effect), limited resources, insufficient community accountability (local pressure), or lack of “seeing the need”.
WORKSHOPS AND TRAINING
0.9% have taken less than 10 hours of training, 2.3% 11-20, 3.7% 21-40, 6.9% 41-60, 4.2% 61-100, and 72% more than 100 hours of training. This isn’t exactly surprising; given a 5-level, 8 week, 2 hour course, this “typical” training requires 80 hours of class time to complete (the current iO program requires 168 hours of class!). 100 hours could merely represent more than one training center completion, but which can also iinclude workshops, camps, intensives, weekends, and drop-ins. Future iterations will attempt to draw some of these boundaries better to be more probative and better sort responses.
0.9% of respondents will pay a maximum of $20 for a workshop, 8.7% $21-35, 20.6% 36-45, 29.4% $46-75, 19.7% $76-100, and 20.6% essentially have no upper limit. 14.7% typically pay <$20, 18.8% $21-35, 32.6% $36-45, 20.6% $46-75, 6.4% $76-100, and 6.9% >$100. Workshop pricing is, obviously, subject to local pricing ceilings reflecting the local economic environment of the city and the people improvising in it, in the same way that a cocktail in Omaha may cost $7 but a similar one in NYC may cost $20, as well as local flavor and history. A community that historically has paid little would likely have entrenched resistance to price bumps, unless outsize value (fame, time, exclusivity) was attached to it. It is also not unreasonable to assume that some people may have equated classes and workshops for the purpose of this question. The author is only aware a small handful of workshops that cost more than $100 per person.
Nonetheless, assuming the data is an accurate representation, the $100 group has some limited in common, excepting: they tend to be a multi-hyphenate performer, be more educated, to have taken more than 100 hours of class, and will be taking more class in the future.
12.8% of respondents did not take any class last year, 6% 1-4 hours, 11.9% 5-10 hours, 19.3% 11-20 hours, 18.8% 21-40 hours, 13.8% 41-75 hours, 7.8% 76-100 hours, and 9.6% more than 100 hours. 9.6% plan on taking no instruction next year, 9.6% 1-4 hours, 17.4% 5-10 hours, 20.2% 11-20 hours, 21.6% 21-40 hours, 11.5% 41-75 hours, 3.2% 76-100 hours, and 6.9% more than 100 hours. These divisions appear to adequately divide the group into manageable chunks. Generally, most people are planning on taking the same amount or more classes next year as they did last year, which may represent optimism, but is also reflective of the types of respondents who frequent Facebook groups; if you are the type of person going to those places, you’re also probably taking classes a lot.
For those that took classes last year, the primary reason was to keep skills sharp, followed, in order, by: learn from a famous teacher, learn a new skill, study at a new school, start improv training, and the class was offered for free. For those taking a class next year, the primary reason is to keep skills sharp, followed, in order, by: learn a new skill, learn from a famous teacher, study at a new school, social, and free class or new to improv (tie). What’s notable is how little social influences play in signing up for class, and how much the respondent group values skill honing.
For those not taking class next year, the primary reason is time constraint, followed, in order, by: price, lack of interest, and in a three-way tie, nothing new to learn, no teachers worth taking, or all available classes have already been taken. Notable is how much time and money are barriers to instruction, and perhaps a minority view of the lack of classes for people past a certain education point.
TYPES OF IMPROV
A question about types of improv done allowed the opportunity for free form typing, which was only included in-case there were some styles that were overlooked that were not easily classified as shortform, monoscene longform, traditional longform, musical, narrative, or deconstructive longform. This was, but bluntly, a nightmare. Despite there being a fairly broad categories represented, some improvisers just can’t resist wanting to be “different”. This category also allowed for some multiple check-boxing, meaning following totals will exceed %100
Narrative: 44.6%
Shortform: 41.3%
Traditional Longform: 70.5%
Music: 23.9%
Deconstructive: 34.9%
Monoscene: 30.3%
Notable additions that were utile and will be added to future lists (along with subsequent removal of “add whatever you want”): clown (1.5%) and corporate training (0.5%). Narrative is maybe the only surprise here for its prevalence, it is nice to see this type of improv well represented. The other entries all feel generally predictable.
COMPLAINT HANDLING
14.2% of respondents indicated that their home theater is “outstanding” at handling complaints/problems, 28.9% “good”, 21.1% “fair”, and 8.3% “poor”. The remainder say that they do not have an opinion and/or a home theater. No significant trends could be ascertained from the “poor” group. The “outstanding” group could only be relied on to have taken a lot of classes, continue to take classes, and to perform and see shows. It is doubtful that the cause/effect relationship would associate these factors.
ONGOING EDUCATION
When asked what the most important ongoing education topic is, respondents gave the following in descending order: diagnostics/toolbox/getting out of your head, scenework, emotion, acting, game, characters and form (tie), and directing/coaching. The option was also open to type in answers, notable ones in descending order: none/all (4), career/business/corporate (3), narrative (2), and bias/music/history (three-way tie). It is worth repeating that in 2018, among those who are regularly already taking classes (and have taken a lot of classes) that scenework and diagnostics are by far still seen as outstandingly critical subjects for ongoing education, in a category that often includes teachers and coaches, as well as staff, owners, performers, and students. Which part of the “chicken or egg” order remains to be seen.
DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSIONS
The author acknowledges that some comments indicated that some questions were difficult to answer, due either to limiting language, or limiting mental construction for what can be seen as a “western-centric” or “traditional” theater organization, with full knowledge that are probably as many ways for administering a theater culture as there are theaters.
At the end, respondents were given the opportunity to include comments of any kind, the most common refrain had to do with inclusion/diversity/representation of minorities, women, ages, and disabilities. This may be addressed in future iterations. Three other notable thoughts: how much experience should someone have before teaching, a lamentation that support has not followed onto social media, outside of just posting about shows, and why did you pick one school/why do you study at multiple schools? In the category of interesting questions to ask in the future: do you pay performers, how much do you charge audience members, and what is the primary obstacle keeping you from advancing in improv?
In general, this survey shows the utility of conducting such assessments of improviser demographics, behaviors, and reasoning in a manner that is inexpensive, easy to administer, and anonymous to respondents. The last reason is perhaps the most important in that it allows unfiltered and honest responses. The data collected, when properly categorized, can be helpful to owners, teachers, and plank holders when making administrative and logistical decisions that affect teams, theaters, and communities. Increased interest in what has become known as #metoo-related endeavors (i.e. sexual harassment policies, responses, and conduct) as well as inclusion and diversity remark on the possible need or at the very least significant import of having related data gathered on a large-scale and anonymous level.
Ultimately, the data is only as useful as it’s relative statistical significance, and future iterations (which will also help track trends) will need greater reach and response from other pockets of improvisers to help elucidate interests, desires, and representation among all improvisers, regardless of location, time spent, and role(s).
These results represent a good first step in quantifying improviser demographics and behaviors and are, to the author’s knowledge, the first such survey ever conducted of improvisers. Certainly improvisers are still active in performing and learning, but future surveys will be needed to track trends and evolution of improviser resources.
Monday, January 15, 2018
On Community
Improv is, of course, largely experiential - there is a wealth of improv material that is now available as permanent tokens (books on theory, books on history, books on cultural intersection, online videos of teams, DVD's of shows), but there is and likely never will be a replacement for the real over the vitru-real (or virtual). The showing up to class, the participating in workshops, and the sitting in shows has much greater cachet and economic value to the craft of improv over even the "sitting-in-bars-and-bullshitting" (though that's very nice too). Improv theaters, and communities, have, not surprisingly, over the last five years placed increased emphasis on the idea of "inclusivity", "ensemble", and "community". These words are great buzzwords. They sound wonderful, they look great in a mission statement or a five year plan, or on a logo. They feel terrific to talk about - to speak to each other around the bar or wax prosaically (which means both mundane and also poetic) to non-improvisers about why its so great. They sell the idea of a subjective art in a framework that feels attractive to everyone, even those who may not have natural talent or aptitude.
