Alright, so I genuinely intend to start this blog up again in earnest, and fill in a healthy amount of what’s happened in the interim, but since this is topical now and the link may go away, here’s an article with a healthy amount of me-content.  Enjoy!

http://www.eyeweekly.com/comedy/article/81489

Good head

Perfect couples and prorogued MPs clash at Bad Dog’s dead-of-winter improv contest, Globehead 2010

BY Sean Davidson   January 20, 2010 10:01

Whether by accident or design, Globehead shows often seem to start out slow before building, after the intermission, to the madness one expects from the month-long improv contest at Bad Dog.

Take last Friday, for instance, when the duo Dylan Goes Electric (Paloma Nunez and Kevin Whalen) faced off against the Robot Hard-Ons, also known as Kevin Matviw and Lindsay Grant. More of an overture than an opening act, really. Enjoyable to a point — but Matviw and Grant were clearly having a hard time with their scenes and seemed to keep getting stuck in the same characters (gruff, guttural and oddly stunned), leaving the Dylans to breeze through bits about foosball and Mexican weddings.

“I’m a big proponent of mild racism in humor,” said Sean Tabares, in character as recurring “celebrity judge” Evil Johnny Carson, upon handing the win to Nunez and Whalen.

Things picked up after the halftime when teams with a bit more personality took the stage. Beaming and giddy, and dressed identically, Dave Pearce and Dan Hershfield were fun to watch as a perfectly e-matched gay couple, while Ashley Comeau, Devon Hyland and Connor Thompson went with the always reliable tactic of ridiculing politicians — playing three MPs (from the Tories, the Greens and the Bloc Quebecois — the three parties with the most inherent comic potential) with time on their hands thanks to the proroguing.

It ended up going to the MPs, due largely to their sudden wrestling bout and a rousing musical number that saw Thompson give voice to a singing chainsaw, though Pearce and Hershfield kicked down the fourth wall when they did an entire scene perched on the lap of a young woman in the audience.

In a more just world a stunt like that would score points. But the tallies aren’t taken at all seriously at Globehead, and Evil Johnny Carson gave Pearce and Hershfield a goose egg for their bone-bending efforts.

Guess they shouldn’t have mouthed off like that about what’s going on with The Tonight Show.

Next week, watch for performers including Ken Hall, Trevor Martin and “Nug” Nahrgang.

***

The Workshop – June 20th, 2009 – 1 of 7

The Workshop – June 20th, 2009 – 2 of 7

The Workshop – June 20th, 2009 – 3 of 7

The Workshop – June 20th, 2009 – 4 of 7

The Workshop – June 20th, 2009 – 5 of 7

The Workshop – June 20th, 2009 – 6 of 7

The Workshop – June 20th, 2009 – 7 of 7

Hey, so this is footage of a show I did called (duh) The Workshop on (double duh) June 20th.  I taped a bunch of my recent shows to post as part of a festival application (hello, boys!), and figured as long as I was putting one on the internet anyway, I might as well draw your collective attention to it.  I ended up picking this show for three reasons: it got written up in Eye Magazine (see below), it was good times, and everyone else in the cast has (I believe) received a Canadian Comedy Award nomination as Best Improviser (big time!)  Not the same as being there, I know, but for those of you who’ve been curious, this is me in action.  Bon appetit.

(SPOILER ALERT: My camera ran out of memory with literally a minute to go in the show.  So if you make it that far, and want to know what happens, they make out.  Improv!)

And, as mentioned, here’s the article in Eye.  Not so much a review, but fun nonetheless, and I’m very tempted to make business cards for myself with the slogan “sweetly pathetic and entirely misguided.”

Here’s the link:

Work, in progress

And here’s the article In case the link goes away (and, because I can’t help myself, with my name spelled correctly.  Grrr!!!):

Work, in progress

BY Sean Davidson June 24, 2009 12:06

Though it previously made its home at the Tim Sims and at Second City proper, Bruce Hunter’s The Workshop has settled, for now at least, at Bad Dog Theatre. His well-regarded weekly experiment in long-form, sort of a skunkworks on stage, sprung from the classes Hunter used to teach while at Second City and is now part of the Saturday lineup at the improv house, running indefinitely into the summer.

“When I was teaching I always found the classes, the material, was way more interesting as soon as you put people up in front of an audience,” says Hunter, over drinks at one of the nearby bars. “They’re either influenced by the audience or the laughter and they go off in different directions.”

“So idea was to take that idea and run it like a workshop — in the sense that I can say ‘Do this’ and ‘Do that,'” borrowing a method from Theatresports founder Keith Johnstone.

“It’s a very basic way of getting people to discover things.”

The show is an exercise in directed improv, with Hunter perched in the front row, pulling the strings of roughly a half dozen performers on the stage — some veterans, some newbs, always different. It’s his job to connect the dots of the story as it unfolds, and to mess with the heads of his cast.

“Oh, it’s mostly messing with them,” he says, smiling. “It’s about a 60/40 split but then of course I try to tell a story.”

“What’s interesting about it is it allow the improvisers to not worry about being funny, or where the show is going to go. They get to play the characters — to be in the moment. The characters become alive and they become a lot more complex.”

Case in point: Dan Hershfield was centre stage for much of the hour-long show last Saturday, playing a sweetly pathetic and entirely misguided documentarian who re-casts his absent wife (Jennifer Goodhue) with a hard-bitten hooker (Workshop regular Aurora Browne). Drew McCreadie and Adam Cawley also popped up as two heavily accented producers. (Ah, Chinese and German. The world of funny voices would be a poorer place without them.)

The filmmaker theme was set by a shout-out from some audience member who’d presumably been to the Worldwide Short Film Festival.

Another presented an unwelcome comedic challenge when, asked what he’d done that day, answered, “I buried my grandfather.” Youch. And yet, Hunter rolled with it, and seemed to work the somber note into the story, which ended very badly for Hershfield’s filmmaker.

“Sometimes you don’t have to do much,” says Hunter. “The ones I like the best are where everything is flowing and I’m just sort of throwing more coal on the fire, watching it slowly burn up the forest.”

END TRANSMISSION

Yeah, so that’s a title I wrote when I realized I’d gone a month without making a blog entry.  Since then, another month and more (nearly two, for a total of three!) has passed.  Admittedly, some of the thrill has gone out of this, since in theory, anyone who wants an update on my life can just pick up a phone.  And, of course, though still unique as a snowflake, my life has lost some of that exotic flavor it had when I began this blog o’ mine.  But a writer writes, and hey, I still find my life interesting, so here’s a condensed (hopefully!) version of what’s happened since last I posted.

