Though I was a member of one of the original ImprovOlympic teams in the early 1980’s, I had never been to the iO building on Clark or their new building on Kingsbury until now. We performed at the Players Workshop, a bar named CrossCurrents, and events like ChicagoFest and Loop Alive.

I find it amusing that the International Olympic Committee is so protective of their name (which is why ImprovOlympic became iO many years ago) given that the things I most associate with the Olympics are drug scandals, payoffs, cost overruns, and boycotts.

iO doesn’t have a parking lot. I didn’t feel like circling the neighborhood, even though the block on which iO resides is made up mostly of loading zones. I was able to translate the plethora of regulations on the street signs and boldly parked in one of the zones that seemed to be safe for a couple hours. Still, it’s always a little scary when no one else braves the same zone, as was the case this night. What if the authorities don’t have the same grasp of reading signs that I do?

I went to see a friend from the storytelling class I took at Second City perform with her current improv classmates at iO. Improv is hard, so I wasn’t expecting a lot from a group still learning their craft. But as with a lot of improv, there were moments that made me smile, bloop singles if not home runs, stolen glances if not stolen bases. And there weren’t any scenes that dragged on forever, the curse of any type of sketch comedy. If a line works, get out of Dodge, know when to fold ‘em, fight and run away and live to fight another day, take the money and run – take your own advice.