Performance

Chicago Magic Lounge – Al James – August 22, 2018

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Going to see a magician perform is sort of like going to the polls on election day. Both involve misdirection, but politicians don’t put out a tip jar. They get your money by other means.

The Chicago Magic Lounge, which opened about six months ago, is in a converted 1940s-era, commercial laundry building. The first trick you encounter is the lack of an obvious interior door once you’ve entered from the street. A guy who walked in the same time I did wanted to call for help, but I convinced him to let me figure it out, which wasn’t that tough, because, after all, they want your business.

I just came to sit at the bar and see some close up card tricks, remembering the days when we used to go to Schulien’s for the magician who would go from table to table performing tricks. I’ll go back to the Lounge another time for one of the shows.

Al James, who was working the bar area, promotes himself as the World’s Second Greatest Magician. When asked who’s first, he replies that he says second to avoid arguments.

Before James started his act, I mentioned that I had come from the golf course. That was a mistake, as he decided to tell me, in his deadpan style, a golf joke I’d heard many times before. I restrained myself, however, not wanting to be rude by interrupting him, and so suffered through the joke. Then I told him one he didn’t know, and that made the bartender laugh. Al should stick to magic.

On the other hand, though his tricks seemed routine, Al’s sleight of hand was pretty good, at least by my standards, though I suspect Penn and Teller would not be fooled. Then the bartender tried to make my credit card disappear, but I left unscathed.

P.S. As has been requested of me, I have added a contact widget at the bottom of the page by which you can send me messages.  Figuring that out was no small trick.

 

Music and Poetry – Rush Hour Concert – July 10, 2018

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I went for the music and suffered through the poetry.

I could have just skipped the program altogether, but the scheduled gypsy music sounded promising, if unpronounceable – Hullámzó Balaton, Op. 33 (Jenő Hubay), Dža more (Sylvie Bodorová), Zigeunerweisen, Op. 20 (Pablo de Sarasate), Hungarian Dance No. 1 in G Minor (Johannes Brahms) (okay I can pronounce that one), and, in fact, was beautiful and extremely well-performed by the Civitas Ensemble.

Someone from the Poetry Foundation recited the poetry between the musical selections. The first poem was short. The second was longer and more complex. The third was much longer and dealt with the horrors of World War II, so, not really fun. I would have preferred it if at least one of them would have started with a line like “There once was a man from Nantucket.”

I took a poetry writing course in college. The best part of the class was the experiment the students conducted on the professor. The professor had a habit of wandering around the classroom as he spoke, which led us, pranksters that we were, to attempt to manipulate his behavior. So we selected a corner of the room as the spot to which we wanted to lead him and proceeded, in a noticeable way, to pay a lot more attention to him when he approached that corner than when he went anywhere else in the room. Eventually we got him to curl up like a ball by the window in the selected corner, seemingly without the slightest recognition of what we had done. So, while I may not have learned to appreciate poetry, my psychology class was fruitful.

Stories From the Beat Lounge – Second City – June 4, 2018

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Judy’s Beat Lounge is the fourth different venue where I’ve seen storytelling. The emcee proclaimed how wonderful it was to see such a good crowd at their inaugural storytelling event (promoted to occur on a Monday once a month), as I looked around and saw about 35 people, including presenters, in a half empty room. There’s a place for her estimating crowd size in Washington DC.

A local comedian, Chris Trani, led off with a few short jokes about himself before launching into a story that left me wondering how good it might have been had he taken the time to work it out. I found an online video of him doing a standup routine that showed more promise.

Then a former professor opened by saying that she forgot to tell the emcee that all her stories are tragic. She must not have taught Shakespeare. Although her story was serious, no one died (which can nevertheless be funny, as exemplified by Chuckles Bites the Dust).

A self-proclaimed comedienne followed by playing two original musical compositions, one on guitar and one on keyboard, about a failed relationship she had. Her lament may or may not have been interesting, as she had a soft voice that made it hard to hear anything she was singing over the music.

The best story of the night wasn’t really a story, as a woman (whom the emcee described as her second mother) read a long list of one liners, musing about her hair, her aging neck, her therapist and her lust for Woody Allen. I think she would be a hit at Louder Than a Mom.

The last storyteller reflected on what he did and didn’t experience in1963, including mentioning that he didn’t see Jack Ruby kill Lee Harvey Oswald in living color. Well, neither did anyone else. The broadcast was in black and white.

Louder Than a Mom (Martyr’s) and Story Lab Chicago (Mrs. Murphy’s and Sons) – April 16 and 18, 2018

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At Martyr’s, as with the last time I was there (see blog of March 19), my friend Terry and I were two of only a handful of men in the audience and again there was only one male story teller (this time Terry). Other than Terry, who is always funny, the highlights were the woman who told about giving herself a Brazilian wax and the woman who told how she cut a cast off her mother’s leg in the bathroom when she was a child. It wasn’t a show for the faint of heart.

Two days later, at Mrs. Murphy’s, it was my turn to tell a story. Nine friends came in support, one just back from a month in New Zealand. She won the hypothetical prize for farthest traveled to see the show.

I was pleased that the audience laughed at my story in all the right places. One never knows when rehearsing to an empty living room at home. I also wasn’t displeased by the compliments I received afterward from imperfect strangers (nobody’s perfect).

As for the other story tellers at Mrs. Murphy’s, one has green hair and told a story about her vaudevillian mother Topsy, which included mention of intercourse on top of a bar immediately following a bar room brawl. You have to love that.

I also took some small measure of satisfaction from the fact that one of the other story tellers adopted two minor suggestions for additional humor I gave him for his story at the prep session (perhaps my life’s dream to be a script joke doctor can still come true).

And, because I couldn’t help myself, I also had suggested at the prep session that someone else not look up at the ceiling so much while telling her story, which advice she took by instead closing her eyes for much of the time she was talking. I think she missed my point. And perhaps I should leave directing to others.

Louder Than a Mom – Martyr’s – March 19, 2018

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I went to see my former storytelling teacher (see my January blog about the class) tell a story, proving beautifully, at least in her case, that those who teach, also can do. Martyr’s is the fourth different venue I have been to for storytelling. Four down, a hundred zillion to go.

The quality of the storytelling was high and the humor was rampant. Not knowing how crowded it would be, my friends and I got there two hours before showtime. No one else showed up for another hour. This allowed us to get the full attention of the waitress and acclimate ourselves to the almost complete lack of lighting in the venue. It’s not a good place to go if you have cataracts. Our smart phone flashlights really came in handy for reading the limited menu.

Next time I’ll eat somewhere else first. They didn’t even have mustard, though at least, unlike the restaurant the night before, they weren’t out of chicken. We all agreed that ketchup on chicken was a nonstarter, although the waitress said she has witnessed it. Perhaps she can get counseling for that trauma.

My former teacher, MT, introduced us to one of the hosts of the event, Kate, who encouraged us to tell a story at a future event. Though one of my friends and I were two of perhaps six men, one of whom was the bartender, at this well-attended event, Kate assured us that we would be welcome additions and that you don’t need to be a mom to participate. In fact, one of the eight speakers that night was a man, though his story was about the birth of his child, so, you know, kind of a mom story. Actually, he gets a pass on that as his story was about how ugly newborns are. (If you need a refresher on the Seinfeld episode, the Hamptons, about a “breathtaking” baby, you can find the script at http://www.seinfeldscripts.com/TheHamptons.htm).