New Show

I've been nervous all week about starting this new show process. I've been holing up in my room wondering if I'm making something wonderful or something terrible. Our first rehearsal was Tuesday. Bisque texted me on my way home.

BISQUE: How was the rehearsal?
ME: It was scary, but I did it.
BISQUE: Yeah, you did!
ME: I feel a lot less scared, but still scared.
BISQUE: It's scary to create something!

All In

Go all in or don't go at all.

HOLD UP. I just wrote that, but I don't believe that. I wouldn't do any dang thing if I asked myself "Am I all in right now?" and if the answer was "no" I didn't go. WHAT. Stupid advice, Alice. What about--

"Go all in or keep going until you are"?

Friday I won an award! I submitted to a sketch festival and felt luke warm about what I wrote. I tried a new vibe. (Read: fewer vegetarian rants, more hugs.) Sometimes I was like "Hey, this is pretty good." Other times I was like, "This is schmaltz barf."So during the festival, I didn't go all in. I think I gave a solid B+, but I was so busy questioning the lines, I was never fully invested. Bisque says he didn't notice, but I did. I took away a little piece of something great for myself. And then I won. I mean, huge happy success for sure, but why did I hold an umbrella over it? It was too late to do anything but enjoy the dang show, so why didn't I?

When I worked as a summer camp counselor in Maine before my junior year of college, there was this adorable, spunky, wonderful head counselor named Jooj who loved every minute of her job. She gave this super irresponsible but hugely important advice to me. I give it to the teaching artists I manage now. She said, "Follow the class. If it's hot and no one wants to learn, go have a water ballon fight." I took this to heart, and I really try to remember it in the stressful bursts of life. At a certain point, the bed is made, you know? All in.

Don't Be Like That

Saturday night I saw one of my improv teacher's sketch shows. It was a revue, and it was alright. Sketch is hit or miss--it's always valuable to see as a writer. It was a pretty talented group. My teacher has been performing and improvising in Chicago for over a decade with lots of creds at all the main comedy venues. Her castmates were the same. One guy I've seen perform a a few times around town. He's good, but he was more than lackluster Saturday.

"Don't be like that," I silently thought from my tiny cabaret seat. "This is a small room of people, but don't you see? You can really make them happy right now. You can really create an environment for them to learn and grow. Don't be like that." But he was like that--a little slow, a little tired, phoning it in just a little bit.

And it's easy for me to say sitting comfortably with no lights on my face. It's easy for me to say. I know that. I know that because I had food poisoning in class the other day, and I dreaded being onstage. I was like that, no matter how much my teacher might have been quietly thinking, "Don't be."

"Night Hawks" at The Art Institute

And I passed a woman in a wheelchair on the corner of Sedgewick and North last night, and I shuffled along in my flip flops, slumped over, and she might have been thinking, "Don' be like that." And I didn't go out to the bars with my classmates after the show Saturday, and the nearby high schooler was overhearing the conversation thinking, "Don't." And the ghosts hover over us when we sit staring into space on the bus ride home, and they wish they could feel a striped seat beneath them, and really see the blackblue of the Chicago river at night.

Nobody Loves You When You're 23

Here are the anthems of my 24th year (IE bein' 23)--in chronological order:

1. What's My Age Again--Blink-182
an anthem to the year itself
2. Going Away to College--Blink-182
an anthem to thinking about grad school
3. Dance Music--The Mountain Goats
my plane jam for Germany travels
4. Someone to Watch Over Me--Gershwinz
an anthem from the musical my fam saw in Germany
5. Here's Looking at You Kid--The Gaslight Anthem
an anthem I would wistfully listen to on runs in Chicago summer
6. Party in the USA--Miley Cyrus
an regressive and two years too late anthem for starting my life over in da desert
7. I Am the One--Next to Normal
my biking tune of choice, never left my iPod shuffle all year
8. Leaves in the River--Seawolf
an anthem for missing Midwestern fall
9. Strays--Tim Kasher
an anthem for late-night playwriting
10. HAM--Kanye & Jay-Z
an anthem for upping my running mileage all year
11. Blazin'--Nicki Minaj
to play while poolside/feel cool/love Ye a lot
12. Beautiful Mistake--The Ataris
so much GD Ataris this year...boop
13. Blow-Ke$ha
an anthem that played before EVERY SINGLE IMPROV SHOW ALL YEAR--forever and always hearing that trollop stutter her B's will remind me of Freeze Tag
14. Girl's Just Wanna Have Fun--Cindy Lauper
an anthem played during one of my favorite sketches I wrote in 2011
15. Someone Like You--Adele
(for some reason) my anthem for finals/winter in AZ/lots of belting in Chelle's car
16. The Scientist--Aimee Mann
an anthem for missing my family
17. Broken Bird--Jack's Mannequin
an anthem from Andy's new album, angstily sung by me frequently
18. Art Is Dead--Bo Burnam
an anthem that asked me what I asked myself (What is da point of art though...?)
19. Black Star--Radiohead
an anthem for seeing Radiohead live
20. Alone--Glee Version
the anthem in my head during my entire Virginia trip
21. My Heart Will Go On--Celine Dion
I don't wanna talk about it
22. 21 Guns--American Idiot Musical Recording
an anthem I spoofed for a sketch about gun legislation this spring
23. What Makes You Beautiful--One Direction
an anthem I somehow got everyone to listen to like twelve times en route to LA for Fracas