Passover!  I may have missed latkes, but home just in time for sweet potato kugel!  For those of you not familiar with Jewish holidays, Passover (or Pesach, if you will) is the holiday where the Jewish respect for tradition is pitted against the Jewish love of eating.  The game is played like this: You have to make it through a certain amount of ceremony before you can start eating.  All through the ceremony (or seder, if you will), you are teased with small amounts of what is technically food but in no means satisfies hunger, e.g. salty parsley, horseradish, matzoh.  As the seder continues, those who just want to eat already start testing the resolve of those who want to pray and discuss with a combination of sarcasm and complaining; this process is encouraged through the ritual drinking of wine.  It ends when the person leading the seder gives up and says “Yeeshlehu”, which I believe is Hebrew for “Uncle!”

Actually, it wasn’t as bad as all that.  I just feel bad seeing my father play Don Quixote year after year, trying to engage the windmills in a discussion of the nature of slavery.  But the crowd this year was actually on the respectful side of our spectrum, and the food was delicious (if unleavened.)  Plus the parable of the Four Sons makes me think this particular issue isn’t specific to us, so there’s some miserable company out there to be sure.

Shortly after that, I began my reintegration into Toronto improv society.  As it turned out, Tom MacKay was having a birthday party, so I managed to see most of everyone all at once (Bad Dog folks, at least).  It was nice, and Ashley was there as well, so there was some good transitional reminiscing thrown in for good measure.  And though it took me a little bit after that to start doing shows again, I was well on the way to being back.

Around this time, I also decided to audition for Second City again.  I thought it was just something that people did, and the only real conversation I’d had about it was with Ian and Alice in Miami, and it was mostly them regretting that they weren’t going to be back in time to do them.  So I signed up for them, and then everyone I mentioned it to looked at me like I was crazy and wondering why I was bothering since they already knew me.  So I somewhat went into the auditions wondering if I’d done the right thing, but my logic (or at least the thing I kept repeating to myself so I wouldn’t feel like an idiot) is that if you want to work for someone, and they’re having auditions, you do the auditions.  And that if you’ve got what they’re looking for, the more they see it, the better.  So that was what I was repeating to myself going in.

The first round went pretty well.  Good laughs, good playing the game, good times.  Sadly, the line I most wanted to deliver came during a two-person scene that I wasn’t in, and it took everything I had to hold it inside.  It took place at a police lineup and the cop character said “I play basketball with the force,” and my mind screamed “Like a Jedi?!?”  I include it here because dammit, someone has to laugh at that line or an angel loses its wings.

Brad, Evan’s roommate, was in the audition with me, and knowing that I’d be all distracted until I’d received the callback call (or enough time had passed to know it wasn’t coming), I tagged along with him while he did some errands, and then we went and drank beers on a patio.  Fun times were had, and it was nice to get to know him a little without Evan.  (Not that they aren’t very funny together, because they are.)  And I was nicely juiced when I got the call, which was a load-off.

As for the callback, I don’t know quite how to feel about it.  It was probably my worst audition ever for Second City, but it seemed to be getting a pretty good response, and everyone seemed to be kind of off, so it’s hard to tell.  For the sketch, I was paired with Kevin Matviw, and I had to play his distant, cold, disapproving father (they’re at a ballgame together, the son’s a big nerd.)  Sandy was our director, and he basically told me that the scene was given to me specifically as a challenge; I was really positive in my improv and tend to have that nervous-cheerful thing going on, so the idea was to see if I could play a scene without a smile.  I don’t know how much I pulled it off (against type is against type), but it seemed to go over well.  The improv sets were pretty off, with a few scenes wiped just as they were starting to get interesting, but again, they seemed off for everybody, and again, though I wasn’t necessarily happy with the scenes as scenes or my character work, they were getting laughs, which I guess counts for something.  Hopefully.

A fun thing at the auditions: I saw old friend Ken Lawson, in from Vancouver, for the callback session after mine.  A not-so-fun thing: that was the only time I saw him.  Phone number exchange snafu.  Stupid technology.  Oh well, I got my hug.

Later that weekend, I got a pretty nice boost when I bumped into Doug Morency before a show and he told me he’d thought I was really funny at the audition.  In secular Toronto comedy terms, this is kind of the equivalent of the clouds parting and a hand reaching down from the heavens and patting you on the back.  So whatever else comes of it, I have that.  The show I saw him before was part of the Bad Dog’s anniversary celebrations, The Super Troupes of Comedy.  In one night, I saw Fast and Dirty, the Alumni Cafe, Falcon Powder, and the Williamson Playboys.  It was mind-blowing.  MIND-BLOWING!  And then the anniversary party, which is always a trip down memory lane.

After this, the world became a blur (a slow blur, but still a blur) of hanging out, watching TV (oh, how I made up for lost time!) and reading books, playing a little basketball (Ballers of Comedy, East!), and shows here and there.  Oh, and a smidge of work.  I will do a separate post talking about books and TV, my little bit of public service.  As for improv, the highlights of May (i.e. the shows I remember) include the A Night at the Improv where we made a Tennessee Williams play and I played Handsome Hal, the diamond mine field hand with the catchphrase “I will not be seduced,”  and a Macro Neato which was a lot of fun and will be remembered by me for doing a scene with the great Lisa Merchant that was largely about masturbation.  You can’t buy memories like that.

Towards the end of the month, the family Hershfield celebrated a milestone as father Larry turned 60.  This was celebrated with a big old barbecue, complete with Kelekis hot dogs shipped in from Winnipeg.  And of course, one of Mother’s giant cakes.  It looked like this:

Lots of guests in attendance, a testament to my father’s, well, je-ne-sais-quoi.  And towards the end, there was a sing-along, with his friend Braz on guitar and cousin Shelly on piano, which made him giddy as a schoolgirl.

Then with the guests gone and the house significantly cleaned, Evan and I presented our gift.  It was a presentation that lasted about three hours.  For our gift, we made a compilation video entitled “Larry Hershfield’s Pantheon of Shitheads: 60 Shithead Scenes for 60 Shithead Years.”  For most of our lives (well, pretty much all), we have been schooled in comedy by movie and television “shitheads” shared with us by our father, and so it made sense to us to collect the greatest and throw them all together.  For the record, he loved it, and I’m quite proud of it.  It’s amazing watching it how much of a tutorial in funny it is and how incredible talent is (Jackie Gleason, Dom Deluise…you can’t NOT laugh!).  And, as Larry pointed out, if he ever goes senile on us, we can just put it on replay and he’ll be happy forever.

And so we enter June.  And with it, a new apartment.  It’s a bachelor, it’s in Forest Hill Village (Spadina, north of St. Clair), and it’ll do.  Nice neighborhood, walking distance to a subway station, and certainly nice to get natural light!  Come up and see me some time.

