Snapshots of Improv Class (And Why I Love It)

Just so you know I haven't fully become a cranky theatre grad school elf, I should say I love teaching college improv. The world becomes better after each class. Kinda being cheesy. (Like, cue montage of me pushing open the blackbox doors to U2's "Beautiful Day" and like cartoon bluebirds chirp around my head as I smile at everyone in the Fine Arts Center.) But, partially, I really believe that my students and I become better after each class.

Some Wonderful Things That Have Happened Lately:

-I dismiss class, but say "I'll play a round of Beastie Rap if anyone wants to stay." They all stay.

-Two Entenmann's pumpkin donuts protected by only a Ziploc get decimated in my backpack. On my way to the trash I say, "Unless anyone wants them" and someone does.

-We play a goofy version of tag where when you're "it" you have to yell stuff, and a nice boy who always dresses in black runs ferociously after a girl in heels while screaming, "THE SUN'LL COME OUUUUT TOMORROW! BET YOUR BOTTOM DOLLAR!"

-After getting feedback that the token awkward, shy guy always plays himself, I ask him to play the school hottie jock. He is still awkward, but adds details like, "I wasn't listening in class because I was texting my girlfriend who is a cheerleader."

-Today a student gave a history presentation on Christopher Guest.

-A kid sends me his homework via email, includes a poem with such lines like "I broke up with my girlfriend because she said like/ Hitler was a jerk 'cos of the Third Reich."

-At mid-term I make them sit in a chair in front of everyone and hear all their strengths and weaknesses from classmates. They often fidget, but no one has gotten defensive, and everyone has felt unique and appreciated. This has nothing to do with my teaching and everything to do with how you can't help but love people you improvise with.

Happy Working Song

My sister told me my blog has been too sad. Well, toot. But okay. Some great things about summer camp:

Storm cloud. July 2013. Michigan.

Running the long, quiet road of antique farms just off camp property Monday. Only two girls signed up for an afternoon four-miler. Track stars of course. They smoked me. It was very windy.

My first period Musical Theatre girls kicking their feet to "Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile."

Playing Mafia (I actually love Mafia. Like, a lot. I wish it were still acceptable to casually mention it be played at parties now that I am an adult. Sigh.) in the lake on a very wavy day. Hopping the white caps during accusations.

My campers at the breakfast table every morning. One brings yogurts for all. Another carried cups of water by the bunch. That one always asks for a bowl of Golden Grahams. There is a subtle game of who will get a bagel first--thus becoming the table toaster slave.

And on your lovely woody banks,
we dream beneath the shade,
and offer up again our thanks,
your memories ne'er will fade.

I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here

"Seriously though, eating eggo waffles braless in ALASKA is unforgettable."--Ro

There is very literally nothing I'd rather be doing this night of May 19th than enjoying a s'more scooby snack, writing a commissioned piece of theatre criticism, wearing pjs, and listening to the Annie soundtrack in this luxurious queen. And there's a new Mad Men on in an hour?! Like what da heck, get right out of here! It's so powerful to know what you love and to make it happen for yourself!

Get me now, holy cow, could someone pinch me please?