iO – January 7, 2018

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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.

Q Brothers Christmas Carol – Chicago Shakespeare Theater – December 2, 2017

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I have now seen the Q Brothers’ version of A Christmas Carol at The Shakespeare Theater four years in a row. It never gets old. Last year I gained special insight into the show when I struck up a conversation with an usher, who turned out to be the Q Brothers’ high school drama teacher from years ago. She was very proud of the boys.

Despite my recommendation (or perhaps based on it) I have many friends who say they won’t go to this show because they hate hip hop – good, stay home – more room for me to see a high energy, intelligent, fun-loving, live performance of familiar, but reinvented material, where four actors play a dozen parts and I leave with a smile on my face, along with some glitter that rained down from the ceiling. I’m going to keep going every year until the seemingly indefatigable GQ runs out of energy.

This year the show moved into Shakespeare’s new space, The Yard. I was a little misled trying to interpret their online seating chart for the first time. Though we probably wound up with the best seats in the house, getting to them unexpectedly involved climbing stairs (raise your hand if you’re over 65 and have knee problems). There probably was an elevator somewhere but it wasn’t obvious (raise your hand if you’re over 65 and have trouble seeing in the dark) And the seats were right behind the balcony railing, which for someone like me, who isn’t fond of heights, even when they aren’t all that high, is a little disconcerting. So I had to avoid laughing and applauding too hard (not an easy thing to do at this show), lest I lose my equilibrium, tumble over, and interrupt the show to allow for cleanup in aisle 2.

Tomato Throw – The Comedy Bar – October 3, 2017

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It is said that audiences as far back as Shakespeare’s time used to throw rotten fruit at the actors. So I considered it a cultural excursion to go to The Comedy Bar in River North on a Tuesday night for one of their Tomato Throw shows.

Okay, I actually went because a friend’s son was performing there that night, but there’s nothing wrong with a twofer. Audience members don’t throw real tomatoes (so much for historical accuracy).  That would get expensive and messy. The fake tomatoes are made of soft plastic so that you can’t throw them very fast and they don’t hurt when they hit you, or so I surmised as I was not the target of any and no paramedics appeared during the evening.

Only one of the performers gets paid, the one who has the fewest tomatoes directed his or her way for subpar humor. Even before the show started we realized that the rules provided a huge advantage for whoever went first because no one yet knew the quality of humor of the field and because the nonregulars such as myself might be a little hesitant at first to join in the fray.

Our assessment was accurate. The first performer’s bathroom humor was not, in my opinion, even close to funny, but he escaped fairly unscathed. After that, however, something hit the fan, or more accurately, the tomatoes hit the wall. It got to the point where not only would people hurl missiles for little or no reason, the performers would encourage them to do so, knowing that they had no chance to win the money and figuring that they might as well endear themselves to the audience by becoming willing targets.

Next thing you know I’ll be going to state fairs to see the dunk tanks.

Vijay Venkatesh – Dame Myra Hess Concert – Chicago Cultural Center – January 17, 2018

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I started taking piano lessons a year ago. I have no illusions about my current or potential talent levels, but I enjoy the process and the sounds that I urge out of the keys that occasionally resemble music.  I also really enjoy listening to someone good.

The Chicago Cultural Center hosts Dame Myra Hess Concerts every Wednesday from 12:15-1:00. This week Vijay Venkatesh played Liszt and Beethoven on the piano, and brought forth tones that doesn’t exist on my digital keyboard. And, though his hands were occasionally moving at lightning speed, I’m pretty sure that he played all 88 keys at least once during Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 12. So the hundreds of us in attendance would have gotten our money’s worth even if we had paid something to get in.

There was a woman in the front row who, at first glance, seemed to be taking notes, perhaps for a review, I mean a real one, not like what you read on my blog. But as I shifted in my seat, I realized I was wrong, she wasn’t writing, but rather sketching the pianist at work. I don’t take notes for my blog. I feel that it would distract from my enjoyment of the event and hinder my ability to observe all that is going on around me. And I can’t read my handwriting.

Vijay deservedly (I think) received a standing ovation at the conclusion of his work, but these days it seems that everyone gets one, and thus it has lost its significance. I wonder if performers know that sometimes we stand just because the people in front of us (who might be friends and family of the performers) stood up and we can’t see if we stay seated, or we just want to stretch our legs, or we just want to beat the crowd out the door.

Please fight the urge to give this blog a standing ovation, as I’ve already left the room.