In terms of improv, there was some excitement with my Harold team, Tonight at Noon, which ended with the team being dissolved.  I’m not entirely privy to all the details, but it seems I returned to a team that was somewhat in disarray, and things didn’t really improve.  And they were shaking things up with the night, so it really did make sense.  Ah well, ’twas fun while it lasted, and while the group will be missed, I must confess to being pretty excited about my new team, Mr. Clean.  Of course, June was Hat Harold month, with most teams being picked out of a hat, so we haven’t performed together as a group yet, but on paper, a very fun and exciting team.  And Jerry Schaefer is coaching, so that’s more goodness as well.

Other improv activities of note include attending the Combustion Festival, which was a veritable Vancouver reunion (always nice) and a chance to see those PROJECTproject folks in action, which I always enjoy but rarely get to do, as their regular night conflicts with my regular night (though I hear they’re moving, so hopefully…), being the special guest “star” in a show with teens being taught by Mr. Ted Hallett (they apparently felt “privileged” to play with me, which, let’s face it, is both sweet and funny), and shows a-plenty.  I also taped quite a few of my shows this month (as I have to put together a bit of a reel for a festival I’m applying to), so expect to see one up shortly.  For those of you who might be interested in that kind of thing.

Going back in time now (whoa!), there was an event I took part in that I thought would make a good closing to a long overdue post: The World’s Biggest Guitar Jam.  Alas, it turned into (at best) The World’s Second-Biggest Guitar Jam.  But hey, it was a good time, I got out a good crowd (Dan, Mark, Kirk, Joanna…and indirectly, Brian Chambers), it taught me Neil Young’s “Helpless” (the version we played, at any rate, which sounds right, and is the easiest song I’ve ever learned), and it felt like a happening.  Alas, one thing that kind of sucked (besides missing the record, of course) was that the band that was playing overpowered all the acoustic guitars, which to me, totally defeated the purpose of the exercise.  Even if it had all been white noise, it would have been fun to hear everyone playing at once.  For that song, they really should have just had drums and a singer, just to keep everyone in time.  But what the hell, guitar playing outside, just like a dirty, dirty hippie!

Here’s a link, complete with some pictures of the event:

http://www.luminato.com/2009/events/44

And here are some pictures of my own:

Can you tell which guy doesn’t play guitar?  I can.

All right, so that didn’t work as the big exciting capper I was hoping for, so I decided to wait until the Chief’s wedding.  Alas, I took no pictures, relying on other people to have done that.  Time will tell if I was right.  But here’s a recap:

Friday:

• Arrive at the bus station.  Walk to Molson Residence, where I am staying (“Where nostalgia meets poverty!”)  The walk takes me along St. Denis, up to Prince Arthur, where I cut over to Coloniale, up Coloniale to Pins, down Pins to University, up to BMH.  In so doing, I walk past both my Montreal apartments, and several old haunts.
• After settling in, a quick trip to Mama’s.  Chicken poutine, baby!
• Go to McConnell, watch Game 7 of the Stanley Cup with some fellow lodgers.  Kind of wanted both teams to lose, but it was pretty exciting nonetheless.
• Head over to Thompson House for the party.  Lots of seeing people who haven’t been seen in years.  Mute Apricot rocks out.
• The party over, everyone heads over to BDP (known to those of my vintage as “The Brass.”  We drink until they kick us out.

Saturday:

• Meet up with Rob and Fiona for lunch.  Schwartz’s, but of course.  Health considerations are decidedly on hold for the weekend, though I do order the medium-cut smoked meat sandwich, which is of course less fat than the fat-cut, and if you order the lean, they slap you in the face.
• Walk with them for awhile, then cut back, walking around through campus.  Nostalgia good, aging bad.
• Make myself pretty.
• The wedding proper.  A lovely affair.  Interesting social dilemma: when people perform music as part of a wedding (not a wedding band, but friends and family) and in a church, do you applaud?  No one did, but I know I wanted to, and I suspect I wasn’t alone.
• The reception: good eats, crazy dancing.   “Tubthumping” proves a test of endurance, which I pass but just barely.  These people know how to party.
• Reception is over.  We grab case after case of beer, and head over to Coach’s for an after-party.  We all do fine, but Sam’s Maine and grad-school friends be crazy.  Somehow, when we leave, with the party still going, it’s 4:30 a.m. and the sun is shining bright.

Sunday:

• Wedding brunch.  I get there a little late, but no one’s left yet.  The hard-core partiers show up with five minutes to spare.  More bonding, some goodbyes, quite a few see-ya-laters.  Hugs with the Chief, Wendy, and the whole Sewall clan.  Must make a point to see more of those people.  Must, must, must.
• Go see the Uncalled For show at the Fringe.  Hard venue for comedy (at least on a Sunday afternoon), odd because it’s at the Just for Laughs Theatre (their cabaret space), but I enjoyed, imagine when they play to packed houses in Toronto that it’ll be crazy raucous.
• Wandered around, eventually had a LaFleur’s poutine.  Mmm mmm good.
• Go to buy tickets for Kelly Zemnickis’ play How Does a Drug Deal Become a Decent Third Date?  Bump into her at the Fringe tent area, somewhat ruining the surprise, but actually just having it earlier, I suppose.  Meet her friend Bryce, then the three of us watch the show.  Gold, Jerry, gold.  Drinks with the cast afterwards, am flattered to be vaguely remembered by Paul Constable, a nice end to my last night in Montreal.

Monday:

• Decide to go up the mountain, since I’m so close to it and have the morning to kill.  Forget where the short paths are and end up taking a long time to get there.  Arrive at the cross and no sooner have I reached this summit than it starts to rain.  Am I being punished for this most un-Jewish of pilgrimmages?  Perhaps.  Though I manage to make my way down easier than I made my way up.
• Drag my bags to the bus station, stopping for a bite to eat at Le Commensal (the one on St. Denis.)  Then to the bus station.

I don’t know when I’ll be back in Montreal.  I don’t know when I’ll see some of those people again.   Hopefully soon for both.

And the rest will wait for another post.  Like I said, I intend to write mini-reviews for all the TV I’ve watched and books I’ve read, and I should be posting a show I did recently (complete with magazine article describing it), so for those of you who’ve never seen me perform or never seen me do long-form (or just haven’t lately), it’ll be the next best thing to being there.  Be well.

Oh, and since I like to end with a laugh, and I don’t know what else I’m ever going to do with this, here’s a picture I took of chicken bones in a subway station:

Here’s hoping this post captures the spirit of the last week onboard, because I’ve been home for a few days now, and I’ve got to say that my time on the Jewel has taken on a dreamlike quality really fast.  It seems like an incredibly long time ago.  Strange.

