The Intelligence Question
I stood in line behind some young girls. I thought they might have been high school students but I later figured they were UCLA undergrads. I was waiting to get my fingerprints done so the hospital could do a background check on me for when I'd be officially hired as a file clerk.
They were discussing each other's plastic surgery and how, if they were parents, they'd only tell their kids to get some work done if they needed it. I was more bored than grossed out, so I rolled my eyes and leaned against the wall. Two of them weren't even going to get ID badges, they were just there to hang out with their friend.
It was the first step in the process toward getting hired at this job. The next step would be a multi-part physical, because if you work in a hospital, it's best if you don't have Hepititis B (or, presumably, any of the other letters).
It was also the first errand of the day for me. I was going to the Valley to order some more headshots from the duplication house. The problem with doing business anywhere up there is simply that it's far. Luckily, it was open until seven.
Unluckily for me, it was the second day in a row that the bus would be early. I ran to Westwood and Le Conte, but there was a crowd of people. I did that dance one does when they're trying to get by someone and once I did the door had closed. I knocked on it, but the driver didn't care. I panicked and caught the 761 Rapid. It goes to the other side of the Hollywood Hills, and intersects the bus I was supposed to switch to, but I changed my mind. I didn't want to risk getting lost.
So I got off and got on the 305 so I could at least take it until the 2 and the 305 part ways. I got there and saw the bus that left me and attempted to chase it down. It turns out I can't run as fast as a bus, even if it's in traffic.
A few minutes later I got on another 2 and still somehow caught up to the original bus. I saw it down the street, but got off where I was supposed to switch buses.
So I switched and made it to the other side of the hills, but I thought that I lost the scrap of paper I wrote the stop I was supposed get off at. I knew it was Cahuenga and something with a B. So I got off at the first one of those and looked through my wallet. Oh, good, there was the scrap with the bus stop and the address. I only undershot by a few blocks and I only still felt the running for a little while longer.
I ordered what I wanted, and while I was in line, some guy started scatting, "Get Smart?" I asked to myself, really. He acknowledged, saying to the girl with him, "You might be a little young for that one," I lifted my head a bit, "Although, you're even younger, how did you know that? That was in syndicated reruns in like the early 80s."
"Actually, I was watching it on Nick-at-Nite in the early 90s," I replied. "It was my favorite show growing up."
I missed the bus back from where I came, so I walked to the Universal City subway stop realizing I probably should have just taken the subway in the first place.
The next day, on the way to class, I could relax on the bus. I took along The Onion's crossword and Sudoku. Both were excessively hard that week, so I tossed them in the trash on the way to class.
In the second half of class, we had our mid-session evaluations. My teacher in this class does them in front of everyone. In Level 1 the evaluations were two-way, three-way in a way since the students, the teacher, and you all had some feedback. In Level 2, we basically got positive constructive criticism each week, prompted by our thoughts on what we learned that week. Here, it was obviously different, but no less valid.
"Eric," my teacher tapped his pen on his notebook, "do you find that you have some difficulty with the more advanced concepts in this class?"
I pondered the question, "I'm trying to think of some specific examples. You know I feel like in Level 1 I struggled, in Level 2 the teacher said I was one of the most improved students he's ever taught, and here I'm somewhere in between."
"Let me ask you this, how much theatre experience do you have?" I told him of my play in high school, the classes at Emerson, and my stand-up.
He continued, "You're super bright, and when I watch you you're one of the most positive people in class," this shocked me as I'm a neurotic, over-analyzing, paranoid, insecure mess, "In fact, in scenes I wouldn't be surprised if you just started laughing," I hoped this didn't mean I'd be breaking character in the Jimmy Fallon sense of laughing in scenes, "But what I'd like to see you do is take on more characters that are leading men types, I'd like to see you have even more fun, and I'd like to see you take charge in scenes, even if you're a low-status character." As I've said, this is the first class where I wasn't entirely sure I was passing.
I was intrigued, puzzled, and a bit worried about what it all meant. My teacher this level performs immediately after class, but I thought I'd briefly talk to him about the evaluation if he had time. He would often tell stories about how he grew up a social introvert. He mentioned that to this day he's the wallflower at parties. So, I walked up to him after class and told him how much I related to those tales. "You and me both, you and me both." He said as he packed up his stuff.
"I didn't really have a social life to speak of until doing stand-up," I continued.
"That is so courageous." I'm not sure what he meant by that.
I got to what I wanted to ask, "The other thing is I've always had a stereotype in my head of the leading man as a phony and a jerk," I realized the use of the word "phony" probably made me sound like Holden Caulfield or something, but anyway, "Okay, so how then do I play a leading man."
"Take someone you admire, and do them. Hang on, I'll be right back," he was being called by his team, "Sorry, I've got to go. I'd love to talk further some time."
I decided to stay for the show and was surprised by the character he played. I didn't know what the suggestion was but the cast played a high school drama club. My teacher was off in a corner, playing the outcast. Later it is revealed that he has an obsessive knowledge the dance steps necessary, and even has a gun. Upon realizing this, the others laugh at him and suggest that "I have a gun!" is an excellent closing line to their play's finale. At the end of the show, instead of going Columbine on them, he delivers his monologue with fury and puts his improv pistol into his mouth and blows out his sinus cavity. The lights got cut then--perfect timing.
I wondered if our brief conversation sub-consciously influenced him to take his character to its furthest and most dangerous extremes.
But I thought more about the evaluation. It was like so many pieces of constructive criticism before it. It very often started with the advisor telling me how smart I am, and then proceeding to tell me to relax and have fun. Being the type of person obsessed with solving problems that I am, I can't help but over-analyze such problems. I think that whatever makes me smart is also the same thing that impedes me socially and professionally. It's a bitter irony that's also this frustrating puzzle, much like that week's Sudoku.
I also realized that one of my faults that leaves me at an impasse is my capacity to roll my eyes and judge myself and others. I thought about that line I stood in the previous afternoon and regretted my knee-jerk reaction to that discussion that discussed me (emphasis on "jerk").
On the way out, I picked up the brand new Onion and finished the Sudoku on the way home.
Friday, I had another guest host for Friday Night Frankenstein. The shows were pretty good and I went home.
Then was the monthly meeting on Saturday. It was the second half that intrigued me though. The process for interning during the improv festival June 4th through the 9th was intriguing. The lighting interns all went back to the Andy Dick Theater where we all got trained on my job.
That night I filled in for the usual Saturday night guy again and, as in the week before, I chatted with a couple of people before the first show. Apparently, neither team for eight o'clock showed up, so I let the two improvisers play on stage for a little while at eight thirty.
At the end of the night, during the last show, I saw a guy walk into the theatre. "That's not--" I thought to myself. It was. I'd seen Andy Dick in person a couple of months earlier, but this time it didn't hit me right away because in person he looks kind of like a caricature of himself. In the Andy--in his theatre, I sit on a stool next to the audience chairs, and he sat next to me, and he laughed at a lot of stuff. He was quite supportive. After the show, I turned the lights and house music on as he ran up to the balcony to check out the original art. As I was taking out the trash, he patted my back and said, "Thanks for doing the lights." I mumbled that it was no problem, before realizing that I should have thanked him for having a theatre or for being in that Get Smart show from 1995 or NewsRadio that started within weeks of the short-lived sequel.
I got out of there and went home.