It is worth being skeptical though, as to whether or not we're using these words "correctly", or in absence of nailing the accuracy, at least the precision of this terminology. Do we use these terms the same? When we speak of these high-minded, social agreement ideals, do we want the same thing? Would we all be happy if the director (or theater owner) thought we achieved it? Lots of gilded (which means to conceal the valueless with luster) stories about improv-teams-past wax sanguine on the social commitment and interaction of the individual members and their relationships to each other, but don't spend much time on how they got there, or what the secret sauce is to achieving it again in the future. (Put another way: could we take any random assemblage of 4-10 people and make a new "Baron's Barracudas" or "(Victim's) Family"?)
I think it is worth noting that the idea of community is both an inclusive term as well as an exclusive one; that is it both includes the people as members of a particular group, uniting them under one common banner or name, while simultaneously excluding people who are not part of the community. There is some discussion in one Facebook community improv group as to whether people who are not geographically located in that city should be allowed to be members of the group (including one person who has never lived in the city advocating for the removal of a particular, select few from the group on that basis, which is charmingly ironic). I know a number of cities that have geographical groups, as well as individual groups for individual theaters or collective organizations, but due to the high level of cross-pollination between theaters, it often makes the memberships between such groups near identical, essentially removing the value of an inner enclave, excepting the desire of the administrators to get to decide who to let into the clubhouse (although it gives you more pages to post on, so I guess that's...something). Excluding geographical distinctions or "pissing match" discretions, calling one a member of a community is meant to bind one to the inner circle while at the same time saying that anyone else is an "other" or "alien" to that circle.
Maybe let's define some terms first, and I'll try and hit a bunch of commonly used ones. "Ensemble" is maybe the lowest form of community - this is, in functional terms, a group of 3-16 people who get together probably once a week to rehearse, and then perform variously. Ensemble is the term that has maybe the most flowery ideal - an integrated, functioning, cohesive unit of individuals. We imagine a group that speaks a second language, anticipates and cooperates, and thinks as a group. Realistically though, we should separate the adjective of "ensemble" (or perhaps the capital "E", Ensemble) from what an ensemble most universally is: a group of individuals who have come together to work together on a project. Team is probably synonymous with ensemble at this point - teamwork is only really work that is done by more than one, and the word teamwork essentially is disregarding of efficiency (how well cooperation is being done) or enjoyment (how much everyone likes each other).
We move up to "community" - probably the most over-used (or at least exhaustively used) term. We love communities because we have come to imagine a collection of small houses or structures, everyone living together, working together to a common purpose, everyone belongs, shares, and sacrifices for each other. I'm gonna burst another bubble here, because stripping away the poetic ideal, a community is only a group of people who share interests, culture, and/or locality, and see a distinction of that group from other groups. When we talk of improv communities, we imagine fraternities/sororities, social groups, or even "clubs", which can exist, but not essentially or necessarily, and I would argue practically never exist, and may have never existed.
For example, this picture (right) is fairly typical of how improv theaters sell "their" community. Supportive is part of community, sure - I wouldn't want to join a community that I didn't feel like took care of its members, but I question how authentically a community sees itself if being "funny" and physically attractive is a requirement to a thriving community. (Not to say these people are not those things - they clearly are physically attractive people, and I personally know that they are, in fact, funny people.) These, however, do not, a community make. We could equally take apart "supportive" (to provide encouragement) and really hold it up: I think that contemporary functionally supportive-ness is just liking each other's Facebook posts, but it is obvious that doesn't really make us satisfied, and is no more communal than just shouting "good job, neighbor!" over your fence.
I asked a friend of mine recently who is a company member of a Shakespeare group what it meant to her to "have someone's back", and she said it had a lot to do with caring about that person's well-being - happiness and safety, and also being the provider of said attributes. It also, she continued, pertains a lot about "trust". Another common refrain - what does it mean to trust people? Reliance? Dependability? Secret-telling? I know a lot of teams do the "got your back ritual" (right before a show, you teach each other on the shoulder blades and repeat "got your back"), but does this automatically invoke trust? And to go back to my earlier argument about communities within a community - if an interior community only supports itself and not the other parts of the geographical community, is it a good participant in "community"? If we had a small township, and one block of houses only watched out for themselves, are they still "supporting the community-at-large"?
(A side note about the "got your back" ritual - I was once on a team where the director made us look each other in the eye and instead say "watch your back", because she wanted us to feel like any one of us could take another out at any point, which I think most people ignored the same way they ignored "watch your back", but always made me anxious. If being on your own feels like being hunted and unsafe, then the very idea of being apart of an organization should be the opposite, safe and hunting. Basically, when your spears are pointed in, they cannot point out, and you cannot thrive if all you're doing is surviving.)
I break down communities into different classifications based on relative size, development, evolution, and/or maturity: Latent, Nascent, Established, and Meta. These classifications make no qualms or judgements about the types of work being performed or the quality therein, merely to assess how much is going on, and usually how many people are involved.
Latent (from Latin, to lie hidden) is any community that has no brick-and-mortar improv theaters. There can be any number of active improv groups of any size, any number of improvisers, but they are defined by the fact that "finding" gatherings, shows, workshops, or events is largely based on who-you-know-itude, or just pure luck. At this level, you usually expect only one or two "big cheese" type of people, and maybe some rough inter-group cooperation.
Nascent (Latin, again, to be born) is a stage where there is one (and only one) improv brick-and-mortar theater in an area, which will usually have only one "big cheese", and any number of "house teams" (regularly performing ensembles) and developmental teams. There is (probably almost) always observed and real hierarchy, power, ranking, and pecking order. There is usually a sense of "being on the inside", and that having certain things that must be acquiesced to but with some accompanying prestige, and "being on the outside" which often feels like being independent, underground, and having "less than".
Established are communities that have obtained a second theater - this often creates a check-and-balance, evens out the lopsidedness in power (if any - there are a number of mono-theater communities (Dallas, Omaha) that appear to be well managed), and continues to lift the boat on how visual and recognized the community is to the non-community. From a business perspective (and an artistic one), improv is only really useful if people come see it and engage with it. You could do 1,000 great shows in your living room, but the best fireworks are ones that people get to, and do, watch.
Metacommunities are ones that have at least two theaters (but probably more) and are so large (numbers wise, in a single geographical location) that they contain smaller, functional communities within them. Chicago, LA, NYC, and Austin are great examples of this - places that have so many people involved and so much opportunity that you could conceivably work within them for long periods of time and never cross paths with equivalent opposite numbers in other theaters. These are ones where theaters really try to transcend just "welcome to Chicago, improviser!" and instead promote what makes their individual sub-meta experience better. They are also large enough that an individual theater does not have to "contain multitudes" and can specialize: e.g. the narrative place, the short form theater, the experimental one.
(Perhaps its worth noting here the reason why the importance and emphasis on "brick-and-mortar" establishments, as they 1) become consistent, tangible, visible, (mostly) permanent headquarters for the participants, 2) imply or indicate a certain level of commitment, staking, and cooperation, and 3) necessitate a critical threshold of numbers. They are probably the biggest evolutionary jump in any community.)
These imply and require absolutely no sense of belonging or inclusiveness, though we try to make community mean that too, even though most communities generally contain a lot of sameness, in dress, ideas, and language. In the last probably two years especially, there's been increased emphasis on overcoming that, and encouraging the addition of people who don't look or act like the "typical improviser". (Inclusive, by the way, to enclose, shut-in, embrace, contain and Exclusive, not admitting, omitted, limited, shutting out, (and also fashionable and expensive).) I think communities have gotten mixed up though, when there is increased emphasis on "theater sponsored community" - I think nearly every community by now has either a Facebook group or an actual website where members can ask questions and there are posts about shows, auditions, or workshops.
What is the purpose of these central meeting places? Are they town halls, or merely student union pin boards? Some lean heavily to the latter - one community I'm a member of recently had a whole slew of pretty bad posts and comments - I know for a fact that the moderators wrestled very heavily about how much and what was "acceptable" and "permissible". Some people, it seemed, appreciated a place where these things can be spoken about outloud and publicly, and others, including one of the community leaders, it seemed only wanted a place for them to post about their shows and workshops. (This particular person left in a real huff about what types of comments were allowed, but only after their theater started to get called out, which really calls to question the authenticity of such a stand.)