Random Acts of Fun in the Parks – 2017

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Every year the Newberry Library, in conjunction with its annual book fair, puts on a celebration of free speech in Washington Square Park (Bughouse Square), which for years had been a popular spot for soapbox orators. I went on July 29, not so much to hear the speeches, which are mercifully limited in length by the organizers, but once again to enjoy the performance by the Environmental Encroachment brass band, a ragtag group that for some reason amuses me.

I also spent the morning of April 27, Earth Day, in Washington Square Park helping prepare the park for the summer. Okay, so this wasn’t actually fun in and of itself, but by reminding me that the other 364 days of the year I don’t have to do any yard work because I live in a condo, it nevertheless brought a smile to my face.

I spent many other days in various Chicago parks during the year, in particular Millennium Park for the concerts and a taping of Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me, featuring ex-Cub Ryan Dempster as the special guest (when I heard that he was the guest I figured they must have gotten to the bottom of a long list of possibilities, but he turned out to be quite entertaining); Lincoln Park for the zoo and the golf course (where one day I got put in a foursome with three guys associated with Second City, which made for an unusual day where the banter was funnier than my golf game); Polk Brothers Park at Navy Pier for the outdoor water-related movies (I saw Jaws and Splash, but missed Sharknado – what a shame); and the park adjoining Adler Planetarium, where I joined several thousand of my closest friends to observe the solar eclipse on August 21. As we used to say in college – any excuse for a party.

Paper Machete – Green Mill – January 13, 2018

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Somehow, until now, I’ve been unaware of Paper Machete, the live magazine comedy and music review that moved to the Green Mill in December 2012. We arrived there about twenty minutes before the advertised 3:00 start of the show. But the Green Mill is at heart a jazz venue, so they didn’t start until about 3:15, early by jazz standards. Nevertheless, it was SRO to the max when we arrived, and I have no idea how early you have to get there to get a seat.

Though most of the crowd was a lot younger than us, there was a table of four that was a notable exception. They looked like they originally had come to see Billie Holiday in the 30s or 40s and wisely decided not to give up their seats. In the interesting seating configuration that is the Green Mill, their backs were to the main stage, but I was still jealous.

We wound up standing near the side door, constantly dodging waitstaff, but with a decent view of the primary stage and the area behind the bar used as a secondary stage. This put us next to a tall gentlemen who also was older than most of the crowd and who turned out to be the father of one of the performers. Even with that, he had to stand.

The emcee introduced acts, sang, and commented on the news. His opening wild, arm-flagellating, lip-synching routine tired me out just watching him.

In addition to him and that day’s band, we saw two comics, one of whom reported on important new devices displayed at the Consumer Electronics Show, such as smart toilets that create profiles of use by each person in your house.

When the show broke for intermission, we broke for the door, not out of dissatisfaction, as the comedy was spot on (though I’m hesitant to tell you what one comic said about cucumbers), but in response to a cry for help from my lower back ,which was tightening like a screw from standing in one place for an hour and a half. We need a new plan next time.

United Center – University of Illinois Basketball – December 16, 2017

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Once a year one of my almae matres (rarely used form of the plural I had to look up so as to avoid using the mundane alma maters), the University of Illinois, sends its basketball team to Chicago for a nonconference game at the United Center. Today’s game was against New Mexico State.

We ate at Park Tavern, a heartbeat away from the stadium. We took a shuttle bus from the restaurant to the game, but afterward walked back to the parking lot, which was actually faster than the shuttle. When I first started going to Bull’s games at the Chicago Stadium, when the team was in its infancy, we parked on the street and payed neighborhood kids to guard our car. Times have changed.

We had great seats near midcourt and the arena, although disappointingly only half full, was a sea of orange, with one major exception. The friend who accompanied me, who didn’t attend Illinois but is a loyal fan because her daughter did, wore a white University of Illinois shirt. Let me repeat that – WHITE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS SHIRT. Who even knew they made such a thing. She was sufficiently embarrassed by her faux pas, so I have omitted her name. Whoever thought that I would be a member of the fashion police?

At halftime we struck up a conversation with two men sitting next to us, one of whom, it turned out, worked where I did in the early 1990s. Another small world story.

The game was not particularly well played. Illinois fell far behind early, but made a valiant comeback, only to lose because of a pathetic inability to inbound the ball twice in the last minute of play, both occasions resulting in a steal and points for New Mexico State. Nevertheless, I’ll go to next year’s game  But I’ll make sure ahead of time that there’s color coordination. White is not the new orange!