Bug, Kale, moi Girl's Night. February 2012. Photo by Chelle/Shell.

Some boys take a beautiful girl and hide her away from the rest of the world.

I wanna be the one to walk in the sun, and girl's just wanna have fun.

Last Year's List:

http://aliceoutofcontext.blogspot.com/2011/05/wise-men-say.html

Be Comforted

Cozy couple in PJS in VA.

Comfort. Capital C, sunny days on bicycles, chocolate cookies at the grad student picnic with Hill, trotting up to our favorite professor's door, being invited in for sits and thoughts.

The Comfort of the subpar but all-you-can-eat chocolate froyo and brownie squares at Sweet Tomatoes. "I want to be fat," I told Smirn. The Comfort of my home here. How it feels to punch in the code on our garage, taking an envelope out of my stationary drawer, knowing there is one pine cone stamp left for this letter Michigan-bound. The people I've met, and how they've turned into the people I can insult, or hug, and how it feels just right.

"You will begin to understand that healing is an effect. It's no longer the object of your intention. It becomes the unavoidable side effect."--Michael Pabst

My Play Reading: Sunday

So, I had to have this thing on Sunday. It was mandatory as a first-year playwright that I have a public reading of a new work this spring. It was in the cards. March 11th. It was destined since Day One, and as fall tumbled on, I feared it so.

Last August I moved to the desert to write plays, and by December I had one play under my belt, and I really hated it. But, still, the reading was going to happen. Here's what I did: I mined the stupid trash for the gems. I took the gems, shined them, rearranged, added, and so on until I had (basically) a brand new play from the rubble of Attempt One. I was introduced to a wonderful woman who said she would direct my reading. She brought on a wonderful actress who was happy to perform. (This play ended up being a collection of monologues--performed by one actor.) We met. W talked. I revised. We rehearsed. I refined. "Hey," I thought, "This isn't half bad." But, still, I did not like thinking about March 11th. 3/11 Day. WHOA-OH AMBER IS THE COLOR OF HER ENERGY.

One way that I fail as an artist is that I am not good at promoting my own work. I never have been. "Why didn't you tell me you were _____!?"--a common complaint of friends of mine since I was 12. I don't know! I don't know! I want everyone to support the arts, but I can't seem to self-promote. I just can't. There's nothing worse than wasting someone's time. I always worry. I worry.

BUT I HAD TO SELF-PROMOTE FOR THIS DANG THING BECAUSE IT WAS JUST MY PIECE AND ONE ACTRESS AND ONE DIRECTOR. BLAGH MY NIGHTMARE.

Anyway, I did tell some people about it. Including Chelle, who I strongly suspect strongarmed many a member of our comedy posse into attendance. Also, there were interested others, and fellow grads, and friends of the actress and director, and, so, well, it ended up being a hefty little crowd in that tiny studio at 7:30 PM on Sunday.

It began, and almost immediately, I was horrified. "This part sucks. That's not funny. Cliche. Cliche. Cliche. This is preachy. This isn't preachy enough. I hate this. I hope this building is set on fire before my talk back begins. Kill me. Dear, Jesus, if you can hear me, could you come down from your metaphorical cross from just a mom so you may smite me dead? Love, Alice. Do you smite? Even if it is a smite of love? Oh, I HATE THIS." But, then, it was over. And everyone clapped, and I sat in front of the room with the other two women I have come to love and respect, and the director asked the audience for feedback. And it was overwhelmingly positive. Now, I'm not a dummy. I know that talk backs are generally very positive because, who is going to just full-on hate right to your face? But, still, I felt relief. Even if I still knew...there are parts that need major work. There are things that I should never have written. If I get crushed by a semi tomorrow, I will grimace down at the world as my soul sprouts wings and floats skyward knowing the last thing I shared was that reading. But, WHATEVER. It was over, and, well, people thought about issues beyond themselves for an hour, and that's really the best I can ever hope for.