Camaraderie, fellowship, and cooperation deserve some mention here, but perhaps only briefly, as we've kind of hit around these ideas fairly well already. Camaraderie (the sharing in one's activities), fellowship (friendly relations, sharing of tastes or feelings), and cooperation (working together for common benefit) I think also can get used a little too readily by people wanting to seem like they care, but don't necessitate any belonging. In Eric Weiner's "Geography of Bliss", people are the happiest in those places where it feels like they are actual members of a common group - in effect, you don't have to always watch out for yourself to the exclusion of others, but you and everyone around you is "in it together" - an idea that sadly seems to be without a word right now, which may be an unfortunate reflection of the society in which our language developed.
More worthwhile would be a mention of the word "intimacy", one that I don't think any improv community has ever used to describe its goals or members because it can feel "icky" and a little sexual, but we could describe it in these purposes as "closeness, familiarity, or affection". Intimacy finds its roots in Latin as intimus, or "close friend", and shares true definition with "dear", "exacting", and "thorough", but also has a verbal kin with "intima" - "optimal", "inmost", and "ultimate". One theater I was at routinely combated having players sit in the lobby "talking shit" but made absolutely no attempt to get people to go into the theater to actually watch a show. On more than one occasion, I could hear the laughter of 20 people in the bar on the other side of the wall, while I did a show for 4 people in the seats. Nothing in a community is, nor should be, routine - everything done is built on something that came before and is building to something that will come later.
Here are some terms that I never hear used by theater heads or community leaders to define their communities or their places in those communities: responsibility (taking ownership for failures as well as successes, seeing that hard work is rewarded and unacceptable behavior admonished, seeing to it that the "on paper" principles we hold dear are held), accountability (that theater heads take direct ownership for their work and the people in their charge, that their failures or "less thans" are appropriately dealt with, and that when failures occur, those are not written off as just "a one time thing" or a "we'll consider this in the future" or "a bunch of people dropped the ball here"), diligence (follow through, commitment to ideals, holding the same work ethic when we're sitting in strategic planning meetings as when we are applying the principles in a rehearsal three months later), or professionalism (taking pride in your work, working hard and respecting the work, not settling for mediocrity). Some people are far more interested in being the "authority" - the guru, the Del, "The Guy/Gal", the Big Man/Woman on Campus (BM/WoC) - than in being responsible, accountable, diligent, or reliable, which communities need a lot more than a bunch of Rock Stars.
This is still how improv shows are sold and marketed - a random team from a random theater is just as likely to put the last names of every team member on their group logo as a team containing "actual" stars, the truth is, the idea of a celebrated few, or a minority of the elders has largely eroded and the distance between the "best" improviser and the "average" improviser is much narrower than we'd like to admit. Almost anyone can open an improv theater at this point, and often "founder and artistic director of theater" is all you truly need to be considered a Venerable One. What we're left with is "communities" of near equals squaring off against each other for their piece of the pie and their command of authority. In a true community, leadership is selected by the membership.
Is it a community if all that happens is patting each other on the back and advertising shows? Communities, I believe, in the high-minded definition, in the way that we all seem to think about and talk about, are ones that are not only about passive membership ("oh yeah, I'm a Tulsa improviser") but ones that enjoy active participation. Community is a two way street, from each individual member to the abstract community concept, and back again. We make regular investments and withdrawals all the time. If we want community in the way we ideally strive, it must be this way, members watch out for each other, take care of each other, and treat each other like family, which sometimes means some bad stuff, but also corresponding good stuff. We allow ourselves to be vulnerable, and that is rewarded in the places we call "home". Theaters must be an extension of that - these are places that we devote our time and energies, and they must give trust and acceptance back in return. A theater that only wants to advertise and not participate is one I don't want to be part of, and this is what I think we talk about when we wax rhapsodic on "community".
"Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in." - Robert Frost.
I think back to all those teams (including those I didn't mention) in the beginning, the ones we hold up as an ideal group, ones that didn't just have "members" or a "cast", ones who didn't just presume that being on the roster was enough, and what they had was this community: they shared, which means sometimes you give, and sometimes you take. You watch out for each other and are there for each other. You don't just promote your own shows, you also champion other people's shows. You aren't just a "card carrying member", you participate, engage, and do.
In a sense, community is about losing the word "their" or "mine" or "yours" from the vocabulary in favor of the word "ours".
Happy improvising, everyone.
It is worth being skeptical though, as to whether or not we're using these words "correctly", or in absence of nailing the accuracy, at least the precision of this terminology. Do we use these terms the same? When we speak of these high-minded, social agreement ideals, do we want the same thing? Would we all be happy if the director (or theater owner) thought we achieved it? Lots of gilded (which means to conceal the valueless with luster) stories about improv-teams-past wax sanguine on the social commitment and interaction of the individual members and their relationships to each other, but don't spend much time on how they got there, or what the secret sauce is to achieving it again in the future. (Put another way: could we take any random assemblage of 4-10 people and make a new "Baron's Barracudas" or "(Victim's) Family"?)
I think it is worth noting that the idea of community is both an inclusive term as well as an exclusive one; that is it both includes the people as members of a particular group, uniting them under one common banner or name, while simultaneously excluding people who are not part of the community. There is some discussion in one Facebook community improv group as to whether people who are not geographically located in that city should be allowed to be members of the group (including one person who has never lived in the city advocating for the removal of a particular, select few from the group on that basis, which is charmingly ironic). I know a number of cities that have geographical groups, as well as individual groups for individual theaters or collective organizations, but due to the high level of cross-pollination between theaters, it often makes the memberships between such groups near identical, essentially removing the value of an inner enclave, excepting the desire of the administrators to get to decide who to let into the clubhouse (although it gives you more pages to post on, so I guess that's...something). Excluding geographical distinctions or "pissing match" discretions, calling one a member of a community is meant to bind one to the inner circle while at the same time saying that anyone else is an "other" or "alien" to that circle.
Maybe let's define some terms first, and I'll try and hit a bunch of commonly used ones. "Ensemble" is maybe the lowest form of community - this is, in functional terms, a group of 3-16 people who get together probably once a week to rehearse, and then perform variously. Ensemble is the term that has maybe the most flowery ideal - an integrated, functioning, cohesive unit of individuals. We imagine a group that speaks a second language, anticipates and cooperates, and thinks as a group. Realistically though, we should separate the adjective of "ensemble" (or perhaps the capital "E", Ensemble) from what an ensemble most universally is: a group of individuals who have come together to work together on a project. Team is probably synonymous with ensemble at this point - teamwork is only really work that is done by more than one, and the word teamwork essentially is disregarding of efficiency (how well cooperation is being done) or enjoyment (how much everyone likes each other).
We move up to "community" - probably the most over-used (or at least exhaustively used) term. We love communities because we have come to imagine a collection of small houses or structures, everyone living together, working together to a common purpose, everyone belongs, shares, and sacrifices for each other. I'm gonna burst another bubble here, because stripping away the poetic ideal, a community is only a group of people who share interests, culture, and/or locality, and see a distinction of that group from other groups. When we talk of improv communities, we imagine fraternities/sororities, social groups, or even "clubs", which can exist, but not essentially or necessarily, and I would argue practically never exist, and may have never existed.
