Happiness is College in your Rearview Mirror

Went down to Baylor this weekend and got the best and worst of the post-grad return. Undergrads who were freshmen when I left are seniors now, kids wanted to hang and hear what adventures I'm up to in the real world, a girl who was crushing on me three years ago walked into the room and her jaw dropped when she saw me. Those were the ego boosts. The freshmen being seniors shouldn't be in that list, but the backspace button is a form of censorship and censorship is wrong. So the freshmen being seniors made me feel super old. Sitting in on an improv class made me feel depressed. I'd say that was bittersweet. And in the interest of full disclosure, I used the backspace button several times before I nailed down the exact feeling. It was sweet because it was the class where I was first introduced to the magic of the Harold. It was bitter because I don't think my old professor has seen live improv in years and teaches Truth in Comedy like it's a textbook. To her credit, she knows her limitations, and she teaches the subject because she loves it, but there's been zero advancement in the level of teaching. It's almost an academic curiousity or something. This is what improvisation is, or was when Del Close developed his form, and we will reenact it as best we can for an hour and a half twice a week. Yikes. It made me angry and frightened that here were fifteen perfectly functional human beings who were making every effort not to connect with each other on stage. And these are people who hope to make their living on stage. Now, improv isn't for everybody, but any actor who gets onstage only thinking of himself or herself is going to fail, no matter how many laughs they get from the peanut gallery. People who matter will know the truth and see them for what they are and leave them in the dust to wonder why they can't seem to make it. So I'm going to go back there and share what little bit I've learned; I know I don't have it all down myself, but I can at least share the benefit of two years of UCB training to show them that the form can be living and vibrant and selfless and beautiful and an artistic expression of truth and the laughter it brings and not an oportunity to say something clever and be a badass for 30 seconds before giving up on the scene because you were only thinking of yourself. In all, I'm freaking glad to be out of college. That said, I need an improv class like a junkie needs his next fix. I'm jonesing. People still say that right? Jonesing? Probably for the best.