Thursday, June 28, 2012

The Most Pathetic Adventure, Yet, the Most Triumphant

The She-Beast

Stupid bunk-bed. Guys, it is impossible to describe adequately how much I hate this bunk-bed. To summarize my hatred: It requires assembly. I didn't sign up for this! It isn't even my bunk-bed. But today I had a five hour break between classes and thought that maybe I should get around to it. After all, the last line of my introductory post is, "I seek to build a bunk-bed." So really I should have done this a couple weeks back. But, adventurers, it's important to keep in mind that sometimes adventures get backlogged.

The real struggle of constructing the bunk-bed can be defined by three points:

1. I had to put it together by myself. I might as well just have consigned myself to failure.

2. I had no instructions. There were three different sizes of screws in the bag and NO PICTURES. I should have given up at this point.

3. Honestly, I chose the number three at random before I figured out a third point, so let's just say the third point is, uh...karma? Does that work? It works.

I went into this project, as you can see, with little hope of success. But adventurers tend don't need hope! Just that adventuring spirit and a lack of foresight. So I got out my Lance kit (Lance, I know you're probably a decent guy and I apologize for insulting your person, but you're still a tool), and got to work.

Guys, I have no idea what any of these things are

As it turns out, all I needed was a wrench. But it's never a waste of effort to bring in your Lance kit, fellow adventurers, because I walked a good twenty feet with it from my car to the door. Some babes probably saw me and thought, "That man would make a fine husband and a good provider." Because babes love a man who can wander around with a box, possibly full of tools (Lances). 

Moving on from babe-musing, I began to build the bunk-bed.

Trapped in a cage of my own making! 

 Righty-Tighty: The Mantra of the Adventurer

Somehow, fellow adventurers, I got the thing together enough that it was one solid structure that I could lift off the ground. So I braced myself, did some push-ups (two), ate a Twix (four, unless you count individual bars, then eight), and used my muscles (one, it's in my left calf) to lift the frame onto its feet.

I know, I am a pillar of adventureship, but keep in mind 
that this thing was like twenty pounds. I'll admit it.

After the beast was up, I put together the futon frame for the bottom bunk (A FUTON? I know, it's incredible. But I don't actually have a futon mattress, so...yeah). That was pretty much it, aside from mattresses. Now you all know how to build a bunk-bed, step by step! You're welcome.

 I know, it looks like the mouth of a dragon

Sleeping on a bed is way better than sleeping on a couch, probably (I think). But while sleeping is an important bedtime activity, what can an adventurer do in the daytime?

Sit in front of a window and yell at his neighbors, that's what

After almost two months of sleeping wherever I could find an even surface (in my house, where there are couches), I finally have a bed. Don't take it lightly! It took me a whole twenty minutes of construction. It was awful. 

The lesson here is: Somewhere in your home is an adventure waiting to happen! It may be one that bores other people and makes them think of you as lazy, but it's your adventure!

Also, this whole thing is an analogy about procrastination.

Uh...

Be distracted by this song!


Saturday, June 16, 2012

Teaching Improv, or, The Children are our Future

When I joined an improv troupe last Spring, it was not my understanding that I would have to put forth effort to teach inexperienced improvisers the ropes. Well, fair warning to all, they don't tell you everything when you join an improv troupe.

Logan Out Loud has been doing shows in Logan (hence the name) for over a year and our crowds have grown from a handful ("The little audience that could," we called them, hoping they didn't take it as an insult) to a consistent group of 70-120 during the school year. But when Summer hits, the comedy goblins pack up and head home for the season and everyone takes a suicidal nosedive in numbers.

David Bowie, King of the Comedy Goblins


To overcome that sudden lull in audiences, we decided that maybe it was time to reach it out in other ways than just posting statuses on Facebook on the day of the show, saying, "Logan Out Loud 2-NITE!!! All Bros and Lady-types invited for some hefty LOLZ!!!1! Seriously, please come to the show."

Because, as effective as that post is (try it, just see how many "likes" you get), personal interaction with those interested in improv turns out to be much more vital to the growth of a strong, rabid, fanatically devoted core audience who would kill for you if needs be. Or darn your socks, whatever, they're yours to command.