For example, this picture (right) is fairly typical of how improv theaters sell "their" community. Supportive is part of community, sure - I wouldn't want to join a community that I didn't feel like took care of its members, but I question how authentically a community sees itself if being "funny" and physically attractive is a requirement to a thriving community. (Not to say these people are not those things - they clearly are physically attractive people, and I personally know that they are, in fact, funny people.) These, however, do not, a community make. We could equally take apart "supportive" (to provide encouragement) and really hold it up: I think that contemporary functionally supportive-ness is just liking each other's Facebook posts, but it is obvious that doesn't really make us satisfied, and is no more communal than just shouting "good job, neighbor!" over your fence.I asked a friend of mine recently who is a company member of a Shakespeare group what it meant to her to "have someone's back", and she said it had a lot to do with caring about that person's well-being - happiness and safety, and also being the provider of said attributes. It also, she continued, pertains a lot about "trust". Another common refrain - what does it mean to trust people? Reliance? Dependability? Secret-telling? I know a lot of teams do the "got your back ritual" (right before a show, you teach each other on the shoulder blades and repeat "got your back"), but does this automatically invoke trust? And to go back to my earlier argument about communities within a community - if an interior community only supports itself and not the other parts of the geographical community, is it a good participant in "community"? If we had a small township, and one block of houses only watched out for themselves, are they still "supporting the community-at-large"?
(A side note about the "got your back" ritual - I was once on a team where the director made us look each other in the eye and instead say "watch your back", because she wanted us to feel like any one of us could take another out at any point, which I think most people ignored the same way they ignored "watch your back", but always made me anxious. If being on your own feels like being hunted and unsafe, then the very idea of being apart of an organization should be the opposite, safe and hunting. Basically, when your spears are pointed in, they cannot point out, and you cannot thrive if all you're doing is surviving.)
I break down communities into different classifications based on relative size, development, evolution, and/or maturity: Latent, Nascent, Established, and Meta. These classifications make no qualms or judgements about the types of work being performed or the quality therein, merely to assess how much is going on, and usually how many people are involved.
Latent (from Latin, to lie hidden) is any community that has no brick-and-mortar improv theaters. There can be any number of active improv groups of any size, any number of improvisers, but they are defined by the fact that "finding" gatherings, shows, workshops, or events is largely based on who-you-know-itude, or just pure luck. At this level, you usually expect only one or two "big cheese" type of people, and maybe some rough inter-group cooperation.
Nascent (Latin, again, to be born) is a stage where there is one (and only one) improv brick-and-mortar theater in an area, which will usually have only one "big cheese", and any number of "house teams" (regularly performing ensembles) and developmental teams. There is (probably almost) always observed and real hierarchy, power, ranking, and pecking order. There is usually a sense of "being on the inside", and that having certain things that must be acquiesced to but with some accompanying prestige, and "being on the outside" which often feels like being independent, underground, and having "less than".
Established are communities that have obtained a second theater - this often creates a check-and-balance, evens out the lopsidedness in power (if any - there are a number of mono-theater communities (Dallas, Omaha) that appear to be well managed), and continues to lift the boat on how visual and recognized the community is to the non-community. From a business perspective (and an artistic one), improv is only really useful if people come see it and engage with it. You could do 1,000 great shows in your living room, but the best fireworks are ones that people get to, and do, watch.
Metacommunities are ones that have at least two theaters (but probably more) and are so large (numbers wise, in a single geographical location) that they contain smaller, functional communities within them. Chicago, LA, NYC, and Austin are great examples of this - places that have so many people involved and so much opportunity that you could conceivably work within them for long periods of time and never cross paths with equivalent opposite numbers in other theaters. These are ones where theaters really try to transcend just "welcome to Chicago, improviser!" and instead promote what makes their individual sub-meta experience better. They are also large enough that an individual theater does not have to "contain multitudes" and can specialize: e.g. the narrative place, the short form theater, the experimental one.
(Perhaps its worth noting here the reason why the importance and emphasis on "brick-and-mortar" establishments, as they 1) become consistent, tangible, visible, (mostly) permanent headquarters for the participants, 2) imply or indicate a certain level of commitment, staking, and cooperation, and 3) necessitate a critical threshold of numbers. They are probably the biggest evolutionary jump in any community.)
These imply and require absolutely no sense of belonging or inclusiveness, though we try to make community mean that too, even though most communities generally contain a lot of sameness, in dress, ideas, and language. In the last probably two years especially, there's been increased emphasis on overcoming that, and encouraging the addition of people who don't look or act like the "typical improviser". (Inclusive, by the way, to enclose, shut-in, embrace, contain and Exclusive, not admitting, omitted, limited, shutting out, (and also fashionable and expensive).) I think communities have gotten mixed up though, when there is increased emphasis on "theater sponsored community" - I think nearly every community by now has either a Facebook group or an actual website where members can ask questions and there are posts about shows, auditions, or workshops.
What is the purpose of these central meeting places? Are they town halls, or merely student union pin boards? Some lean heavily to the latter - one community I'm a member of recently had a whole slew of pretty bad posts and comments - I know for a fact that the moderators wrestled very heavily about how much and what was "acceptable" and "permissible". Some people, it seemed, appreciated a place where these things can be spoken about outloud and publicly, and others, including one of the community leaders, it seemed only wanted a place for them to post about their shows and workshops. (This particular person left in a real huff about what types of comments were allowed, but only after their theater started to get called out, which really calls to question the authenticity of such a stand.)
Camaraderie, fellowship, and cooperation deserve some mention here, but perhaps only briefly, as we've kind of hit around these ideas fairly well already. Camaraderie (the sharing in one's activities), fellowship (friendly relations, sharing of tastes or feelings), and cooperation (working together for common benefit) I think also can get used a little too readily by people wanting to seem like they care, but don't necessitate any belonging. In Eric Weiner's "Geography of Bliss", people are the happiest in those places where it feels like they are actual members of a common group - in effect, you don't have to always watch out for yourself to the exclusion of others, but you and everyone around you is "in it together" - an idea that sadly seems to be without a word right now, which may be an unfortunate reflection of the society in which our language developed.
More worthwhile would be a mention of the word "intimacy", one that I don't think any improv community has ever used to describe its goals or members because it can feel "icky" and a little sexual, but we could describe it in these purposes as "closeness, familiarity, or affection". Intimacy finds its roots in Latin as intimus, or "close friend", and shares true definition with "dear", "exacting", and "thorough", but also has a verbal kin with "intima" - "optimal", "inmost", and "ultimate". One theater I was at routinely combated having players sit in the lobby "talking shit" but made absolutely no attempt to get people to go into the theater to actually watch a show. On more than one occasion, I could hear the laughter of 20 people in the bar on the other side of the wall, while I did a show for 4 people in the seats. Nothing in a community is, nor should be, routine - everything done is built on something that came before and is building to something that will come later.
Here are some terms that I never hear used by theater heads or community leaders to define their communities or their places in those communities: responsibility (taking ownership for failures as well as successes, seeing that hard work is rewarded and unacceptable behavior admonished, seeing to it that the "on paper" principles we hold dear are held), accountability (that theater heads take direct ownership for their work and the people in their charge, that their failures or "less thans" are appropriately dealt with, and that when failures occur, those are not written off as just "a one time thing" or a "we'll consider this in the future" or "a bunch of people dropped the ball here"), diligence (follow through, commitment to ideals, holding the same work ethic when we're sitting in strategic planning meetings as when we are applying the principles in a rehearsal three months later), or professionalism (taking pride in your work, working hard and respecting the work, not settling for mediocrity). Some people are far more interested in being the "authority" - the guru, the Del, "The Guy/Gal", the Big Man/Woman on Campus (BM/WoC) - than in being responsible, accountable, diligent, or reliable, which communities need a lot more than a bunch of Rock Stars.
This is still how improv shows are sold and marketed - a random team from a random theater is just as likely to put the last names of every team member on their group logo as a team containing "actual" stars, the truth is, the idea of a celebrated few, or a minority of the elders has largely eroded and the distance between the "best" improviser and the "average" improviser is much narrower than we'd like to admit. Almost anyone can open an improv theater at this point, and often "founder and artistic director of
Is it a community if all that happens is patting each other on the back and advertising shows? Communities, I believe, in the high-minded definition, in the way that we all seem to think about and talk about, are ones that are not only about passive membership ("oh yeah, I'm a Tulsa improviser") but ones that enjoy active participation. Community is a two way street, from each individual member to the abstract community concept, and back again. We make regular investments and withdrawals all the time. If we want community in the way we ideally strive, it must be this way, members watch out for each other, take care of each other, and treat each other like family, which sometimes means some bad stuff, but also corresponding good stuff. We allow ourselves to be vulnerable, and that is rewarded in the places we call "home". Theaters must be an extension of that - these are places that we devote our time and energies, and they must give trust and acceptance back in return. A theater that only wants to advertise and not participate is one I don't want to be part of, and this is what I think we talk about when we wax rhapsodic on "community".
"Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in." - Robert Frost.
I think back to all those teams (including those I didn't mention) in the beginning, the ones we hold up as an ideal group, ones that didn't just have "members" or a "cast", ones who didn't just presume that being on the roster was enough, and what they had was this community: they shared, which means sometimes you give, and sometimes you take. You watch out for each other and are there for each other. You don't just promote your own shows, you also champion other people's shows. You aren't just a "card carrying member", you participate, engage, and do.
In a sense, community is about losing the word "their" or "mine" or "yours" from the vocabulary in favor of the word "ours".
Happy improvising, everyone.
Monday, May 29, 2017
Why We 'Prov
I know, I know. It's been another very long gap since the last time my fingers graced the MacBook; this is less of an excuse or an explanation than it is now just pure fact. Since the last time I posted, I have continued to work full time, commute for 2 hours a day, got an improv team, Boy Moms (nee Ketchup on Vegetables), and was cast in a production of Midsummer Night's Dream - if you find yourself in Chicago in June on a Sunday afternoon, I mostly will suggest this as a good time.
I find myself tired all the time; not so much from "doing" - when in San Diego I rarely had even a single free night, and I now find myself often with too much time. I watch a lot of stuff now, but mostly find myself listless and stressed: conditions which are not exactly conducive to the mixed reward of sitting down to write. I've been battling depression for a few months now - undiagnosed, and surely a mild depression, I would never presume to be struggling with mental health at the level of true depressives, but I'm cognizant enough to recognize the signs. This isn't meant to try and elicit any help from anyone, when in fact a) most people don't know what help to offer and even then won't offer much beyond "grab a beer, sometime", b) usually are too busy to really help, and c) even when people offer an ear, they usually get bored with "helping" after an email or two. (A side effect of our Twitter Culture - we assume everything can be resolved with a tweet or a post, but don't really have the wherewithal to follow through if something more is required.)
I talked last time about my considering quitting improv - it's still on the table, I suppose. I think I keep looking for a sign or indication that one choice or the other is "right". I still have trouble figuring out "why" I'm doing it. It leads to an interesting analysis of why we engage in really anything. When I posted last time (supportive) people offered:
1. "You inspired me." Deeply flattering and humbling, but I would ultimately be very skeptical and suspicious of someone who set out to do something with the express purpose of inspiring others. At face value, it appears altruistic, but would you trust someone who said they only do things to make people fawn over them, idolize them, and/or get prophets? Certainly inspiration is a thing, but I think this is in reality a byproduct of someone's work and can not, in good conscience, be the end goal.
2. "It's fun." True, probably 65% of the time. There are of course many things that people can do that are fun, and often single individuals will have multiple "fun" activities they engage in (video games, movies, banjo playing, stamp collecting, scrimshaw viewing) so to say one activity takes the cake and is the thing feels a little extreme.
3. "It's a passion." True, for the small percentage of people who own theaters, teach classes, or have dreams of moving to Hollywood. For these people, they cannot live without improvisation, both monetarily for creature comforts like food and rent, and for their own spiritual life. I guess I can see myself doing other things, so I can't count this one."
4. "All your friends and social contacts are there." If all your friends were heroin users would you also feel obligated to do heroin? And what would happen if heroin magically ceased to exist? If your only social structure exists in a weekly 2 hour practice and nowhere else, can you truly count those people as friends?
5. "You're good at at." Again, humbling and flattering, but I objectively feel that I am only OK and have limited precision. If I sucked at making chairs, would it be worth it to create a dinette set? Or, if I were say, the best at making chairs, but everyone else was also really good at making chairs, would the chair community feel a loss if I quit making rockers? Or would everyone else just keep on making chairs?
6. "It makes you a better person." Probably true, though I have also known some pretty garbage people who are also improvisers, so doing the craft is not a guarantee that you won't be petty, short-sighted, jealous, derivative, non-collaborative, disloyal, unoriginal, or marginalizing. And while I do agree that if more people did improv the world would likely be improved in some capacity, I can't shake the feeling that this reason is the kind of quote that theater owners put on websites to sell classes. While it is likely accurate (but by no means definite) it's regular co-opting for capitalist gain sticks in my craw.
Probably more than anything, I do improv because it's what I've been doing. Patterns of behavior tend to continue once established. I improv, therefore I am. Improvisatio ergo sum.
I find myself tired all the time; not so much from "doing" - when in San Diego I rarely had even a single free night, and I now find myself often with too much time. I watch a lot of stuff now, but mostly find myself listless and stressed: conditions which are not exactly conducive to the mixed reward of sitting down to write. I've been battling depression for a few months now - undiagnosed, and surely a mild depression, I would never presume to be struggling with mental health at the level of true depressives, but I'm cognizant enough to recognize the signs. This isn't meant to try and elicit any help from anyone, when in fact a) most people don't know what help to offer and even then won't offer much beyond "grab a beer, sometime", b) usually are too busy to really help, and c) even when people offer an ear, they usually get bored with "helping" after an email or two. (A side effect of our Twitter Culture - we assume everything can be resolved with a tweet or a post, but don't really have the wherewithal to follow through if something more is required.)
I talked last time about my considering quitting improv - it's still on the table, I suppose. I think I keep looking for a sign or indication that one choice or the other is "right". I still have trouble figuring out "why" I'm doing it. It leads to an interesting analysis of why we engage in really anything. When I posted last time (supportive) people offered:
1. "You inspired me." Deeply flattering and humbling, but I would ultimately be very skeptical and suspicious of someone who set out to do something with the express purpose of inspiring others. At face value, it appears altruistic, but would you trust someone who said they only do things to make people fawn over them, idolize them, and/or get prophets? Certainly inspiration is a thing, but I think this is in reality a byproduct of someone's work and can not, in good conscience, be the end goal.
2. "It's fun." True, probably 65% of the time. There are of course many things that people can do that are fun, and often single individuals will have multiple "fun" activities they engage in (video games, movies, banjo playing, stamp collecting, scrimshaw viewing) so to say one activity takes the cake and is the thing feels a little extreme.
3. "It's a passion." True, for the small percentage of people who own theaters, teach classes, or have dreams of moving to Hollywood. For these people, they cannot live without improvisation, both monetarily for creature comforts like food and rent, and for their own spiritual life. I guess I can see myself doing other things, so I can't count this one."
4. "All your friends and social contacts are there." If all your friends were heroin users would you also feel obligated to do heroin? And what would happen if heroin magically ceased to exist? If your only social structure exists in a weekly 2 hour practice and nowhere else, can you truly count those people as friends?
5. "You're good at at." Again, humbling and flattering, but I objectively feel that I am only OK and have limited precision. If I sucked at making chairs, would it be worth it to create a dinette set? Or, if I were say, the best at making chairs, but everyone else was also really good at making chairs, would the chair community feel a loss if I quit making rockers? Or would everyone else just keep on making chairs?
6. "It makes you a better person." Probably true, though I have also known some pretty garbage people who are also improvisers, so doing the craft is not a guarantee that you won't be petty, short-sighted, jealous, derivative, non-collaborative, disloyal, unoriginal, or marginalizing. And while I do agree that if more people did improv the world would likely be improved in some capacity, I can't shake the feeling that this reason is the kind of quote that theater owners put on websites to sell classes. While it is likely accurate (but by no means definite) it's regular co-opting for capitalist gain sticks in my craw.
Probably more than anything, I do improv because it's what I've been doing. Patterns of behavior tend to continue once established. I improv, therefore I am. Improvisatio ergo sum.
