The Bus Diversions

On Sunday, at the grocery store, I picked up a USA Today Sudoku book.  I figured I could use it as something to pass the time while on the bus.

 

The day after Memorial Day, I took the bus home.  Well, not the bus, that one pulled up in front of my stop at UCLA, opened its doors, and the driver shrugged his shoulders.  It was "Not in Service."  Not only was the next bus late, it too was out of service, so I took an alternate route home.  Ah the dilemma with which I am constantly presented: get a car and deal with traffic, gas, and parking, or use public transport and deal with disgruntled drivers, traffic, and being at the whim of said disgruntled drivers.

 

I wished I remembered to bring my Sudoku book.

 

Oh well.  The next day I overheard a song a co-worker was playing on his computer and recognized it as "Run For Your Life," the closing track to the Beatles' Rubber Soul.  It didn't sound like the album version, so I asked him about it.  "Nancy Sinatra," he answered.  He then asked me if I had a DVD drive on my computer at home.  I did, so he said he'd give me a collection of all his Beatles mp3s.

 

I went to class and when the teacher took attendance, he did what he sometimes does and requested, instead of "here," we say our favorite something-or-other.  This week was movie.  I'm alphabetically first, so I started off with "Annie Hall," since that was my favorite movie in college it seemed like a safe answer.

 

I took the notes from the previous week to heart.  I felt like a much stronger improviser this time.  In fact, there was even a scene in which I played something of a quirky romantic comedy lead.  It's not the type of character I've ever created on my own, save for one or two sketches on Erin Judge Presents...--here as a high school freshman nervously asking a friend, and colleague, out on a date.

 

There was another scene where I asked a female character for a raise, expecting her to play my boss.  Instead she played my mom refusing to add money to my allowance, even for the cast I needed (I walked in with a limp).

 

I've noticed in improv there's an strange tendency for female characters to be drawn up as dated stereotypes, often as housewives.  At first I thought this was the male player's doing, but sometimes I'm not so sure.  I've tried little experiments once in a while by attempting to put a female scene partner in a higher position, if not higher status (position, here, meaning title, whereas status would serve as a theatrical term designating who has power in a scene.  Sometimes, someone with the title of boss would actually have a lower status than a mail clerk in a scene because the mail clerk would be wittier, or somehow in more control in the context of that small moment in time).

 

I thought it might be too wordy to say something to that end when I got around to my Harold scenes, so I settled for saying, "Maggie, I got in!"  This served to suggest that "Maggie" was somehow my equal, perhaps a girlfriend or spouse, or even a professional peer.  One of the former seemed to be the implication to my scene partner.  It also implied that one or both of us was going to college.  I made it barber school because it seemed silly enough, but she didn't listen at first and made it some institute of technology.  I then tossed off a line about how I was concentrating on neat, high-tech electric razors.

 

In the second beat I jumped in typing a letter that started, "Dear Maggie, Barber School is great!" (the suggestion for the Harold led to an opening with themes on writing and technology and communication, I think it was "typewriter").  "Maggie" started on stage and quickly turned to leave when I started writing to her.  Our teacher stopped the scene and instructed her that she could stay and that I had made a strong choice to narrate a scene by describing a scene going on behind me through the letter.  When the scene resumed it appeared that it was more of an IM conversation and I used a sound from just before the scene was interrupted to describe my ape roommate.

 

There was no third beat.  I had an idea that I would bring the ape to Maggie for Christmas, but I didn't know who played my roommate since he was behind me.

 

As the week before, I hung out for King Ten, my teacher's show, after class.  This time the team did a more traditional Harold with guest improviser, Jason Sudeikis of Saturday Night Live and 30 Rock.  But even within this Harold there was an interesting twist.  Normally the opening and group games have little story impact on the three interlocked stories in the Harold, but this time, the second game served to resolve one of the threads.  After this game, instead of a third round of scenes, there was a large group scene and closing number to tie together any loose threads from the show.

 

Thursday I, again, had to take the alternate bus, but still got home quickly.  I just got the Beatles DVD and was going to listen to them.

 

Friday I had "Don't Bother Me," a song by George Harrison written as a reaction to the insanity of Beatlemania, soon after they made it big.

 

It was also the day of my physical for work.  A week earlier they asked if I'd be okay whether it was a male or female doctor.  This lead me to believe it was a full physical, it had been a year, it would be fine with me to kill two birds with one stone.  But that's not what it was.  The doctor came in said his name, told me to jump on the bed, shown a light in my eye, put a stethoscope up to my chest and back through my clothing, tested my reflexes and told me I was all set--all in the span of about three minutes.

 

All week I had started doing mail runs at the hospital and decided that since I was wearing my intern shirt underneath my office shirt, I'd take it off and hang it up in the office under my jacket.

 

I forgot it at work, so when I got to IO West, I buttoned up my jacket and hoped that would be dark enough to look like my theatre shirt.  Also, the sudokus were getting harder.

 

The shows that night included a "First time with Cackie" so I enjoyed watching that.

 

For the past few weeks my hair had gotten in my eyes a bit, so I figured it was time for a haircut.  A week earlier, I had asked someone at IO West who they went to and he suggested Floyd's.  Apparently there's a Floyd's on Newbury Street in Boston.

 

It was a place with free Internet access, a pool table, and loud rock music.  I got my hair cut not with scissors, but with a kind of razor (not one my character would have developed, this one was more...analog), one which, at first I thought was a comb until I saw what it was used for.

 

It was the most expensive hair cut I ever had.  I'm not sure it was worth the price, but I liked it well enough.

 

This coming week is IO West's annual Improv Festival, so there's no class, but I may check out some of the shows anyway.  It should prove interesting.

 

Thank you, I'm Eric Cheung.  I'm on MySpace and Live Journal.