The reading team. Actress, director, playwright.

I felt loved loved loved seeing all these silly sketch boys and girls supporting me. Chelle brought a dozen donuts instead of roses, and everyone signed the box.


Some of the comedy crew. A bunch not in this shot.


That's nice.

I heaved a big sigh. I biked into the night. I laid down in my bed. It's over. Thank God, it's over. For now.

But what wasn't over was the fun. Because soon Bug, Skars, and Chelle were at my door. I was in high school again watching a bad scary movie with friends on a Sunday night and feeling rebellious about it. We ate big bowls of pesto, and I nommed through my donuts. When Chelle and I came back from Redbox, we were in the middle of a conversation, and Bug and Skars loudly enacted a rouse of being caught making out on my living room couch. Chelle and I dismissed it, and they played the game for a good ten minutes. We screamed at gruesome deaths. When it was all said and done, there was coconut donut in the carpet and an empty bottle of wine my roommate had brewed and Skars was very competitively trying to make Bug guess what he was writing on her back.



And when everyone left, I wasn't ready for bed. Not just yet. So I warmed up a last donut and ate it with a fork and knife in bed while Jonah Hill did live sketch comedy.

Star Cactus

AZ. 2012.

I got nothin'. So, a list:

Good Stuff Today:
-The Biggest Loser & a Bob Harper workout.
-Pitching ideas.
-Working with two women who are genuinely having fun with my new play and who are also very talented.
-Being able to give sincere compliments to people whose art I admire.
-When you think about theatre the day after you see it.
-Pasties with improv friendos.
-Biking in the sun.
-Communication with familia.
-The Internet. Hello research.
-Muff in two weeks.

5 Theatre Thangs Today

1. Audition for a part-improvised TV show this morning.

2. Lead kiddos on Chelle's high school track team in some improv games as a fun warm-up.

3. Performing in a community art project (Encyclo Show).

4. Sketch show.

5. Birthday party for peer--Rabbit. Went with Boulder, and all the lovelies I never see any more were in attendance. Mmmm theatre/education/grad talk. Drink it up with the big piece of cookies and cream cake.

I feel tired. Happy about my life, creative, inspired, but not sustainable. Not like I CAN'T keep pushing and doing all this stuff and being inventive and silly and yelling and goofing forever, but that I don't think I WANT to. I don't think that's failure though. Getting something out of your system is anything BUT. It's giving yourself the opportunity to shove your being in a trash compactor and make room for the new.

After sketch tonight I was about to bike off into the thick dessert darkness, and Chelle and Bug walked me to my bike. We talked about how good last night felt--the ol' gang. Bug said, "It's like that Girl Scout song"--which I sang as I pedaled to Boulder's. All silver and gold. AND gold.

The lil 15 year olds pole vaulting made me remember and love my 15 year old life. Sketches are sketches. Performances can always go better. My heart fills over a whole wheat breakfast burrito in the middle of the sunniest AZ day. And gold.

Make new friends, but keep the old.
One is silver and the other gold.

Just a Nightcap of Gratitude (Friendship and Food)

Bug with a whipped cream handlebar. October 2011.

During sketch rehearsal, I walked to Taco Bell to buy Chelle a burrito. I was't sure if I should get something or not. I didn't. As I picked up my order, the woman said she accidentally made an extra veggie tostada. Did I want it?

Rehearsal Con't. The night ended and the ladies kicked the boys out of our rehearsal space. We exploded immediately into gossip and gushing.

Girls Night became Old School on accident. Just last semester's originals coming over to my place for dessert. Kale hadn't eaten. I called her from my bike listing what I had in my fridge. Leftover ziti from Chelle, beet pasta from Bug. On Monday the sweetheart had trekked down the block to my front door with the delivery of spaghetti and beet balls, which, ironically, she and Kale ended up eating tonight at midnight in my kitchen while the aroma of nutella brownies puffed from the oven. It felt sweet and secure. Communities of women who love and don't compete are the best. All of us have grown significantly in the past few months, and that's something to celebrate.

