Comedy

Storytelling Class – Second City

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My search for new activities after retiring led me to try the hottest thing around town, storytelling (the Moth has been around for 20 years but it seems like there has been a noticeable growth spurt in the last few years, at least to me, with numerous locations hosting monthly events).

It was a natural choice for me, as I am an excellent, though infrequent liar, using my skill not to deceive, but to amuse (honest). Hyperbole, sarcasm, and parody, if you will.  As I learned quickly in my storytelling class at Second City in early 2017, however, the stories are supposed to be true. This limitation means that not only do you have to pay attention to what is going on around you, but also that you have to remember it (a young person’s game). As much as that sounded like work, I forged ahead, laboriously dredging up memories thought to be lost in the undefined depths of my mind (unlike legal writing, storytelling thrives on adjectives and adverbs, long underused, but welcome accessories in my vocabulary).

The class was excellent and it returned to me the joy of creating a story and standing in front of an audience, small as it might be, for whatever appreciation I might get, small as it might be. For years I’ve had two relaxation stones, given to me by a friend, one engraved with the word create, and the other with the word laugh. That sums it up for me.

During the run of the class I went to a storytelling event, my first, at Steppenwolf Theater. I found a number of the stories depressing (mine will attempt to be humorous), but seeing experienced storytellers do their thing was useful.

Since then I’ve gone twice to Mrs. Murphy and Sons Irish Bistro to see more stories, including one by a friend with whom I took my class. Inspired by his performance, I’ve signed up to tell one of my own, which probably won’t be until the fall. In the meantime, I’m telling short stories on this blog. Stay tuned.

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.

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.

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.