Man, remember that time I said I was going to start writing regularly again? That sure was hilarious.
It is the nature of MTC to make one’s personal time-stream spontaneously contract. What once were days become hours; that which you called “hours” shrinks to minutes. Eventually you find yourself balled up in some dusty corner of Taube Hall, weeping, a half-chewed page of of Midsummer Night’s Dream dangling from your mouth as you burble incomprehensible phrases like “biddy-biddy-bop!” and “Irish wristwatch, Swiss wristwatch!” over and over to a group of half-horrified, half-fascinated onlookers who are probably your parents. It’s pretty great.
Aside from the epic, omnipresent ball of stress the program has deposited directly into my gut, things are going well. We’ve already had three of our four master-classes, and I’m more or less satisfied with the work I did in each of them. Jamie Torcellini’s improv session was, as last year, pants-shittingly terrifying for me, but also miraculously successful (note to self: gout is always funny). Kim, our acting teacher, told me on Tuesday that she had planned my post-college life out for me, and it is as follows:
Step 1: Cut a hole in a box. Take classes with Bay Area Theater Sports.
Step 2: Get noticed, and subsequently accepted into their company.
Step 3: Start booking corporate training/team-building gigs.
Step 4: PROFIT!
This…is not an entirely crazy plan. All I really lack is the bombastic, out-of-proportion-with-my-actual-skill-level confidence I feel it takes to succeed in something as inherently bananas as improv. I’ll work on that.
And now, gentle readers, I will leave you with a video of me actually not doing terribly in our Karen Morrow song-interpretation master-class last Friday. Please excuse the occasional shitty portions.