Men's shirts, short skirts, whoa-oh-oh!

Please Communicate

On Wednesday everyone was happily piling into the big classroom we hold our sketch writing meetings at school. There's a bunch of us, and we get together joyfully--laughing, making cracks, bubbling. And suddenly a stern woman--probably my mother's age--stomped into the doorway and asked Sid--sitting at the front of the room--pointedly, "Are you even a real class? Do you even have this room reserved?" Yes, he answered. We have this room reserved. "Because I don't think you do. I don't think you do. People are trying to work here, and you're all very loud, and there is a lot of profanity." She was steaming at us, but to us, hyped up on creative promise, she appeared as a deflated balloon.

Sid tried to pull up the room reservation, but the system was down. The woman stood, actually rudely since...we did have a right to be in that room. Even if we hadn't reserved the room, which we had, people are allowed to be in a space, and if they are converging, it's pretty unloving to insert oneself abrasively. She hissed, "There have been lots of complaints!" I smoothed my shirt and said calmly, "Who has complained? You are the first person who has ever talked to us."

"People have complained. Lots of people have complained to me!" We couldn't show her the reservation, but, again, even if we hadn't had one, what could she say, "You're not allowed to be in this classroom that no one else is using right now"? She started stumbling in her anger, murmured to keep the noise and profanity down, and exited disdainfully.

She knew her actions were not appropriate, you could tell the way she backed down but didn't back down. She very clearly had simply been annoyed with us before and bottled it up until she couldn't take it anymore and exploded on a group unknowing young people.

Takeaways:
1. Going in angry usually makes you look like a fruit basket.
2. COMMUNICATE AT THE FIRST OPPORTUNITY. PEOPLE DO NOT KNOW!

I considered finding her office and apologizing--but I didn't because I suspected she would be understanding, but if she wasn't...I would have been extremely rude, which is a rarity for me, but definitely possible, and to be avoided. Here's why I would have been rude: our classroom is in the women and gender studies wing. The woman was most definitely a women/gender studies professor. Hence, she was probably so annoyed by some of the things she heard spilling out of our student sketch team pitch meetings, but she honestly has NO IDEA what really happens in those meetings. Because for every time someone screams an offensive slur in a script, we have a ten minute conversation about how the desperate single character at the Valentine's party should be a male so the sketch can be more progressive and less stereotypical. Lady, I would have yelled, I care so much about the stuff you care about it makes me sick!

So, I just left. But, Chelle did apologize. And, the woman was very understanding and apologetic herself. Also, we're moving rooms.


Baby chicks. State Fair 2011.

I did scream on campus this week. I yelled at a pro-life protester who stopped me on my way to work to tell me about how all fetus must live. I asked her if she was a vegetarian. Nope. I walked away. She stopped me. Bad move, girl. Bad move. Insert: 20 minute debate about the ethics of killing animals versus embryos. I believe everything I said was Right, but it definitely wasn't Good. She's not going to stop eating meat. She's still going to support over-population and starving children via her beliefs. Plus, I believe what I believe to encourage a sense of Love in this earth, and probs me literally pointing at her. yelling "HYPOCRITE!" with raised voice and hellfire eyes was not in accord with the whole promotion of Love thing. I'm working on it, you guys. I'm working on it.

In an interstellar burst
I am back to save the universe.

AZ Gratitude

Why I'm Grateful to Be Here:

-I can bike home from sketch meeting turned trip to Red Robbin for endless steak fries in the dark night without a coat.
-The birds chirp as my eyes are opening when 90s alternative wakes me up. This is what they mean by flying south for winter.
-I sit on the porch when I can't think anymore, and the sun lightly bakes my face.
-Cacti. (See above.)
-Being forced to write. Maybe I can't do it forever, but for now? Okay.
-Lots of theatre all the time. And pretty cheap.
-Chelle and Kale coming over for banana chocolate chip pancakes yesterday morning.
-All my basic needs are met within a one mile radius.
-If I had ended up at a more prestigious school, I couldn't wear sweats 85% of the time. Maybe this is not a good thing for my future/potential love life, but lawd help the institution that tries to divorce me and my seafoam green shorts.
-The opportunity to do a lot of comedy.
-The opportunity to look at mountains every day.
-The proof that I can be far away from all the people I love and survive quite well.
-There's a train that comes through just half a mile away from my condo. I hear its whistle. Everything reminds me of being in my bed in the house I grew up, open windows in May, listening to the ooOOOOOOOOOOOoo in the distance.