We left off as I was about to head out to a birthday dinner.  I’d chosen Japanese, the basic idea being that it’s hard to get that oh-so-stuffed feeling eating Japanese food.  That theory was dramatically disproved.  It didn’t help that you ordered by the roll rather than the piece, and I think I was working on the assumption that a roll would be about three pieces and it turned out to be six.  Nevertheless, good times were had celebrating the symbolic escape from my mother, Megan gave me a nicely nerdy card (Admiral Nelson, hoorah!), and I pretended to be happy as I got cake.  (The thought was nice, but as we’d discovered from Nate’s earlier festivities, the birthday cake onboard is ass.)  I’m pretty sure I pulled it off.

Acting!

Then the improv jam, which was short but fun, and we finally got Wendi out, which was key.  Then off to bed at an age-appropriate time, as there were doings planned for Miami.

Yes, after weeks of threatening and poor communication, I successfully coordinated a trip down to South Beach with Ian and Alice.  (Megan and Serpe joined us for the ride down, and there were plans to meet up with Megan later after Serpe had left for the airport, but that never happened.  But hey, this isn’t a story about NOT meeting up with people.)

It was very fun catching up with them and comparing notes.  In the last of my celebrity sightings, Ian and I believe we saw Moby sitting on a patio enjoying breakfast.  It really did look like him.  Of course, around the same time, there was a homeless man with a huge beard making his way down the street in a T-shirt that said ‘DJs for BJs,’ and that was pretty exciting too.

Ian and I sat down to breakfast, while Alice toddled off shopping.  It was noteworthy for two things (besides the excellent company, of course).  First, guacamole and eggs, together at last!  Second, I ordered the large orange juice, thinking that by ‘large,’ they meant ‘not small.’

And no, that’s not a trick of perspective.  It was bigger than my head.

After that, some nice walking around, seeing all the sights and shops.  Highlights included finding a bookstore (a rarity in Miami), having the Hagen-Dasz store equivalent of a Blizzard (how many opportunities will we have in a lifetime?), and Alice uncovering the fashion trend that’s likely to be sweeping all nations any day now.

Alas, our day was somewhat sullied by a torrential downpour which both made it hard to catch a cab and messed up traffic, such that our return to the ship was fairly plagued with anxiety.  But we said our goodbyes en route and then bolted as soon as we arrived, and all ended well.  (For me, at any rate.  I assume they got back on their ship!)

And just like that, we were on our last cruise!  Joining us for the festivities was Mike’s friend John, a nice addition to our merry band of goofballs.  Of course, my first two days were spent somewhat in solitude, as I had packing and organizing to tend to and was enjoying the privileges of having my own room for the first time in ages.  I’m sure I got out some, but as I’m drawing a blank on the details, I will assume it was just standard reverie.

Cozumel went like this.  I had picked the Deluxe Reef Snorkel excursion, because I’d heard (and somewhat experienced) that the snorkeling in Cozumel was great.  Mind you, the Palancar Reef was supposed to be the very best, but since Mike had has friend on, I went for second-best.  (Though Mike’s foot was indeed broken, he wanted to take his friend, and there was the free booze to consider.)  But there was good news when I got to the excursion meeting point: due to weather conditions, they had combined the excursions, so the three of us would be going together.  Sadly, this didn’t happen.  Murphy’s Law reared its ugly head, and Mike didn’t make it off the ship in time.

Here’s what happened:  As he tried to leave, when they swiped his card, it showed that he had an outstanding balance and couldn’t leave the ship.  Now, this was a pain-in-the-ass clerical error that all of Second City had dealt with over the preceding week.  We’d all set up automatic billing with our credit cards, but for whatever reason, they had us on manual.  For most of us, all this had cost us was a night’s drinking, and not even that, since we just bought for each other, and then we sorted it out the next day.  As it was, Mike probably would have been able to sort it out and get off in time, except in a perfect storm of suck, it was also the 31st, i.e. payday.  Thus the Finance office was a madhouse…a madhouse…Long story short, as John and I sailed away, beginning to bond, we saw the hopping of crutches along the pier.  Such is life.

The snorkeling was pretty nice, but what I will remember most is the vomiting.  Yes, after making it through the whole trip without motion sickness or alcohol poisoning, I combined a little of both and tossed chunks.  I didn’t have much to drink, just a beer and a margarita, but admittedly in the morning on an entirely empty stomach.  And while I was fine on the boat, it was actually while snorkeling that I became overcome with nausea.  By either law or policy, we had to wear life vests while in the water, and the waves were tossing me around pretty good.  (I know…”well!”  Poetic licence!)  I managed to make it back onto the boat, but had to take a knee, and just as we were approaching the beach dropoff, so long, beverages!  Ah well, as usual, vomiting took away the pain.  I subsequently fell asleep on a beach chair, luckily to be woken by people I’d met on the boat as it came to pick us up.

That night, one last group dinner at Azura (sadly, sans Ashley, but her, I’ll see more of, knock wood.)  A nice conversation, then assignments to prepare for drinking.  Megan was to fetch lime wedges and packets of salt (tequila!), I was to fetch more lime wedges (you can’t have too many!) and some cranberry juice for Nate, Nate went for beer, and John and Mike were to assemble the beer bong.  Adulthood!

This is what we looked like after a few pops:

And this is what we looked like after a few pops doing an impression of me drinking tequila:

And that’s the reason I could never be an alcoholic.

The more observant among you may notice that I’m in a T-shirt with some drool spots on it.  (The less but somewhat observant will notice that Mike is dressed like a Chippendales dancer.  He does that sometimes.  Otherwise the White Hot Party might end up just being a White Party, and no one wants that!)  The drool is actually beer, and it’s the result of me attempting to do a beer bong for the first time in my life.  Turns out I can’t.  I just ended up drinking a beer somewhat fast.  But points for trying, right?

Socially lubricated, we headed off to the White Hot Party.  Our last.  Assistant Cruise Director Richard called for a Second City vs. Cat’s Pyjamas showdown, and with Mike all on crutches, it was up to me to drop it like it was hot.  By which I mean a lot of Running Man and an occasional dummies’ version of Threading the Needle.  But I’m pretty sure the surprise factor was on our side, so I claim victory.  Eventually, we made our way to Crew Bar, and the night ended up with a party in Grant’s room, where the beer bong made the rounds.  I’m pretty glad I hit it early, because with the amount of sharing, it’s pretty much a foregone conclusion that someone ended up with face herpes.

Grand Cayman saw me take my very last excursion, and honoring proud Hershfield heritage, I went to the Turtle Farm.

Here’s me petting a turtle:

Here’s me holding a turtle:

And here’s something I saw getting off the tender boat that made the twelve-year-old in me giggle:

And if you don’t get it, you’re a healthier person than I, please don’t ask me to explain it.

And I reboarded knowing the next time I got off the ship, I’d be actually getting off the ship.