Wednesday, February 8, 2017
On Improv and Homecoming
I'm headed back to San Diego this week, for the first time since I left back in September. (This both simultaneously feels like yesterday and approximately 100 years ago. Such is the nature of relativistic experience.) My experiences with improv homecomings have always been bittersweet; whenever I find myself back in southern Mississippi, I always reach out to my former teammates in Biloxi and Hattiesburg - I've found in general that neither group is particularly interested in opening up the doors for past membership.
I think this is mostly due to the fact that improv has a notoriously short attention span (something I've discussed many times in the archives) and teams move on. Our capacity to entertain old acquaintances is largely a function of our endearment to them, something that diminishes rapidly with time (and also something teams are more concerned about waves in than individuals). Teams change, evolve, as do the players, and everyone gets a little hesitant about playing around with people that have started to suspiciously look like strangers. Another aspect is the "little dictator"; as teams change, so does the leadership. I don't think anyone outside of the improv community could understand it, but who is In Charge, who is Calling the Shots, and who Has Authority is a very contentious and aggressively fought for aspect of improv. People will fight tooth and nail for years to hold the cards and have a deeply vested interest in maintaining their hold. Outside people, getting personal attention and "special" treatment, have a certain cachet and currency of sentiment that can threaten "little dictators", when they exist.
The big issue though, is the abandoned home issue. Improv is nearly completely built on reputation, notoriety, and putting in the hours. Theaters tend to not value talent or ability so much as loyalty and consistency. While you're in house and working hard, that is rewarded, but when you leave, new people move up to fill personnel vacuums, and have a vested interest in maintaining their positions. The biggest issue with coming home is finding out that home outgrew you, and that there's no room at the inn.
What have I been up to since I left? I still work full time, though I now have 2 hours of commute every day on the train. I'm taking three different improv classes right now, about halfway through both Annoyance and the Chicago Improv Studio programs, but not performing regularly. I've had a small handful of pickup shows (five, to be exact), and one show with my fellow San Diegan, Laurel, but nothing regular. I'm not rehearsing regularly, and only watching shows with any regularity. The tradeoff in moving to a bigger pond is that you become a smaller fish by default. I would describe my life as mostly "empty" and "rudderless" since I left.
I miss performing, teaching, and coaching of course - these were all regular challenges that pushed me and tested me all the time, and it filled my hours completely and fully. But I really miss rehearsal regularity the most - having a regular group of peers to work with, play with, and hang out with. I won't lie - Chicago has been exceedingly lonely, and I have too much time to realize how alone I am.
I'm excited to be back for a weekend; I need to see some friendly faces and some familiar turf, despite how much wrangling had to happen to squeeze me in anywhere. I'm very excited to do a show on Saturday - one with a partner who I love performing with in a show that I enjoy and know well. I didn't realize it when we were performing regularly, but Fourth Date is the most rewarding experience I've had as an improviser - the one show that I can honestly say that I felt most like an equal as a member. For every strength I had, Kate had a comparable (weakness doesn't sound fair - non-strength? skill-gap?) and vice versa, and every group decision was reached equally, fairly, and discussed. Not sure what I did to deserve such a partner, but I'm thankful I lucked into it. I've missed that show and Kate most of all, so I'm glad to get back to it, even for just a night.
If you've followed my Twitter, you'll know I've been kicking around quitting improv for a bit now. The reasons are various, but the Cliff's Notes are that I just don't know what the point is for me anymore. People have recommended a "short break", but I really don't see the point of taking three months off - if I stop, it'll be for good, so I want to make sure I'm making the right choice to stop. Whether or not I quit and the reasons for doing so is a discussion for a different post (or a conversation over a beer), but it's one I've been going back and forth on since November or so.
I know everyone in San Diego is busy, and everyone has a show, and it's just not a good weekend, but if you can, I hope to see you either at the show at Gym Standard at 8 on Saturday, or if you can spare a minute, I hope we can catch up. Coming home, even temporarily, is often hollow - and the echoes can be deafening.
I think this is mostly due to the fact that improv has a notoriously short attention span (something I've discussed many times in the archives) and teams move on. Our capacity to entertain old acquaintances is largely a function of our endearment to them, something that diminishes rapidly with time (and also something teams are more concerned about waves in than individuals). Teams change, evolve, as do the players, and everyone gets a little hesitant about playing around with people that have started to suspiciously look like strangers. Another aspect is the "little dictator"; as teams change, so does the leadership. I don't think anyone outside of the improv community could understand it, but who is In Charge, who is Calling the Shots, and who Has Authority is a very contentious and aggressively fought for aspect of improv. People will fight tooth and nail for years to hold the cards and have a deeply vested interest in maintaining their hold. Outside people, getting personal attention and "special" treatment, have a certain cachet and currency of sentiment that can threaten "little dictators", when they exist.
The big issue though, is the abandoned home issue. Improv is nearly completely built on reputation, notoriety, and putting in the hours. Theaters tend to not value talent or ability so much as loyalty and consistency. While you're in house and working hard, that is rewarded, but when you leave, new people move up to fill personnel vacuums, and have a vested interest in maintaining their positions. The biggest issue with coming home is finding out that home outgrew you, and that there's no room at the inn.
What have I been up to since I left? I still work full time, though I now have 2 hours of commute every day on the train. I'm taking three different improv classes right now, about halfway through both Annoyance and the Chicago Improv Studio programs, but not performing regularly. I've had a small handful of pickup shows (five, to be exact), and one show with my fellow San Diegan, Laurel, but nothing regular. I'm not rehearsing regularly, and only watching shows with any regularity. The tradeoff in moving to a bigger pond is that you become a smaller fish by default. I would describe my life as mostly "empty" and "rudderless" since I left.
I miss performing, teaching, and coaching of course - these were all regular challenges that pushed me and tested me all the time, and it filled my hours completely and fully. But I really miss rehearsal regularity the most - having a regular group of peers to work with, play with, and hang out with. I won't lie - Chicago has been exceedingly lonely, and I have too much time to realize how alone I am.
I'm excited to be back for a weekend; I need to see some friendly faces and some familiar turf, despite how much wrangling had to happen to squeeze me in anywhere. I'm very excited to do a show on Saturday - one with a partner who I love performing with in a show that I enjoy and know well. I didn't realize it when we were performing regularly, but Fourth Date is the most rewarding experience I've had as an improviser - the one show that I can honestly say that I felt most like an equal as a member. For every strength I had, Kate had a comparable (weakness doesn't sound fair - non-strength? skill-gap?) and vice versa, and every group decision was reached equally, fairly, and discussed. Not sure what I did to deserve such a partner, but I'm thankful I lucked into it. I've missed that show and Kate most of all, so I'm glad to get back to it, even for just a night.
If you've followed my Twitter, you'll know I've been kicking around quitting improv for a bit now. The reasons are various, but the Cliff's Notes are that I just don't know what the point is for me anymore. People have recommended a "short break", but I really don't see the point of taking three months off - if I stop, it'll be for good, so I want to make sure I'm making the right choice to stop. Whether or not I quit and the reasons for doing so is a discussion for a different post (or a conversation over a beer), but it's one I've been going back and forth on since November or so.
I know everyone in San Diego is busy, and everyone has a show, and it's just not a good weekend, but if you can, I hope to see you either at the show at Gym Standard at 8 on Saturday, or if you can spare a minute, I hope we can catch up. Coming home, even temporarily, is often hollow - and the echoes can be deafening.
Monday, January 9, 2017
Heroes Make Us Anxious
It's really no surprise that the stories we tell and share are all truly about some deep seeded anxiety. We are highly developed as a modern species, but that doesn't replace that somewhere inside of us lurks an animal, and those animals are still primarily driven by fear. Storytelling, both modern and ancient, are all about dealing with those fears as a way to shine lights in dark corners.
Horror movies are the most obvious; every single horror movie is about some fear (obviously), and their ability to pray on Fear of the Unknown and Fear of Alone (or sometimes both) is critical to their ability to invoke fear in viewers. We of course remain constant consumers of horror movies because they play with our fear, and what horror movies are popular is equally driven but what continues to make us afraid in an evolving capacity. Take a look at zombie movies, which have a very storied and long history - early zombie movies didn't feature zombies as we have them today, instead they were the traditional Haitian zombies of living men bewitched of their own autonomy and made slaves. This Fear of Loss of Self was very much the theme in White Zombie and on through the first 40 or so years of the genre.
