TGIS[ummer] and the chance to read for fun

comedy classes done till June, work not starting till Tuesday, no homework, no worries.

i went out today after a morning swim and bike ride and bought 65 bucks worth of books in celebration.

one book was Pablo Neruda's Los versos del Capitán - a collection of love poems he wrote while in exile with his lover, Matilde Urrutia.

the sap in me has always wished that i'd be able to write or explain certain feelings through words, or be with someone who can woo me through poetry.

gross, i know.

but the heart wants what it wants.

on top of that, i think i mentioned earlier in this blog that one of the biggest turn-ons for me is a great laugh. i could never explain why, but occasionally i'll come across someone i enjoy making/hearing laugh more than anyone else.

something about the warmth in their laughter that's genuine and reaches out and grabs me and spreads to every part of my body.

Pablo Neruda pretty much summed it up:

TU RISA

Quítame el pan, si quieres,
quítame el aire, pero
no me quites tu risa.

No me quites la rosa,
la lanza que desgranas,
el agua que de pronto
estalla en tu alegría,
la repentina ola
de plata que te nace.

Mi lucha es dura y vuelvo
con los ojos cansados
a veces de haber visto
la tierra que no cambia,
pero al entrar tu risa
sube al cielo buscándome
y abre para mi todas
las puertas de la vida.

Amor mío, en la hora
más oscura desgrana
tu risa, y si de pronto
ves que mi sangre mancha
las piedras de la calle,
ríe, porque tu risa
será para mis manos
como una espada fresca.

Junto al mar en otoño,
tu risa debe alzar
su cascada de espuma,
y en primavera, amor,
quiero tu risa como
la flor que yo esperaba,
la flor azul, la rosa
de mi patria sonora.

Ríete de la noche,
del día, de la luna,
ríete de las calles
torcidas de la isla,
ríete de este torpe
muchacho que te quiere,
pero cuando yo abro
los ojos y los cierro,
cuando mis pasos van,
cuando vuelven mis pasos,
niégame el pan, el aire,
la luz, la primavera,
pero tu risa nunca
porque me moriría.

and in English (although it hardly does the original justice):

YOUR LAUGHTER

Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.

Do not take away the rose,
the lance flower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.

My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.

My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.

Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.

Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.

so cheesy. but so good.

i think i'm in dire need of a little spoon.

just so i can have an outlet for all of this and not post lovey-dovey poetry on my blog.

seriously, though.

still looking for that cucharita.

FML.

are you there Jeebus? it's me, Vickie

Dear Jeebus,

Last night I managed to overcome my fear and overall ignorance of the LA public transportation system and actually make it to the improv workshop I'd recently been asking you about.

As I was desperately praying immediately beforehand, I'm sure you're well aware of just how terrified I was when I discovered that I somehow made it to the theatre (as I was secretly hoping that I'd screwed up again so as to avoid any humiliation or realization of the folly that would be my pursuing comedy).

When I got there, my fear didn't subside much. The first couple of people I met were both middle-aged men, one of whom had background as an actor and stuntman, while the other was big, tall, and made up for his lack of hair with charisma.

They both asked me what my background in improv or theatre was, after informing me that 6 of the 9 people in the workshop were "theatre people," and when I told them that I'd none - not even a bit part as a rock in a school play - they immediately opened up in fatherly ways and recapped what I'd missed in the previous class (which I had missed due to my geographically challengedness).

They told me about the teacher and how energetic and funny she was, about the experience of the other students, about the games they played and how they'd already forged bonds. Even in their attempts to put me at ease, I couldn't help but feel that maybe I was too far behind to catch up.

When the teacher arrived, she immediately knew who I was as, apparently, the same woman who recommended me for the workshop informed her of my mishap and she was therefore expecting me.

She's warm and bubbly, speaking a mile a minute, but never too fast to miss out on your replies.

When we got onto the stage and started warming up, we started playing improv games that involved making weird noises and blurting random things out.

It was fun.

I was still in a very self-conscious state and found it a little difficult to completely open up, but, upon seeing a couple of other students who were battling with the same issue, I felt slightly heartened.

When we did the walking exercise - where the teacher would call out a characteristic, either physical or figurative and we would alter our walk accordingly - and I saw how silly everyone else looked, I felt slightly more comfortable with the idea of looking stupid, myself. I got into it. Maybe a little too into it, but I was starting to have fun.

We kept playing a number of different character-development games, learning how to develop them according to physicality and everything. It was a lot to learn, but, learning it through the vein of comedy, I found, made it easier to swallow.

The first real "game" we played was one called Hitchhiker. The premise of this game is that there are 4 seats set up on stage, like car seats (so 2 rows of 2), and the car starts out with one occupant, the driver, who takes on a specific kind of character original to the performer. Another performer, when they feel the time is right, pretends to hitchhike and the driver pulls over to let them in. The new passenger takes on a completely different character - hopefully one that is close to being the opposite of that of the driver - and the driver, in turn, evolves and adopts the new character. Another hitchhiker of a different character joins and the previous 2 passengers take on the new character and cycle through the seats, so that the driver is now sitting in the backseat behind the driver's seat while the second passenger becomes the driver. And the same goes for the 3rd hitchhiker.