That night, we had our show.  It was very odd, because while it was our last, we’d also switched around some stuff because of Mike, so there was also new blocking and set changes and a few swapped parts to remember.  There were some fun adlibs (I slipped in an under-my-breath “At least I can walk” into Pictionary that got a nice response) and some slipups (I personally know I messed up Danube pretty badly), but it all ended with a very nice ovation, and with Alan and Carly sitting up front with a “We (Heart) Second City” sign, it ended well.  We all retreated to our rooms, cleaned ourselves up (I washed Mike’s spittle off my hand for one last time…I assume…), and made our way to Bar City for some fancy drinks and to bask in stardom.  Then it was off to a karaoke room with a motley cast, where highlights included Alan and Anthony’s take on Witchy Woman (oh so familiar, oh so hysterical), the Joy to The World and Backstreet’s Back videos (wow!), and the I Want to Dance With Somebody video, better known to our cast as the My Car video, bringing memories flooding back and bringing us pretty much full circle.

Then the sea day, mostly consumed with panic packing.  It wouldn’t have been so bad, but I was in the room with all the abandoned Second City junk from earlier casts, so I ended up having to deal with that.  A lot I threw out, things that seemed like people would want I left behind (like snorkels and a blender) and gave a head’s up to the entertainers staying behind to ransack the room.  I hope that worked out.  Other than that, the day passed fairly uneventfully, except for an encounter with a sailboat full of refugees.  We didn’t end up taking them on, as there was apparently a Coast Guard ship in the environs, but it was pretty exciting.

We then made our way to the last Cirque Bijou.  Going in, I was just expecting it to be one last time.  Little did I know that Massimo and Alesia had chosen that night to unveil all the new tricks and moves we’d seen them practicing.  It was pretty incredible.  Describing them in words wouldn’t do it justice, but let’s just say there was one position where she was the only one with feet on the ground; if you’ve seen them, you can imagine how KABLAMMIE! that is.

Alas, no final “Home Away From Home” for us, as we had to race up to our shows.  First show was a pretty lacklustre crowd, second show was better, and if not the best one to leave on, still pretty good.  And I hosted it, which was fun.  Then off to the Crew Bar, where we all said our goodbyes to everyone else.  Goodbyes on the road are always weird to me, because part of me assumes I’ll see everyone again eventually.  Or at least the people you’re supposed to.  So no big tears, but some nice hugs, and there’s always Facebook.

Then, after a few hours of pretending to sleep, it was disembarking time.  The procedure was actually fairly painless except for the brutal hour, and then it was goodbye to the cast.  Bigger hugs, slightly more wistfulness, but still, goodbyes on the road.  That said, they (we) were a great cast to work with, and I will miss things about all of them: Ashley’s infectious enthusiasm, Mike’s endearing protectiveness, Megan’s ability to surprise and entertain, Nate’s kindredness, and Rodney’s uniqueness (we’re all beautiful snowflakes, sure, but unless you’ve met Rodney, you haven’t met Rodney.)  Godspeed all.

Well, technically, I then split a cab with Mike to the airport, but we were both zombies (figurative zombies, Mike would kill me if I was a real zombie, and he gave me the book to prove it).  And we got split up when we got there, as he went through security (he’d done advanced check-in, so he wouldn’t have to deal with luggage) and I couldn’t.  Luckily, I bumped into Alina, a JAR heading home after a year (!) onboard, and we were able to kill some time together both in conversation and internetting.

I still had hopes of meeting up with Mike at his gate for a bit, but I had one of those classic airport security nightmares.  Normally, I try my darndest to be Zen about these things, well aware of the Catch-22 that while such a job should be held by someone with high intelligence and good social skills, a person with high intelligence and good social skills wouldn’t want it.  But this was a great one.

So I’m about to walk through to security.  Woman A stops me, sends me to Woman B.  Woman B says she doesn’t know what I’m talking about, sends me to Woman C.  Woman C is dealing with someone in front of me, then leaves through a security door.  Ten minutes pass, and she hasn’t come back.  The guy in front of me is flipping out, and leaves to go back to luggage check, never to be seen again.  I go back to Woman A and say that Woman C has taken off.  She sends me back to Woman B.  Woman B has me test the size of my bag, and it’s literally an inch too big.  I know this because she tells me to take out my laptop and when I do, it fits.  So then she sends me back to Woman C, because I guess I need to show her this.  I do, and she says that if my laptop is out, it counts as an extra piece of carry-on, and I can’t have that, I’ll need to go check it in, at a cost of $100.  I start to lose it slightly.  Woman B comes over and talks with Woman C for five minutes in Spanish.  Then Woman B looks at me and speaking to me like I’m an idiot says “Sir, you didn’t understand what I was saying.”  I reply “You told me to take my laptop out of my bag.”  She says “Yes.  Just the laptop.”  So apparently the problem was that if the laptop was in its carrying case, it was more carry-on.  If I just carried the actual laptop, it wasn’t.  What I thought but knew enough not to say was “Let me get this straight.  You’re making me carry my laptop in my hand, separate from my bag, to go through security, so that my bag will meet your size restrictions that have nothing to do with security, knowing full well that the second I’m through, the laptop will go back in my bag and thus be the one inch over again for the plane, which is the only reason you have the size restrictions in the first place, even though the whole debate is moot because my bag is only one inch over the limit and that clearly won’t interfere with it fitting in the overhead cabin anyway.”  I believe what I actually said was “Thank you.”  And humming ‘O Canada’ through gritted teeth to keep from primal screaming, I made my way through security and got to my gate about ten minutes before boarding.   And on the flight, I slept the sleep of the righteous.

Then I was home.  One crazy adventure down, several more to go.

Thanks to all who’ve been reading this crazy little blog o’ mine.  After some thought, I think I’ll try to keep it up, but as it may lose a little zip, I’ll understand if I lose a few of you (but who knows, maybe I’ll gain some, as people look for their names?)  I find the writing good practice, and the hope is it’ll force me to keep living an interesting life.  Or at the very least, keep reading good books and watching interesting TV.  That counts, right?

So for the record, I’m currently polishing off the last leg of my triathlon of obsession by reading Friday Night Lights.  So far, pretty great.  A lot of the football results and characters I’m already familiar with from the movie and interviews I’ve heard, but some of the details and the politics are incredible.  For me, literally incredible.  The schools in town didn’t get desegregated until the ’80s!  As for TV, I’ll be in catch-up mode for awhile.  I’m determined to not let it be my whole life, but there’s a lot to see.  I’m currently making popcorn and locking the doors for the following (in alphabetical order):

• 30 Rock (Season 3)
• Battlestar Galactica (Season 4, second half)
• Being Erica (Season 1)
• Damages (Season 2)
• Dollhouse (Season 1)
• Friday Night Lights (Season 3)
• Metalocalypse (Seasons 1 & 2)
• The Office (Season 5)
• United States of Tara (Season 1)

Also, as they air:

• In Treatment (Season 2)
• The Ultimate Fighter (Season…I don’t know, a lot…)

So that’s my life for the next forever.  The good news is I won’t have to watch any bad TV.  The bad news is I may drown in my own drool.  (Plus something’s going to inevitably get ruined for me.  It’s pretty amazing BSG hasn’t been yet, but by the time I get through it, it will have become reasonable for people to assume that all fans would have seen it, so I won’t be able to get upset.  But if you’re reading this, keep your damn mouths shut!)  And of course, I’ve been out of the loop, so if there’s anything new you think I should be watching, let me know.