George Romero's Night of the Living Dead made the zombies truly dead: reanimated corpses hungering for living flesh. This is a walking, corporeal reminder of our own eventual demise that we often try and bury or burn to keep it out of sight. We don't want to have our own fragile, decaying truth around, and here it is Fear of Death incarnate shambling after us. That the focus of zombie movies has changed is no surprise; it used to be about dealing with the moments right after an outbreak, when the apocalypse was nigh, but movies like 28 Days Later and TV's The Walking Dead move the story to well after the zombie's first arrival. Fear of Death is still there, but moved much more to the forefront are Fear of Others (think Negan or Cillian Murphy) and Fear of Ourselves (think Rick). When the chips are down (for everyone), how much will they betray each other to put the weak under their yoke, and how much will we betray ourselves and our own morals just to survive?
In the years after 9/11, fear has become a large part of our lives and our pop culture, we wanted all our heroes dirtier and grimmer, because that is how we saw ourselves. Look back to 2003 and 2004 (the earliest years, given long production and release schedules, to be affected), and our movies were Kill Bill, The Punisher, and Man on Fire, where we tried to deal with Fear of Revenge. What would a dogged pursuit of retribution mean to our lives and the lives of those around us?
Horror movies individual fears have always been driven by fears of the moment. It isn't a surprise that The Ring, about a haunted video tape, should come out right when we as a culture was trying to get rid of physical media (and certainly older, "outdated" physical media), and also that the only way to break the curse was to follow a meme-tic, "copy & share" approach that drives the internet (or at least Facebook. A lot of similar trends can often be chalked up to imitations of successful originators, but what is truly fearful is very of the times.
Here's a list of the top grossing supernatural horror movies from the last decade and half, and what are some of the relevant fears:
Annabelle (2014) - Fear of Domestic Life
The Conjuring (2013) - Fear of New Homes
Woman in Black (2012) - Fear of the Distant Past
Paranormal Activity 3 (2011) - Fear that Our Technology Can Not Protect Us
Paranormal Activity 2 (2010) - Same
Paranormal Activity (2009) - Same
The Eye (2008) - Fear of Piercing the Veil
1408 (2007) - Fear of What We Believe Actually Coming True
The Omen (2006) - Fear of Children, Especially Our Own
Saw II (2005) - Fear of the Depravity of Man
The Grudge (2004) - Fear of Unfinished Business
Final Destination 2 (2003) - Fear that Death Will Get Us No Matter What
The Ring (2002) - Previously discussed
The Others (2001) - Fear of Surviving On Our Own
What Lies Beneath (2000) - Fear of Our Partner
Sixth Sense (1999) - Fear of Piercing the Veil
It's easy of course, to point to horror movies though; these things are supposed to scare us, but why are superheroes so popular right now? Of course, hero stories have always had some popularity, the ancient Greeks and Romans told stories of demigods, gods, and mythical creatures doing either stories of immense bravery or supernatural powers themselves, and the tradition carries on. Superheroes (specifically the cape and cowl variety) have been popular themselves since the 30's, with regular consumers, but why do we as a larger culture love superheroes so much now? These are all about Fear of Actually Being Able to Affect Change, very important at a time when everyone has a voice through their Twitter account, but no real ability to do anything, instead creating a cacophony of screaming voices.
Also up for discussion is Sherlock Holmes; reportedly the most portrayed character in all of TV and film, and the current star of two successful TV series, not to mention countless imitators in spirit (House, Castle, John Doe, Bones to name a few). Characters who are often inhuman, both in their abilities of deduction and recall, and also in their inability to easily interact with other humans. Sherlock entered modern culture at a time when science and reason were becoming more mainstream, and a result he is Fear of Knowledge. We now all have a veritable "Sherlock Holmes" of our own, riding around in our pockets (provided we have WiFi or a 4G connection), yet we intuitively understand that reference knowledge is meaningless without interpretation, function, and context.
And that, my dear Watson, scares us.
Horror movies are the most obvious; every single horror movie is about some fear (obviously), and their ability to pray on Fear of the Unknown and Fear of Alone (or sometimes both) is critical to their ability to invoke fear in viewers. We of course remain constant consumers of horror movies because they play with our fear, and what horror movies are popular is equally driven but what continues to make us afraid in an evolving capacity. Take a look at zombie movies, which have a very storied and long history - early zombie movies didn't feature zombies as we have them today, instead they were the traditional Haitian zombies of living men bewitched of their own autonomy and made slaves. This Fear of Loss of Self was very much the theme in White Zombie and on through the first 40 or so years of the genre.
George Romero's Night of the Living Dead made the zombies truly dead: reanimated corpses hungering for living flesh. This is a walking, corporeal reminder of our own eventual demise that we often try and bury or burn to keep it out of sight. We don't want to have our own fragile, decaying truth around, and here it is Fear of Death incarnate shambling after us. That the focus of zombie movies has changed is no surprise; it used to be about dealing with the moments right after an outbreak, when the apocalypse was nigh, but movies like 28 Days Later and TV's The Walking Dead move the story to well after the zombie's first arrival. Fear of Death is still there, but moved much more to the forefront are Fear of Others (think Negan or Cillian Murphy) and Fear of Ourselves (think Rick). When the chips are down (for everyone), how much will they betray each other to put the weak under their yoke, and how much will we betray ourselves and our own morals just to survive?
In the years after 9/11, fear has become a large part of our lives and our pop culture, we wanted all our heroes dirtier and grimmer, because that is how we saw ourselves. Look back to 2003 and 2004 (the earliest years, given long production and release schedules, to be affected), and our movies were Kill Bill, The Punisher, and Man on Fire, where we tried to deal with Fear of Revenge. What would a dogged pursuit of retribution mean to our lives and the lives of those around us?
Horror movies individual fears have always been driven by fears of the moment. It isn't a surprise that The Ring, about a haunted video tape, should come out right when we as a culture was trying to get rid of physical media (and certainly older, "outdated" physical media), and also that the only way to break the curse was to follow a meme-tic, "copy & share" approach that drives the internet (or at least Facebook. A lot of similar trends can often be chalked up to imitations of successful originators, but what is truly fearful is very of the times.
Here's a list of the top grossing supernatural horror movies from the last decade and half, and what are some of the relevant fears:
Annabelle (2014) - Fear of Domestic Life
The Conjuring (2013) - Fear of New Homes
Woman in Black (2012) - Fear of the Distant Past
Paranormal Activity 3 (2011) - Fear that Our Technology Can Not Protect Us
Paranormal Activity 2 (2010) - Same
Paranormal Activity (2009) - Same
The Eye (2008) - Fear of Piercing the Veil
1408 (2007) - Fear of What We Believe Actually Coming True
The Omen (2006) - Fear of Children, Especially Our Own
Saw II (2005) - Fear of the Depravity of Man
The Grudge (2004) - Fear of Unfinished Business
Final Destination 2 (2003) - Fear that Death Will Get Us No Matter What
The Ring (2002) - Previously discussed
The Others (2001) - Fear of Surviving On Our Own
What Lies Beneath (2000) - Fear of Our Partner
Sixth Sense (1999) - Fear of Piercing the Veil
It's easy of course, to point to horror movies though; these things are supposed to scare us, but why are superheroes so popular right now? Of course, hero stories have always had some popularity, the ancient Greeks and Romans told stories of demigods, gods, and mythical creatures doing either stories of immense bravery or supernatural powers themselves, and the tradition carries on. Superheroes (specifically the cape and cowl variety) have been popular themselves since the 30's, with regular consumers, but why do we as a larger culture love superheroes so much now? These are all about Fear of Actually Being Able to Affect Change, very important at a time when everyone has a voice through their Twitter account, but no real ability to do anything, instead creating a cacophony of screaming voices.