Forty-Two Stories – City Lit Theater – April 17, 2017

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Last year I took a class at the Newberry Library on writing one-act plays. I’ll let you know when I get around to finishing mine. I wrote the first few lines about twenty years ago, around the time I also thought of titles for two books I haven’t written yet. I’ve been busy.

My teacher for the class at Newberry was Doug Post, a local playwright. I went with a date to see a preview of his play, Forty-Two Stories, at the City Lit Theater. The theater is located on the second floor of a church, which is only a problem if the elevator isn’t working and you go with someone in need of a hip replacement, like I did. I would have turned around and gone home if it had been me, but she was a trouper.

The play is a dark comedy about life in a Lake Shore Drive high-rise condo building. I’ve lived in high-rises, but don’t really like them, so I consider my twelve-story building to be a mid-rise, whatever the fire department definition might say to the contrary – something about whether their ladders can reach all the floors.

Doug was sitting right behind us during the show, whispering back and forth with the director. I wanted to eavesdrop but felt compelled to pay more attention to the play itself since a friend of mine, coincidentally, had a major role in it.

A couple days after seeing the show, I happened to run into the head of maintenance in my building and mentioned the play to him. He proceeded to regale me with stories from his days working in high-rises. His stories didn’t have the edginess of Forty-Two Stories, but were just as unbelievable. Maybe I should write a play based on his experiences. I’ll put it in the queue.

Big Red & the Boys – Theater Wit – December 11, 2017

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Meghan Murphy is Big Red. Her website says “If Lucille Ball, Bette Midler, Bonnie Raitt, Rita Hayworth and Etta James had a baby, her name would be Big Red. Now who doesn’t want to see THAT?!” I wanted to.

My friend Karen accompanied me to the Theater Wit to see Big Red and the Boys with the expectation that we would be the only two straight people in the audience. We weren’t. Maybe not even the two oldest. We’re usually either the oldest or the youngest in the crowd. It was, to say the least, an eclectic audience. I turned to Karen when I saw a family enter, one that included a preteen girl, and said “How can they bring a kid to this show?”

The show, Get Your Holiday On, was, as expected, rollicking, bawdy, good fun. Near the end of the show Meghan noticed the young girl in the audience, and, in a moment that seemed to be real, not part of the act, rhetorically said “There were children in the audience?”, before shrugging it off to the delight of the crowd, including the parents.

We both loved the show and may make it yet another holiday tradition (see comment on the Q Brothers), but what really impressed Karen was Meghan’s ability to navigate the show, with all its dance steps, while wearing three-and-a half-inch spiked heels. How is it that women can measure heels from a distance? It’s for insights like this that a partner in crime is invaluable on forays into unchartered territory.

So now we have tickets to see Meghan, along with Danni Smith and Cassie Slater in “We Three: Loud Her. Fast Her. Funny Her.” at Steppenwolf Theater of all places. The title is promising. Stay tuned.

Museum of Science and Industry – Robots – January 3, 2018

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There was no way I was going to miss the special robot exhibit at the museum, even if it meant navigating a sea of children. I love the underground parking at the museum and though, having arrived in the early afternoon, I had to go around and around searching for a space, my downward journey led me to park on the level where the main entrance is – bizarre justice.

The robots were great, although I witnessed one draw a game of tic tac toe with a child when a winning move was there for the taking by the robot.  I’m not sure whether this was good public relations, faulty programming, or misguided mechanical parenting.

I also witnessed the robot blackjack dealer pull a card off the bottom of the deck. Okay, not literally, but all three human players were sitting on 20, when the robot came up with 21. Very suspicious.  Good thing they weren’t playing for money, although there was an extra charge to see the robot exhibit.

There was another station where you could build your own vehicle out of various colored attachable blocks, one type of which included a battery to power the vehicle. I tried in vain to manufacture a mobile unit, even enlisting the help of a young mother whose child’s work far exceeded my pitiful efforts.  She was sympathetic but unable to help, being clueless herself and unable to gain her child’s attention long enough to explain the process to us.  Tail between my legs, I moved on.

I took in some of the long-time exhibits. One can’t go to the museum without seeing the trains.  And though I didn’t intentionally go to see the submarine, I found myself, for a few minutes, wandering aimlessly through World War 2, unable to find my way out, as if trapped in a Kurt Vonnegut story.

I eventually prevailed, and, on my way out, saw the sign for the Pixar exhibit coming in May. I’ll be back!