"Shall I darn another sock for the masters, or shall I kill members of a rival improv troupe? 
Decisions, decisions."


Our way of reaching out was simple: Get a bunch of people to pay us to teach them improv. It's a foolproof plan! Plus, our self-esteem goes up about a thousand points because people trust us with their comedy education. But we also realized that it would be impolite to teach improv with no working knowledge of the manner in which improv is taught (apparently that's rude, I don't get it). So we set about learning from the finest improve teachers in the land ("the land" is the fifty mile radius around us and Ogden, because going further just seemed like a chore).

The next step in the plan was to teach a three-week course for free and invite only a small, elect, willing, text-message answering group of people to participate. But procrastination (the bane of the Adventuring spirit, fellow Adventurers) became rampant among the group, and what was meant to begin in May was pushed back week after week like a mound of rat corpses being swept away by a snow shovel (I only say that because it is probably the clearest metaphor).

Now, imagine a bunch of these, but dead


Finally I couldn't take the laziness (my laziness, mind you) another week and set up the workshop. I went about inviting people to join and figuring out what I would teach in my first course. Saturday rolled around (like a bulldozer, crushing that same pile of dead rats into a fine, hummus-like paste) and I arrived at the Logan Out Loud Theatre to impart some knowledge onto the unsuspecting (but willing, so it's their fault) participants.

The rat metaphor is really starting to infuriate this guy


Adventurers,

I waited for a while.

And, eventually, two people showed up. Two of the nine that we had invited.

And guess what? Screw everybody else, we had a great class.

We focused on creating and sustaining a reality (that sounds much more scientific than it is) within a scene. Two characters have to exist within one another's reality OR THE UNIVERSE ITSELF WILL COLLAPSE (not our universe, the universe of the game, so calm down). So here are the ways that we created that reality:

RULE #1: "Yes, and..."

Whatever your partner gives you, you must accept as existing within this reality, whether it is space aliens, unicorns, or a fair shot for every kid who grew up with no mother, no father, no friends, no prospects, because if he pulls himself up by his bootstraps, that boy can be a star! A star!...From that reality that your partner has created, you must also create. Accept his (or her, anyone can be an Adventurer!) truth and add to it with your own. This not only helps the audience imagine the world of the scene, but it creates the commonalities between scene partners that make the relationships that matter. If I don't care about the relationship, I don't care about the scene.

A perfect example is the movie, Transformers. Sure, we live in a world where alien robots are destroying each other. But the true meat of the movie is the love story between Shia Labeouf and what's-her-name. That's true love, Adventurers.

"I love you...(mumbles her name inaudibly)"


We practice this with a simple game which I refuse to explain to you because I don't give out freebies.

RULE #2: "What? You Think I Give Out Rules Like Taffy at a Parade? Just Be Happy I Gave You One."

Adventurers, this is the moral of this adventure: No matter how much you procrastinate, that first improv class is going to be a huge downer, because only two people show up. But at least you did it. Also, you are me in this scenario.

Adventure Accomplished!


Thursday, June 14, 2012

Moments of Weakness: Rules of the Road

When the City of Logan (I capitalize "City" because I refer to the shadowy government of Logan and not her fair people) put in a roundabout, people were so terrified that the local newspaper had to publish a diagram of how to navigate this exciting feature. Literally, the following (literally):



This was on the front page of the newspaper. Famine in Africa? Forget it! I have a roundabout to worry about! This is an enemy occupation and the enemy is circular!


People were not amused. Apparently change is not something that we deal with well in Logan, Utah, which is where I live in America (AMERica!). But we soldier on, pulling timidly into the roundabout like meerkats (not mere cats, that's entirely different) peeking out from their holes, just knowing that this will be the day the lioness tracks them down, snatches them, and snuggles them to death.

She is clingy, and that is the worst thing.

Tangent fully explored, I return to my point. Traffic is terrifying, and so most people avoid learning about how to participate in it correctly because ignorance is the best defense. The trouble is, this leads to lots and lots of destruction on the road because people don't think much about how their choices will affect the future. DEATH?!?! Probably.

THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU TURN RIGHT AT A "DO NOT TURN RIGHT" SIGN


This morning I almost had the opportunity to participate in, not one, but two car wrecks. The first experience was at a two-way stop, and the second was at a four-way stop. I will tell you about the second one first, because it is boring.

Some chump in a van decided when I was halfway through the intersection that maybe he did have the right of way after all. The end.

Back to the better story at the two-way stop. I approached the intersection on the road with no stop sign (the stop-signless street, if you will) and was fully prepared to keep driving. But a man who had stopped at to my right at the stop sign (which is a sign at which you are meant to stop, I have heard) decided that, as today was probably his birthday, the rules of a two-way stop no longer applied. He pulled through, not seeing me just feet from enacting the dreaded t-bone.

 Delicious, but no...


No! But I respect your music, and, uh, rest in peace?


There! There it is!

But here, fellow adventurers, is my moment of weakness: I didn't honk my horn. I have never honked my horn. 

I come from a legacy of horn-honking, really laying into it too. I grew up going on road trips where my dad always used one hand for steering and the other for honking. I learned beautiful phrases like, "Brain-Dead Bozo-Lip," and, "Geekburger." The sound of our family car horn honking is second only to the sound of a child's cries on my nostalgic sounds list.

And yet I didn't do it. I waited until the driver noticed me, just a couple feet away from his door. He, seeing that there was a problem, decided to fix it by stopping his car in the intersection (the best idea). I waved him on but he seemed stuck in the intersection, paralyzed with the realization that his death was mere feet from him. We stared at each other for a moment, a deep, cold, soul-penetrating stare.
 This is like a...
...negative one-hundred degree stare...

I wish that I could say I was the Charles Bronson of this stare-down, but my look was not one of manly vengeance and overpowering musk. I stared at him as he stared at me, both of us silently agreeing that we would forget this ever happened. He had neglected to look both ways. I had been too terrified of my horn to use it. Something inside both of us died.

He drove on, I drove on, but our souls remained behind to mourn our lack of adventuring spirit. At least, that's what mine did. I think his stayed behind because it didn't realize his body had left THISGUYISANIDIOT!!!!!

But it doesn't make it any better for me.

I have to make up for this.

I have to wrestle a wolf.

Or honk my horn.

Wish me luck, fellow adventurers!


Hearts, Hugs,
Kendall, Adventurer

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Welcome to Camp Adventurous

Fellow Adventurers, welcome to Camp Adventurous!

The following is a list of reasons why I am qualified to be the King Adventurer:

1. I once put out a match on my tongue, and it wasn't even a big deal.

2. I once swam a whole mile without stopping (it was awful).

3. I use Mane n' Tail shampoo and conditioner, which has instructions for both human and animal use.

4. My mom says I can do anything I put my mind to (she never said that, but I hope she would if I asked her to).

5. I created the blog, so I can do whatever I want.

Camp Adventurous is a place where we bask in the glory of all that I accomplish from week to week. It is effectively a journal of my grandeur. For example, this week there's a some-assembly-required bunk bed that has been sitting in my room for a month needing some assembly while I sleep on the nearby couch. I think I'll get to it this week!

Yesterday, as I was doing the dishes (because I'm incredible), I realized something. Water was spraying from the gap between the faucet and the Brita water filter, soaking my shirt with a fine but constant mist, and it occurred to me that everyone I know needed to hear about this.

Like the scent of old canned tuna water, wafting up from the sink into my nostrils, the idea of becoming a full-time Adventurer filled my mind. Like a piece of old food stuck to a plate and impossible to scrub away, that idea clung to my mind. And like the faulty faucet, it now sprays out like a constant fine mist over the pages of the internet.

Wikipedia tells us that an Adventurer is, and I quote, "One that seeks adventure (also, one that attempts to gain wealth and social position by unscrupulous means, but disregard that)." That is my goal. I seek to do those things which are hard to do, which many mortal men are terrified of doing.

I seek to build a bunk bed.