Also up for discussion is Sherlock Holmes; reportedly the most portrayed character in all of TV and film, and the current star of two successful TV series, not to mention countless imitators in spirit (House, Castle, John Doe, Bones to name a few). Characters who are often inhuman, both in their abilities of deduction and recall, and also in their inability to easily interact with other humans. Sherlock entered modern culture at a time when science and reason were becoming more mainstream, and a result he is Fear of Knowledge. We now all have a veritable "Sherlock Holmes" of our own, riding around in our pockets (provided we have WiFi or a 4G connection), yet we intuitively understand that reference knowledge is meaningless without interpretation, function, and context.
And that, my dear Watson, scares us.
Monday, December 26, 2016
Missed Opportunities
I haven't written in a while, which is probably a missed opportunity in and of itself. All successful (and mostly likely unsuccessful writers) say that you have to write every day. Your life should never be without you recording your thoughts (or editing them down) so on that front I've been sorely missing. I've been in Chicago for four months now, and "missed opportunities" has become a theme of my life and thoughts ever since I made the choice to come here. Missed opportunities back in San Diego, where I've gotten to watch my friends (via the ruby lens of Facebook) open theaters, perform shows, teach classes, and live life.
Ultimately, the decision to move here was also one of choice - Chicago, despite its faults, is still the unparalleled, uncontested champ for improv. The quantity is staggering (which is not always a good thing - more on that in another post, perhaps), and the quality of the performers and educators is remarkable. This is a city that is very forgiving, and highly welcoming of an adventurous spirit and an experimenter's mind. Every night that I get home and just "don't really feel like it", I remind myself that this is why I'm here. I left behind my friends and a (modestly) successful "career" in improv in San Diego to come and take in the new and bold. The great and the terrible. The predictable and the unknown.
This post is really about missed opportunities - a phrase whose un-necessary length I'm only just now beginning to appreciate - and what they mean for us as artists. On one hand, we may look at improv communities and not see that. San Diego, as Chicago (and I strongly suspect a lot of places) is a player's market. Too much stage time to fill, too many teams, a variety of stages, and a glut of shows to watch. It makes it hard on producers, but great for content creators with a relatively lower barrier to entry. Even so-so teams are virtually guaranteed a slot, and great teams have a blank check. Same goes with players: person A graduates class, starts a team, gets noticed, and is instantly on twenty teams. It's wonderful to be asked, of course. We are all broken people, and getting attention in this way triggers the monkey part of our brains that desperately wants group attention.
"Oh, so this is another 'stretching ourselves too thin' post"? Yes and no. When you say "yes" to everything, you can't truly say yes to anything. As improvisers we consistently overlook the power of editing, which truly is our (and pretty much any artist's) greatest tool. What we choose to show other people, when, and for how long, is nearly more important that the content itself. At the very least, poor presentation can kill a great show just as well as slick polish can make a turd shine. What we choose to put our energy in to is an enormous strength, one that should not be taken likely.
Now back to (Ctrl+V) missed opportunities - we also get burned the other way by making light demands on what we want to work on. Netflix is always calling, just inside the range of human hearing, beckoning: "Up next" and "If you liked every episode 'Elementary' you just watched, you may also enjoy another 80 hours of binging something vaguely similar". When I left SD, I had multiple students tell me "you were the best class I ever had", which is nice, but probably an equal number saying "I always heard you were good, but I never made the time to take you", which sucks. And not just because I didn't convert them into the first camp, but because it means they never understood what is meant in the conversion of intent to doing (or they were being nice). (I should point out not everyone falls into these camps - there is a minority camp that responded in seconds by saying how they were going to break up my teams and give away my classes. Can't win them all.)
By this I mean the dead celebrity effect - artists of all kinds, whose work is seldom (or never) discussed is suddenly elevated to high status when they pass. I couldn't name anyone who really talked about Bowie in 2014, but when he passed everyone suddenly had a deep memory to share on Facebook. This isn't meant to demean anyone who shared a feeling, all of which are completely valid and I can only assume genuine. It's meant to highlight that our monkey brains also can't connect with the idea of something being exhausted until it is. No one wanted Atari ET cartridges until they were dumped in the desert, and then they became collectible, rare, and valuable. Everyone wanted Beanie Babies until there were too many of them and the bubble burst. We inherently tie value into availability (supply/demand) and connect our own motivation to this worth.
Basically, what I'm saying is: don't wait. Don't skip the teacher you want to take, the show you want to do, or the place you want to be, while also considering what it is you really want. Anyway, that's my long way of saying I'll be back in SD teaching in February. My good friend Elisa is putting the whole thing together with a workshop, some social time, and a show. I hope (if this is something you truly want to do), you'll come: http://improvsuperpac.com/ska/
Ultimately, the decision to move here was also one of choice - Chicago, despite its faults, is still the unparalleled, uncontested champ for improv. The quantity is staggering (which is not always a good thing - more on that in another post, perhaps), and the quality of the performers and educators is remarkable. This is a city that is very forgiving, and highly welcoming of an adventurous spirit and an experimenter's mind. Every night that I get home and just "don't really feel like it", I remind myself that this is why I'm here. I left behind my friends and a (modestly) successful "career" in improv in San Diego to come and take in the new and bold. The great and the terrible. The predictable and the unknown.
This post is really about missed opportunities - a phrase whose un-necessary length I'm only just now beginning to appreciate - and what they mean for us as artists. On one hand, we may look at improv communities and not see that. San Diego, as Chicago (and I strongly suspect a lot of places) is a player's market. Too much stage time to fill, too many teams, a variety of stages, and a glut of shows to watch. It makes it hard on producers, but great for content creators with a relatively lower barrier to entry. Even so-so teams are virtually guaranteed a slot, and great teams have a blank check. Same goes with players: person A graduates class, starts a team, gets noticed, and is instantly on twenty teams. It's wonderful to be asked, of course. We are all broken people, and getting attention in this way triggers the monkey part of our brains that desperately wants group attention.
"Oh, so this is another 'stretching ourselves too thin' post"? Yes and no. When you say "yes" to everything, you can't truly say yes to anything. As improvisers we consistently overlook the power of editing, which truly is our (and pretty much any artist's) greatest tool. What we choose to show other people, when, and for how long, is nearly more important that the content itself. At the very least, poor presentation can kill a great show just as well as slick polish can make a turd shine. What we choose to put our energy in to is an enormous strength, one that should not be taken likely.
Now back to (Ctrl+V) missed opportunities - we also get burned the other way by making light demands on what we want to work on. Netflix is always calling, just inside the range of human hearing, beckoning: "Up next" and "If you liked every episode 'Elementary' you just watched, you may also enjoy another 80 hours of binging something vaguely similar". When I left SD, I had multiple students tell me "you were the best class I ever had", which is nice, but probably an equal number saying "I always heard you were good, but I never made the time to take you", which sucks. And not just because I didn't convert them into the first camp, but because it means they never understood what is meant in the conversion of intent to doing (or they were being nice). (I should point out not everyone falls into these camps - there is a minority camp that responded in seconds by saying how they were going to break up my teams and give away my classes. Can't win them all.)
By this I mean the dead celebrity effect - artists of all kinds, whose work is seldom (or never) discussed is suddenly elevated to high status when they pass. I couldn't name anyone who really talked about Bowie in 2014, but when he passed everyone suddenly had a deep memory to share on Facebook. This isn't meant to demean anyone who shared a feeling, all of which are completely valid and I can only assume genuine. It's meant to highlight that our monkey brains also can't connect with the idea of something being exhausted until it is. No one wanted Atari ET cartridges until they were dumped in the desert, and then they became collectible, rare, and valuable. Everyone wanted Beanie Babies until there were too many of them and the bubble burst. We inherently tie value into availability (supply/demand) and connect our own motivation to this worth.
Basically, what I'm saying is: don't wait. Don't skip the teacher you want to take, the show you want to do, or the place you want to be, while also considering what it is you really want. Anyway, that's my long way of saying I'll be back in SD teaching in February. My good friend Elisa is putting the whole thing together with a workshop, some social time, and a show. I hope (if this is something you truly want to do), you'll come: http://improvsuperpac.com/ska/
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