Pass the Invisible Red Ball

This past week I traveled to Chicago to do something that many people don’t have the opportunity to do. I went to live a dream; one that I’ve had since Jr. High school, in fact. This may shock many of you (or absolutely none), but I was horribly awkward in Jr High…not like a nerd, or geek, just an athletic twig of a person with braces who wore a ponytail everyday, refused makeup and everything girly. I babysat on the weekends to avoid social outings and spent one Saturday night after the next watching a show that made me laugh and realize that popularity and self actualization (hey Maslow’s hierarchy) was possible even for those of us who weren’t blessed with cheerleader figures, sensibilities and charisma. Saturday Night Live was a ritual for me; an escape from one reality and an entrance into another…the reality that it was possible to be witty and be loved for it. A dream was forming in my mind.

After watching the comic geniuses perform week after week I became intrigued and had to know more about the people behind the sketches. I began researching the performers and found a link between many of them. On the road to the Rockefeller Plaza stage, stars like Chris Farley, Tina Fey, and Gilda Radner had made a life-changing stop at The Second City in Chicago to train in the art of improvisation, sketch comedy, and other sects of the religion of comedy. The Second City has given birth to some of the world’s most notable and beloved comedians and I knew that I simply had to go there.

Fast forward to my sophomore of college. The dream still living inside me, a conversation between my mom and me ensued. It went something like this:

Me - Mom, I’ve been thinking about this a lot and I think I’d like to go to Chicago for a while to train at The Second City.

Mom - What’s that?!

Me - It’s like college, but for comedians…like the people on Saturday Night Live.

Mom - So, it’s not an actual college?

Me - No, it’s more like training and a lot of the people who study there go on to do TV shows and other stuff.

Mom - That sounds interesting honey…but no.

I started the communications program at Bradley the following fall. While I never fully regretted the decision to not pack up all of my things in the cover of darkness, drive to Chicago in the car that my parents had given me and make a phone call later to explain myself, with 300 miles of distance between us, the dream still lingered. The Second City traveling troupe came to Bradley and I of course went. That was as close as I thought I’d ever get.

Fast forward again to earlier this year (2007). I wrote an essay about my dream and my wish was granted by perhaps the most unlikely genie that anyone could think of…my employer. My company has a program that gives employees the opportunity to live a dream by simply submitting an essay about their dream and hoping that it’s chosen. My sister was the first to read the essay and knew that mine would be picked, but I had some doubts…mainly afraid that someone else would have written about their desire to help save babies from wells and end world hunger…I mean, who can argue against that?! Luckily no one did and I was on my way to a circus performers equivalent of clown college. Yippee!

On Monday, July 23rd I made my way to Wells Street (which required paying a taxi to follow to my destination…I got a bit lost and started freaking out). I spent six hours a day for the next five days training/learning the art of improvisation and sketch comedy writing at The Second City, a place that I’d known about, and was finally experiencing. It was incredible. There were about 15 other people taking the classes with me from all across the country. Some were actors, others writers, some both, others neither. But everyone was there to learn from the best and that’s what we did.

You’re likely thinking that my time was spent learning jokes or studying the anatomy of a comedy bit, but it wasn’t. During improv training we spent some of our time in a giant circle playing a game that involved tossing an invisible red ball, throwing an invisible arrow and passing an invisible mouse to one another. Our time was also spent playing a game that involved chanting “Big Booty” to one another, dancing one at a time in the middle of a circle, pretending to be inanimate objects, telling stories through each other and putting together skits without notice. All of our activities were designed to help us connect with one another and enter into a place where we could anticipate what someone else was thinking and react accordingly with little warning. Amazing.

During the writing training I learned the principles of sketch comedy writing and wrote quite a few sketches of my own, working with my fellow trainees (which I struggled with due to my propensity to write alone). At the end of the week, we wrote sketches and then cast our characters. I was flattered to be cast in every other sketch that my classmates had written. I’m no actor, that’s for certain, but they trusted me to play the roles that they had created and that meant a lot. So I went to Second City on Monday as a publicist who was interested in comedy and I ended it by playing Lindsay Lohen, the tooth fairy, Hilary Duff, Gretel, and an anteater. Not many people can say that after returning from a vacation!

Part of me hoped that I’d go to Second City and have a light bulb moment, where the clouds would part and Chris Farley’s ghost would announce that comedy was my reason for being, but it didn’t happen. The experience was amazing, certainly something that I’ll never forget, but it’s not my calling and knowing that is certainly worth the cost of admission (which was incidentally paid by Weber Shandwick…incredible).

On the final day I approached my improv teacher to thank him for the comedic wisdom that he’d imparted. He replied by telling me that I should audition to train at Second City full time, adding that they’d love to have me. I didn’t hear him say it to anyone else, but I do have selective hearing. Sweet validation was mine! If it was my dream, I left knowing that I could live it…or at least have a fair shot. Since I found that such a career is not my dream, I left with a smile and memories that I’ll pull up from time to time. I also left looking forward to coming back home, going back to work for a company that allowed me to live my dream, and maybe occasionally tossing an invisible red ball to my friends and coworkers.

Dog Eat Dog

I recently became a mom. Well, not a real mom or even a step mom…I became a temporary dog mom. That’s right, I dog sat for four days and I learned a thing or two in the process.

Lola, the medium sized, brown haired mutt whom I was trusted to care for, is a dream. She does nothing. She sleeps all the time. She eats twice a day. She only barks at cats and squirrels. Apart from some mildly annoying following of me around, she was a breeze to care for (although I did arrive home after a great date to find that she’s piddled on her bed, but that was quickly forgiven due to my happy post-date mood).

During my short stint as a dog mom I discovered that there is an underground (or maybe just invisible to non dog owners) club, to which all dog-owning humans are entered into upon purchase/adoption/rescue of their pooch. I got a glimpse into the club by walking the walk (aka strutting around, leash in hand, occasionally giving stern tugs to assert my authority) and doing it in front of the world (aka, my neighborhood park and the streets of downtown).

Neighbors whom I’d never met made introductions, dog walkers gave me an affectionate nod and sometimes a wave, total strangers would ask questions for which I would make up answers. It was like the world gave me a hug and all because I had a canine in my midst.

On Sunday, Lola was returned to her real owner, thus revoking my membership into the underground dog club. To be honest, it was sort of a relief. I’m not sure if you know this, but dogs have to pee quite often and when they go “#2” you have to pick it up and throw it into a trash can with about 10 gallons of it’s counterparts. They also stare at you while you sleep, which is something that I don’t like unless it’s in an adoring fashion and coming from a being with a opposeable thumb. And even then, it can be unsettling.

Nonetheless, it was a good experience and I left it knowing that when it comes to being a mom, I’ll be a much better human mom than dog mom any day of the week. Informing my neighbors that Lola isn’t actually my dog was tough though. It was a harsh reality for one gentleman in particular. I’d never spoke or even seen him before taking Lola for a walk last week. He made small talk then and when I saw him out the other day while taking a solo walk (you know, because I don’t have a dog) he asked where my dog was. I told him that I was dog sitting before and she wasn’t mine. The conversation ended somewhat abruptly and I have a sneaking suspicion that I’ll never see him again.

I was sad for a minute, but when I reached in my pocket and didn’t pull out a plastic bag that was meant to carry around doodie, I smiled again and picked up the pace.

*Edited by Bridget Westhoff