And that’s about it so far.  Taking it easy in my return to civilization.  Since I’ve been back, besides reuniting with the family and some friends, the big excitement has been finishing third in my March Madness pool, and behind two people so ridiculously good-looking that it’s unrealistic to ever imagine myself finishing ahead of them in anything, so really, I came in first!  How do you like dem apples?!?

Highlights ahead include finding an apartment, finding work, and finding Nemo.  (The last one is a joke, unless Nemo was a gefilte fish, in which case, all three are true.)  Will I succeed?  Stay tuned!

And because this was really intended to be a blog about life at sea, here are some pictures of St. Patty’s Day (I will most likely continue to post more pictures from the Jewel as they drift in, so for those of you who are all into continuity, I apologize.):

p.s. Is it just really late, or is that the best picture ever?

p.p.s.  Or both?

p.p.p.s.  This picture of me with Megan’s diorama is also pretty awesome.

So in all the excitement of writing about Evan’s visit, I forgot to mention that there was a toga party. Maybe because after all the excitement of Toga Keggers I-IV, regular toga parties have a hard time living up. At any rate, it happened, and I once again sported what I believe may be a Hershfield original, the poor man’s toga, in which you put one of your arms through the neckhole. Feel free to try it sometime when you’re laying around the house thinking “Man, I could sure be wearing a toga right now.” Just know that the shirt may not be the same.

So on the five-day, I ventured into Grand Cayman for the first time. It’s fairly crazy that I haven’t yet, but it’s our show day, so I like to be fresh, plus I heard it was kind of dull. And it was. But I did meet up with Mike and Megan at the Daily Grind (a good little place for all your internet needs), and we went for drinks. And now I can say I’ve been there, which is probably more than most of you can say.

Then St. Patty’s Day. Good times were had, green was worn. There was a Crew Party, nominally hosted by Second City, so we were working the bar. I did my shift with Mike, me opening Coronas as fast as I could, him making them green. (Though it must be said that many of them went out ungreened, as the crew is pretty international, and the rule seemed to be if you didn’t know what the holiday was, you wanted your beer normal.) My favorite decoration at the party was a Romanian leprechaun Rodney drew. For some reason, it was a vampire, and so I suggested the name St. Vladdy. It was so dubbed, hung on the wall for all to see, and Dragos (our local Romanian) went crazy for it and took several pictures with it.

Then in Cozumel, a group excursion. Rodney took four of us (no Nate) to La Choza, reputedly the best Mexican food around. This was a very big deal, because it was Rodney’s first time off the ship in about sixty days. I know. Don’t get me started.

At any rate, the food lived up to its advanced billing. The guacamole was holy moley, the tortilla soup was decadent joy, and we had fajitas as a group, which were delish. And Ashley played drums with the wandering mariachi band, which was very charming. The meal done, Rodney raced back to the comfort of the ship (not to leave again until we disembark, by the looks of things.) The rest of us went on to Playa Azur for lazy fun in the sun. All in all, a very nice day.

It was this night that I finalized my March Madness picks for a pool run by Allen Morrison. I essentially went with Obama’s picks, as he’s the decider and all, with a few variations of my own. My big success: for some reason, I had a feeling it would be a bad year for Mormons, and based on this, I went against Obama and successfully predicted two upsets, Texas A&M over Brigham Young and Arizona over Utah. My big failure: I went with Obama and picked Temple to win; Jo goes there and it sounds vaguely Jewish, and while these are positives in the grand scheme, I should have known they would not augur well for basketball success. And of course, I needed Duke to win to stay ahead of Simone Bailly, and they lost, giving her the well-earned right to be insufferable. For that reason, I suggest everyone call them “Douche” for the entire off-season. That’ll learn them.

The sea days were fairly unremarkable. I quite regrettably made what may have been the world’s first too-soon Natasha Richardson joke. Ashley and I have been, as all good Canadians do, yelling out “Canadian!” any time a Canadian celebrity is mentioned. And having only briefly scanned the Globe and Mail webpage over the few days preceding, all I knew was that she’d hurt herself on a bunny slope, so I’d presumed it was one of those typical ridiculous Canadian news stories where we make a huge deal out of anything that happens to a celebrity while within our borders. So anyway, we were at dinner, Nate says “Hey, did you hear about Natasha Richardson?” and I quickly blurt out “Injured in Canada!” Oy! The moral of the story, besides “Don’t be a sardonic asshole,” seems to be “Don’t do topical humour if you don’t know the topic.” Since I’m probably incapable of the former, I’m going to focus on the latter. (Or feel guilty; it comes pretty naturally.)

The other “event” of the sea days is I finally started taking advantage of the spa. After 10 p.m., the spa is open to crew only, so we can go down there and hot tub, sauna, steam, etc., all away from passengers’ prying eyes. On the one hand, I’m kind of an idiot for not having done this all along. On the other, I was somewhat consciously saving it, and I’m glad I did. I can tell it’s the kind of thing I would have tired of, but having saved it, it’s a fun little ritual that I’ll probably do every few days until we leave. I must say, nothing brings the mind into focus like going from the hot tub into the plunge pool (which is a nice cold, not a crazy ice cold.) And I should probably take a shvitz, if only because I like saying “shvitz.”

Then a pretty laid back day in Miami. I did manage to buy a pair of drumsticks, figuring to take advantage of having both a good teacher available in Rodney and regular access to a drum set in the Crew Bar. Thus far, I’ve only actually used the drum set once, but I’ve been puttering around in the room fairly often; my paradiddling is coming along nicely, thank you for asking. I also made a point of downloading a fair number of podcasts to while away the remaining hours: CBC Radio 3 for music (it’s an excellent podcast, enjoy it now before Stephen Harper successfully makes Canadian culture illegal), The Sound of Young America for my pop culture needs (thank you, Kevin Lee), and Stop Podcasting Yourself for the occasional sound of familiar voices. All good stuff thus far. I also procured some Gaelic Storm, who I missed during Ships ‘n Dip but everyone’s been raving about, and they have not disappointed. Check ‘em out, folks!