Once sufficient time has passed for the 3rd hitchhiker, the hitchhikers begin to cycle out, with the same character development/adoption going on with whoever was in the shotgun seat.

I was afraid, and figured it'd be best to try to be part of the first group, but every time I tried to stand up, entire groups of 4 would fly to the stage and leave me in the crowd. So I was left with going in the last group.

I was terrified, but decided that the best way to get over it would be to be the original driver.

I didn't know what I was going to do, and a rush that was both exhilarating and terrifying overcame me. So I went with the first thing that came to me, and somehow a character came out.

"UUUUGGGHHHHHH!" I growled, "I HATE driving! GRRRR UGGHHHH"

...and the audience laughed.

...and it felt good.

The first hitchhiker still wasn't taking the initiative to stick out his thumb.

So I kept going with it.

"UGGGHHHH! DRIIIIVIIIING!" and people were still laughing, "FUUUUCK MY LIIIIIIIIIIIFE!"

And, finally, the first hitchhiker stuck out his thumb.

"UUGGGHHH! HITCHHIIIKERS! BAAAAHHHHH! I HATE HITCHHIKERS!!!"

I got more laughs.

And the other student hopped in, taking on a very uptight, OCD insurance salesman role.

And we went with it. It was easy.

I immediately sat up straighter in my chair and stuck my knees together, keeping my hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel.

We talked a bit about the dangers of hitchhiking and driving altogether. We let out uncomfortable laughs. And the second hitchhiker joined, so I took a seat in the back.

This hitchhiker decided to take on a haughty air, and the first hitchhiker and myself took it on immediately.

The people in the front seat started bickering passive aggressively about how slowly the driver was driving.

I would occasionally throw in a random comment to sporadic laughs from the crowd.

And, after a particularly cutting remark, I put my hand up to my laugh and let out a snooty, "Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha," which caused laughing from the audience that was so loud that we had to stop the scene for a moment before we could carry on.

The fourth hitchhiker came in and, very self-consciously, began primping herself in the mirror. After a little bit, we realized she was also a druggie. After asking what was in the box at the front of the car, the driver turned to her and blurted out, "Crayons!" and the rest of us ran with it, pretending that crayons was the nickname for a new drug.

So while the 2 people up front were discussing drugs, the other hitchhiker and myself, in the back, started pretending to shoot up and get crazy making random noises.

When the final hitchhiker got out - after a few more funnier character development scenes - I returned to the original melodramatic character.

"Thank GAAAAAWD!" I growled.

Afterward, according to our teacher, it was like watching an actual scene. She complimented me on my character evolution and the haughty laugh, as well as how well I worked with the first hitchhiker who joined me in the car.

And a fellow student complimented me on my growl.

I was starting to feel pretty good.

Another game we played a little while later - that is, after a few other warm-up and practice games - was called Interview. In this game, 2 seats are set up on stage: the person in the right seat is the interviewer, of a milder character, while the person on the left takes on whatever persona that pertains to whatever topic the teacher shouts out.

Again, I was nervous.

When it was my turn - and, again, I was among the last - the teacher gave me "Vaudeville."

So I did my best jazz hands all the way up to the seat.

The interviewer asked me about what I did, and I started talking in a weird accent with a tone you might hear on a muffled record from the early 1900s, going on about the "rich history" of vaudeville before realizing that I know nothing about vaudeville.

So, at the request of the interviewer, I got up and demonstrated, doing a weird tapdance shuffle, with lots of jazz hands.

The audience was laughing again.

I was feeling even better.

After the game was over, the teacher pointed me out and said that that she almost peed herself from my performance and that she loved how my confidence on stage with doing the most ridiculous dance ever did a good job of giving the audience the confidence to laugh and be a part of the performance.

I got applauded.

I can't help but say that I'd never felt so good about myself.

Numerous games and performances, when class was coming to an end, a few people, my teacher included, asked me what my background in theatre was.

"None," I told them.

"None?!" they replied, "Not even in high school or anything? And you're not studying theatre in college?"

"No..."

The teacher told me I was a natural, and she and another student said that it was crazy seeing "the new kid come in and raise the bar."

I know that all of this might sound like shameless gloating and everything, but when you've gone through nearly 2 decades of your life hopelessly wishing you had the courage and the talent to be one of the people you see on stage in those unbelievable improv or comedy performances, knowing that there was no way you'd ever be able to do something like that, and thinking that you have no idea what you'd otherwise want to do with your life, hearing someone give you that kind of encouragement in something you're really passionate about really means a lot.

Somehow - and I know it might be a bit premature to say something like this - I feel like I've found something I could really be a part of.

I really enjoyed it.

The environment.

The people.

The very nature of the whole thing.

I want to be a part of it.

I may have found my calling.

And I can't wait till next week.

So, needless to say, Jeebus, I think I owe you a lot.

Thank you for letting me have so much fun.

Thank you for letting me be around such warm and open people.

Thank you for helping me be okay with making mistakes.

Thank you for giving me a call.

Vickie