One Ride Away

My sister arrived Friday night, but it was Saturday by the time I saw her at the condo party east of school. Celebration: First sketch show of 2012, y'all. We hugged in the parking lot and got cheesecake pancakes at 2 AM.

It was a wonderful vacation. Four whole days of sister fun. Packed to the gills. Packed.


Pookie at Farmer's Market. Caramel Salted Peanut Butter Banana Scone! Vegan!

We hiked, we noted jackrabbits, we ate pasties, we ate pizza, we ate Ethiopian. We saw Richard Dawkins speak and deconstructed it with Blue Eyes and co and an Irish pub. We went to two Superbowl parties and baked monster oreo-filled chocolate chip cookies for the Giants. I screamed during The Woman in Black and bit the straw of my loyalty movie cup. We had bowls of Reese's Puffs. We sat in my hot tub in the dark. I watched her bike ahead of me today on the sidewalk. It felt like the beginning of summer. We wore baseball caps.

She's at the airport now. Waiting to board. We're still in the same city, but we're not together. This kills me. I miss my sister already, but I know that she's only a plane ride away. Just a few hours and a couple hundred dollars. It's doable.

Yesterday in Theatre for Social Change class we did an exercise where our instructor named a type of oppressive statue, and if you qualified, you were to step off the line we all stood on, walk five feet, turn around, and look at all the people who were privileged in that department. One qualifier was, "Cross the line if you grew up poor." Two women walked across the room.

Life is tough if you're poor. It's scary to wonder about the basics--warmth, water. Someone told me last week giving up meat was hard for her because she was raised poor, and meat was a treat. To give it up willingly seemed ridiculous. But, out of everything, being poor would be hard because your sister might not just be a plane ride away.

I'd starve for days if it meant ensuring Pookie will be a plane ride away forever.


Pookie shoves a marshmallow heart in my mouth while we get ready for bed.

Always Stay Fresh

There is a sub-club in my sketch comedy team. We call ourselves ASF, which means Always Stay Fresh, but as you get deeper into the club, perhaps things aren't always what they seem.

Kale, Sid, and I went for vegan milkshakes last week, and we decided to form an ethical eating club. All are welcome as long as participants are open to changing their diets. Tonight's meeting was held in my hot tub. We passed around coconut milk ice cream and peanut butter Newman O's. Om nom nom. We had one guest--Curly--who chatted with us about ethical eating and who has promised to be meat-free for one week.

It was a great night. I can't believe it's January and I prance around my pool in my pink lemonade two piece. We discussed many things, but one of my very favorite things discussed was how absolutely weird my body is. Like how I can function wonderfully on three hours of sleep, or how I could eat the whole pack of Newman O's in one go. Sid said, "Out of everyone I know, I'd be least surprised to find out you weren't a human. Like, if scientists did tests and found you had an ice cream heart, I wouldn't be surprised."


Sid with a vegan cookie from a sketchy vegan cafe in Phoenix. Last week.

With a Bow in Her Hair

But not for long. I love the feeling of irresponsibility in stride. Staying up far too late and knowing there will be hell to pay...but not that much hell. Just work in the AM, just the possibility of being tired in the PM. That's all. That's all.

I love you.


Improv Troupe pre-LA show. November 2011. Minus Sid.

Jew-Liet

Chelle, lacking sleep. Sketch rehearsal. November 2011.

In Theatre Theory class today someone brought up a local high school production of Romeo and Juliet he just saw. The director set the play in WWII Germany. Romeo was a Nazi. Juliet a Jew. This is true. A local high school did this. During the end scene a banner with a huge Star of David wrapped around a swastika unfurled. Wow, I mean, wow.

We talked about this for a moment and promptly agreed this director was batty froot loops crayfish. But, you know what? Good for her. Because in art I think it's better to go crayfish than shellfish, you know what I mean? It's like, yeah you could look completely ridiculous, but you could have created something genius, and, furthermore, yeah, I think that production sounds bananas, but think of the awesome story all those kids have to tell for the rest of their LIVES. Think of how infrequently a high school play makes it into a graduate theory discussion.

And when you dream, dream big.
As big as the ocean blue.

Whenever, Wherever

CAKE. December 2011.