That night, dinner at Azura, where we were introduced to Serpe, a guest of Megan’s. (She is technically a Megan too, but due to our Megan’s seniority, she gets the last name treatment.) She’s delightful, and it’s been very enjoyable to watch the Megans finish each other’s thoughts the way old friends can.

The first sea day, we got a tour of the engine room. It was hot, it was loud, it was neato! I can’t say I know substantially more about how things work than when I went in (it was pretty loud), but what I did learn was fascinating, and the scale of the operation is impressive. To prove this, here is a picture:

Oh, and those are earplugs, though if you thought my ears were bleeding, you wouldn’t be far off.

The next day was Samana, where I did the Mangrove Exploration by Kayak excursion. It was one of those excursions where you feel like you’re being rushed the whole time, but I do like me some caves and mangroves. Of course, the rum was flowing pretty hard and heavy on the way back, which got the passengers all riled up and interfered with my well-intentioned plan to nod off. Ah well.

Then the shows, and a retreat to Crew Bar, where I suffered the first pangs of premature nostalgia. There’s a lot I’m looking forward to about coming home, but I am going to miss these people and this life. But ‘tis better to have lived and lost…

In Tortola, we once again faced the where-to-take-a-guest dilemma of Virgin Gorda vs. Brewer’s Bay, and once again, we opted for the latter. This time, there was not even an attempt at snorkeling, but the upside was that we had, for my first time this cruise, huge waves! Happy, happy, joy, joy! I don’t know if they were huge to wave-knowing folk, but well over our heads at any rate. I alternated between trying to stand up to them and trying to ride them, and both provided great entertainment. One particularly good wave drove me backwards, planting my shoulders into the sand ridge and flipping my body over, an experience that ended with the most public display of my junk since my bris. But damned if I didn’t keep going back for more.

We then retreated to Pusser’s for lunch, we being Megan, Serpe, Mike, and myself. I can’t say the food was bad, because it was certainly tasty, but Serpe bit into a chunk of wood in one of her conch fritters, and digestion problems from my curried chicken roti forced a fairly hasty retreat to the ship. A somewhat inauspicious end to one of my favorite ports, but oh, those waves!

That night, I ended up having an unintended dinner with JAR Fran, unintended in the sense that we both just happened to be at the Garden Café alone at the same time. It was interesting, because most of the people you meet on ships you only interact with in group settings, and it was fun because she’s young enough that you can actually track her growth as a person from when we first got onboard to now. As previously mentioned, nostalgia has kicked in.

In Antigua, I did a Kayak and Snorkel Adventure. The snorkeling was somewhat underwhelming, but fearing I might not get another chance, I polished off the remaining film on Evan’s underwater camera. (You’ll develop them and you’ll like it, Stinkpot!) And I did get a single kayak, which was fun.

In Barbados, I finally got an excursion that I’ve been signing up for for weeks, the trip to Harrison’s Cave. It was kind of sad to miss my last Boatyard (nostalgia!), but it was pretty spectacular. Here’s a picture:

Notes on the picture: I actually turned off the red-eye reduction just before this picture was taken, because it was taking too long for pictures of the cave itself, and then someone asked me if I wanted my picture taken. Murphy’s Law. And the drops all over my shirt that look like stains are actually from water dropping from the roof of the cave. So stop with the judging already. (Although if you were inclined to judge, you might notice that I need new shorts, as, since the weight loss, my shorts often tend to slip below my belt. I smell another shopping spree!)

That night, I discovered that the “four crew maximum can sit together in the Garden Café” rule was apparently being enforced. I mention it only because it’s irritating, especially with me being all nostalgic. Plus the rules don’t apply to Second City (as guest performers), but we count against other people. In other words, if there were four crew members eating together and I was to join them, they could lose their privileges but I wouldn’t. It seems silly to me, but no one’s putting me in charge of anything, and since I have nothing to lose, it’s not really my place to play Rosa Parks. But maybe Norma Rae…we’ll see if I can come up with a catchy protest slogan in time…

In St. Lucia, I did the Horseback Beach Adventure excursion. Somewhat disappointing, but hey, time on a horse! His name was Smoky, and his pace makes me think the name may be because of a pack-a-day habit. In case he finds himself missing me, here’s a picture to show him:

That night, we had our improv shows. They went pretty well: Mike picked me up and spun me around in a dance number for what may have been the last time (more on this later), and in what was generally a strong 1,001 Blanks for me, I found out the hard way that Canadians are apparently the only ones who use the phrase “homo milk.” Live and learn.

The next day, I was teaching the workshop with Nate (me leading, he had the previous one we did together.) I was waiting for him to show up, and he ended up arriving just before it was to start, delayed because Mike had apparently broken his foot (a self-diagnosis that was later confirmed.) He’d been playing soccer up on the sports deck when strong-man JAR Massimo stepped on his foot. It is a major bummer, of course, but Mike is handling it with usual aplomb, and we are waiting for Miami to get him to a hospital and find out exactly what the prognosis is. And on the plus side, if he was Smoky…

The workshop was fun. The new thing I introduced was Animal Characters, which there wasn’t much time for, but as with all the times we give passengers character exercises, there were big laughs, many of the horrified variety. But for my last workshop onboard, a fun one to go out on.

That night, I went out for drinks at Star Bar with Annelise, a JAR from France (ooh la la!) It was very nice, as I enjoy her company greatly, and what better way to ring in a birthday than dressed to the nines with a beautiful lady? That’s right, the big 3-2. I’m still not a big one for birthdays, as it seems to me that celebrating your birth is something best left to emperors and the like, but when on a cruise…Festivities planned for tonight include a group excursion to see Cirque Bijou, a sushi dinner, and a late-night improv jam. And at some point, I will hold my breath until someone peels me a grape.

And now, I leave you with some vaguely racist comments I heard passengers say over the last cruise:

In Samana: (to a guide who really didn’t) “Hey, you look like Barack Obama!”

In Barbados: (in response to a guide talking about the national sports of BARBADOS) “What about your bobsled team?”

In St. Lucia: (to a guide talking about school uniforms being mandatory throughout the country (and to be fair, this one may have been strictly ageist)): “I wish we had that. Maybe then we wouldn’t have the problems we have.”

Vive le difference!< >< ><–>

Before I get into the events of the last two weeks, there are two events I failed to report on around the time they happened, partially for reasons of propriety, partially because they weren’t actually that important. But since I keep reflecting back on them and giggling, I think they bear recounting:

First, there was a security training seminar that has stayed with me. It could have been five seconds long, since the entire lesson was “If you see someone suspicious, call security.” (I suppose technically there were some subsets to this, but lessons like “Don’t try to disarm a bomb on your own” could probably have gone without saying.) Now, I know I tend to be more irreverent than your average bear, but believe me when I tell you that whether it was in spite of or because of the subject matter, it was the most bizarre and hysterical Powerpoint presentation I’ve ever seen. There was the security officer pulling a prop gun on an audience member, there were sound effects between slides alternating between explosions and bullet ricochets (and once, for no apparent reason, a toilet flushing!), and one slide featuring the world’s most infamous bearded baddie spinning the world on his fingers like a Harlem Globetrotter. It was surreal, and it wasn’t until our cast got into the hallway and looked at each other that the laughter exploded and the tears started pouring down our faces. This is the stuff of memory.

