The Longest Adventure: A Lesson in Patience

To make up for yesterday's horrible realization, I decided to fill my day with adventure. I woke up early and did some push-ups ("some" is generous), ate a nutritious meal (this is actually true), and read from the biography of my great-great-great grandfather (less great now that I know the horrible truth). Then I took a nap. Moments after waking up, I received a text from a good friend in peril (of the mortal variety). Her car had died and she asked who could help. Quick as a whip (1400 feet per second), I responded that I would be over soon.

But first I had to figure out how to jump a car.

SPORTZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!!!!(is jumping a battery considered a sport?

It's something I don't understand, so probably)!!!!!!!!

I had never managed to learn or apply this most basic of skills for the adventurer. But, never fear, fellow adventurer, it's really easy to learn. I just looked it up on the internet (did you know you can find these sorts of things on the internet? What a world!)! But the internet terrified me. Apparently there are a lot of ways that a car can explode when you jump a battery.

Needless to say (but I'll say it just the same, needlessly), I was terrified when I arrived at my friend's apartment. She was leaning against the trunk of her car, ready for help, and I knew that, in a matter of minutes, the entire apartment complex might be blazing cinders.

She popped the hood of her car and I, mine. I attached the cables. I turned on the car. And even though I did exactly what Internet said I shouldn't, nothing blew up.

Conclusion: Adventure accomplished! Also, Internet lies.

I was so stoked with the blazing fire of adventure that I stopped at Harbor Freight Tools (which turned out to be having a sale, fellow adventurer! Get down there, fellow adventurer!) on my way home. In the past couple weeks the desire to buy a rock tumbler has infested my mind like a gaggle of college students at a swanky new malt shoppe (is that still a thing?). Along with my Canadian grandfather's biography, I have been reading my grandpa's (true blue, through and through) biography, as written by his children (mostly American patriots, but I can't be sure). It has summoned up in me the desire to follow in his footsteps. Grandpa was a man of integrity, honesty, and pure adventuring spirit. But those seemed like difficult attributes to work toward (except the adventuring spirit, which I possess in triplicate), so I decided instead to just take on his hobby of rock polishing.

Soon I will be tricking my brother into thinking these are candy!

I figured that, by the end of the day, the spirit of old Gramps would have permeated my soul as we bonded over the polished stones rolling out of the tumbler like a cascading waterfall of dead rats.

So precious! Now add a billion more and kill them.

But, as it turns out, old Gramps (that sly, all-American, dyed-in-the-wool, devil!) was going to teach me his most important attribute: Patience. Each of the four steps of rock polishing takes at least five days (according to the guide book, the guide book which this adventurer is tempted to toss out). So I'll be waiting more than three weeks for each load of polished stones. 

I guess Grandpa had a lot of time on his hands? I'm a busy guy (I'm not (really, like, not at all))! But now I've got a good reason to go for evening walks by the stream, picking out smooth stones and just enjoying nature. Also, if the stone is smooth enough, I get to skip the first week-long tumble (BONUS!).

Conclusion: Adventure in progress! Also, Gramps was sly...sly as a cheetah in a turtle shell!

I really wish I had a picture of that to put right here. Instead, I have this for the next time you jump a battery:

Wish me luck, fellow adventurer!

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!