My friend Sid became a vegetarian a couple months ago. He was inspired by a pro-veggie sketch I wrote (best possible response to a sketch--not laughter or applause, no, converting someone into a veggie). Then, after thinking about the moral implications of the factory farm industry, he became a vegan. I really don't think this is a flash in the pan thing. He's pretty dang serious.

We were out at lunch with friends and said if I appreciate people ordering veggie in my presence, I should order vegan in his. I agreed and did. I've explained I am straddling the vegan fence. Over the past two years I have inched closer and closer, but I fear I'll never take the full plunge. Still, right now I'm doing pretty well. It's pretty rare I eat any straight up egg/dairy products. I even avoid garnishes of cheese when I can, but here's where I get stopped:

Dressing (containing eggs)
Baked goods (containing little eggs and milk)
Ice cream (this is, clearly, an obvious breech of veganism)

Anyway, I'm proud of my efforts, but I am grateful to Sid who pushes me further. He sends me vegan lectures, and I remember what I learn when I am tempted to get the yogurt Jamba Juice.

It occurs to me I could be annoyed. I could say, "Look. I've been doing this a lot longer than you. Three months ago you were eating beef in front of me and making fun of my diet. You don't have a right." But, when you're right, you're right. I don't care if you found the Truth fifty years ago or five seconds ago, you have the right to share the Good, the Truth to others.

Bright Lights

Lowsta. During finals week.


Lowsta making out with a Pinata backstage at a sketch show.

String

"It hasn't hit me yet"--This sentiment always feel jagged to me, rough cutting. I know what it means, but I don't like it. I know what it's like to terminate a relationship and then check my e-mail and weigh the pros and cons of an e-coupon. I know what it's like for my grandfather to pass away, cry for five minutes, and then dress up as a talking piglet or dance to "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" during a "Best Of" sketch comedy show. I know because that happened yesterday. And then I know how to write my final paper on the racial themes of Show Boat throughout it's five Broadway productions while I miss that man, and suddenly Chelle shows up with a cake frosted in red and green.

It hasn't hit me, but why must it? I don't like the "yet" because who says when "big" things happen they must be big? Why is it natural to come to a point of absolute devastation, horror, drunken elation about new chapters? We live day by day, and it all strings together like Cheerios on yarn weaving between the fir tree branches.

There shouldn't be a moment when everything in your world closes up. Ever. No clam shells, no ring boxes, no tight-fitting Tupperware. Even if it's all meant to be reopened! Even if that's the intent! Even if you're meant to transform! No, no, just string along. Just string along--one spool, one life.


May 2009.

Here's to a sincerely great man.

He don't plant 'taters.
He don't plant cotton,
and them that plant 'em
is soon forgotten.
But ol' man river,
he jus' keeps rollin' along.

Semester of Lulz

Lowsta and me covered in donut debris from a sketch yesterday.

It kind of blows my mind how much comedy I've done in the past few months. I don't know how to feel about it. Most of the time I've really enjoyed it and tried to learn from it, but, oddly, when you do it so much, you start to operate at a lower level of excellence...not because you're tired, but because it's not special.

If you do a new sketch show every week, it's not a big deal if you kind of flub some lines and turn something that was good on paper into something that's just mediocre on stage. Improv every week? It all runs together and you start not to care.

Thursday we did our last improv show of the semester (for me the year since I teach during our show in the spring term), and I didn't even think to think of it as meaningful. Tomorrow is our sketch "Best Of" show. Today we rehearsed for almost five hours to prepare. At the end of it all, my face was on fire, my brain clogged with all the lines of previous week's work and props to bring. Isn't this supposed to be fun? It is. It really is. I'm just overworked.

I did stand-up last night too. I did alright, but I would have done better if I had actually worked any of my bits instead of just sort of prancing around a couple funny ideas I had been mulling over lately. Just no time. I mean, gosh, I've got three final projects due in the next, like, 72 hours.

Basically: I'm not sure what my future holds for the funny biz. I've got sights set on a summer program, sure, but what about just next month? Can I do this again? I really do not know.

I do know I have met some good people through comedy--some better than others (boop). Ultimately I guess that's what everything's all about: "Well, did I meet some cool people?" And, if you do comedy, it's basically a given. I dunno, guys. I dunno.

What made us think that we were wise?

Faith

Legends of the Hidden Tempe sketch. I think Chelle really does look like a contestant.

"I've just come to the personal conclusion that the test in life is choosing to have faith, because it's a lot easier to not have it."--Chelle