Second, I had a great overheard. (Finally, something to say if I’m ever on “Stop Podcasting Yourself”!) A bunch of JARs were talking about how they hate the way they look in photographs, and one of them said “I make a pouty face when I’m being photographed, because when I smile, it makes my nose look wide.” Now, maybe you have to know the person who said it (and know that she’s ridiculously pretty and impossibly skinny), but it makes me laugh every time.

Thank you.

Now, the last two weeks started with a five-day cruise packed to the brim with spring break students. They were loud, they were drunk, and I spent most of the first sea day hiding from them in my room.

Then Grand Cayman, our show day. I was slightly anxious about the shows, because I knew the late one was being taped, and I’ve always had this weirdness about live shows being recorded, or anything being presented in a medium it wasn’t intended for. What can I say? I love neuroses! They’re like hobbies you don’t have to work on! (And actually, this being the third time I thought we were being taped, with one castmate requesting a second taping due to an unsatisfying performance the first time, and the man with the camera getting the wrong show time the second time, I’ve more or less been cured.  Nevertheless…)

This is all background to my being determined to have a good time in Grand Cayman. What happened instead is that I woke up at the crack of dawn only to find out after having gotten dressed and prepared that my excursion had been cancelled due to inclement weather. So I dragged myself back to bed and tossed and turned my way through some catch-up sleep. I puttered around for the rest of the day, and then we had our shows. And for the early show, for whatever reason, the crowd just didn’t seem to be on my side. I actually thought I was having a pretty good show, and I don’t think anyone who wasn’t familiar with how the show usually goes would pick up on anything, but it just didn’t seem like I had them the way I normally do. I was feeling pretty meh.

And then for the late show, with the bigger and younger crowd, I could do no wrong. I couldn’t feel a significant difference in my performance, and maybe there wasn’t one, but for whatever reason, I had them. Comedy: such a bizarre enterprise. And while I still am no fan of watching theatrical performance on film, I’m glad that the DVD I’ll have as a keepsake captured a well-received performance. Maybe something to show my kids when I’m a compromised old office worker, or my grandkids when I’m a crazy, old bigot. (Note: As far as I know, I’m not a bigot at present. But I’m sure most grandparents weren’t in their heyday either, and look what happens! Hmmm…alright, I may be an ageist…)

So after the show, we make our way up to the Spinnaker for the White Hot Party. And no sooner have we walked in then suddenly I’m flanked by a posse of blonde coeds telling me they loved the show and that I was their favorite. Now, throughout my time onboard, the odd passenger here and there has told me this, and it’s always nice. And as a group, we’ve had guest entertainers who’ve spent a lot of time on ships tell us that we’re the best Second City cast they’ve seen, which is even nicer. But to have a bunch of young ladies (did I mention they were blonde?) say that, well, I’d assumed I’d have to learn guitar if I ever wanted that to happen! Good thing I haven’t been wasting my time practicing! So I held court for awhile, in case it never happens again.

It was pleasant and weird. Pleird.

The next day was Cozumel, which was spent quite lowkey. It may have been my last snorkeling from No Name Bar, though, which would be kind of sad. Pretty, pretty fish. And that night, Ashley hosted a goodbye party for techie Luke and YC Milkshake, which ended up being a small, sitting-around-drinking type affair. It will mostly be remembered (at least by me, possibly by Ashley) for my saying “Oh, I’m so sorry I took the conversation about orangutan rape to a dark place!”

There was a context. You don’t need it.

The next night, our improv shows. Vaguely reminiscent of Vancouver, as they were younger, drunker and louder than we’ve been accustomed to. I personally really enjoyed performing for them, as, whatever other limitations they had, their energy was great. I also discovered early on that while they weren’t necessarily as worldly as you might think a college crowd would be, they enjoyed being made fun of for it. For instance, Megan and I were doing commentary for Slo-Mo Commentary, and she said “And there’s Sam Sheepard, not to be confused with Sam Shephard, the playwright,” and in the silent beat that followed, I added “Not by this crowd, no,” expecting to have them turn on me a little (in a good-natured way, of course), but it actually seemed to work.

I also had a very good moment doing Dream. The interviewee was hitting on Mike the whole time he was interviewing her, and she said as part of the interview that she was there because she had a thing for Nate. So at the point of the Dream sequence that she was out for dinner, I entered and said “Hi, I’m Dan. I’m the one in Second City you didn’t want to hit on.” And it killed. Got an applause break, it did.

And that was just the first show.

The second show was even crazier, and the nicest endorsement is that nearly all of the crowd from the first show stuck around for the second show. My personal highlight of the second show was actually setting up a scene. I was getting suggestions for Stage Directions / Blind Line, and no sooner had I sent the three of them out of the room then the crowd started catcalling me and yelling “You’re the sexiest!” Which, of course, I am, but who knew they’d recognize that?!? Then one guy yelled out “You’re bald, ” which gave me the opportunity to pull out an intentionally inane heckler’s retorts, in the proud tradition of Hank Kingsley.  I chose to bastardize Winston Churchill with “Yes, but in the morning, I’ll have hair, but you’ll still be drunk.” Oh, how they cheered!

Another highlight was Bar Pickup with Megan. Sadly, I don’t remember much of what was said, but suffice it to say, it’s a scene I love to do with Megan, and if you’re going to play an innuendo game, this is the crowd you’d want.

And to close out the night, my all-ladies fan club provided me with beers for the evening. Bud Lites, mind you, but actors can’t be choosers.

And that was the five-day. Then the much-anticipated nine-day, because my brother Evan was coming for his visit. For those who don’t know him, HE’S VERY CHARMING! For those who do know him, he’s alright. And though there was a not-insignificant part of me that would have been very happy to have a room to myself for a week, I was glad to have him here.

This is the only picture I took of him, as he was doing most of the photography for his time here, old-school photography, film and everything. So this is the only proof I have that he was here, and it pretty much sums up his first day onboard.

The first night was dinner with the cast at Azura. Some good instant bonding, and either no embarrassing information was exchanged in either direction or I’ve blocked it out. Either way, nothing to report. And that night, he experienced Crew Bar. I don’t remember anything particularly interesting happening, beyond performing a karaoke duet with Stacey from Shore Excursions to Phil Collins’ “Against All Odds.” And drinking to the wee hours.