Saturday, June 7, 2014

J.R. EWING AT DCH BUT MINUS THE J.R....

I'm currently posted up at St. Pete's patio here in Deep Ellum, arguably the best Dallas neighborhood and where you'll find me 94% of the time. I'm supposed to be apartment hunting but that requires the discipline and energy of a normal, responsible person. I'd rather be glued to my technology and blogging my narcissistic thoughts like a real millennial instead. So here I am sitting like an unrefined hillbilly, relaxing in the breezy ambience that has a distinctly glorious fried-food aroma, tuning in and out of the 60s/70s classic rock playing at perfect volume level for a sleep-deprived-soon-to-be-testy female; and I'm sporting workout clothes so my plate of french fries and Dr. Pepper next to me is totally okay. And my legit sweat stains appear natural when in reality I'm certain that I just have an undiagnosed-but-unruly thyroid causing me to sweat more than Mama June. Besides I'm totally "checking emails and doing writing that needs to be done" = justification #1 re: my concerning procrastination and laziness in terms of me not having a greatly-needed Dallas abode.

With that being said, if anybody has any sublet, apartment, bedroom, bathroom, couch, loft, house, shack, log cabin, etc. suggestions, temporary openings, etc. for an appropriately-priced rent (nothing fancy wanted) in Deep Ellum, downtown, Addison-ish, Lakewood, Bryan St./Ross Ave., the safe-ish White Rock Lake area, or (maybe) super North Dallas depending on proximity to 75, let me know stat. Ultimately I want to reside in Deep Ellum but we all know that beggars can't be choosers. I dwelled off the San Jacinto/Ross Ave. parish my last year of SMU, loved it, and have felt most at home downtown ever since. The tire-destroying roads always in construction, borderline-nazi meter rent-a-cops/bad parking, and semi-city noise are surprisingly appreciated in my book. (Dallas's "city noise" is weirdly quiet in my opinion).

I prefer a 'hood with a mixture of young, jolly families, Buzzfeed-reading, single 30-somethings, head-to-toe tattooed folks (thosefew hidden ones from drunken nights count, too), confused tourists trying one of the many 5-star-Yelped joints, entertaining but mannered homeless folks, stealthily cruisin' Dallas Po-Po's (sometimes), Cafe Brazil-groupie/Comic Con-attending characters, and/or locals that are funny/weird but not "find me on Craigslist" weird, or that let me pet the dogs they're walking outside of Main St./Commerce St. bars. Yep, too detailed but those are the kind of humans I want to call neighbors. The total opposite of what I want to exercise outside once-a-year near/have to horribly parallel park behind on a daily basis would be the Neiman-Marcus-planogram-memorizing, 6-inch-heel-romping, Ghost Bar-frequenting, anti-Pluckers, Regina George-types that either were a sorority president or secretly dreamed of being one.  .

*Legal Disclaimer so that I''m not b*tch-slapped by an aspiring Dallasite or dudebro with slicked-back banker hair: there are good humans being exceptions to the Urban Dictionary-esque generalization above.

Did any of that make sense? Probably not and for good reason. I haven't slept the past two days and an REM cycle sounds better than Nutella right now, but I've got time sensitive stuff to do, everyone. Like my super important blog that may not be curing cancer or ending world wars but that's essential to my 24-year-old well-being. Somebody's gotta do it, y'all. (Justification #2). And fortunately I'm way past that  yawning/dark eye circles/a 30 min. nap-could-cure-this hump; I'm just gonna continue to consume colossally unhealthy amounts of caffeine for the remainder of this semi-busy weekend.

But... in wrapping up that annoyingly ironic whine just dripping with the judgment factor that only a classy Kung Foo Salon customer would harbor, let's instead embrace my bipolar tendencies, get some positivity in the house (cue the Tony Perkins perk from Heavyweights), and discuss THE ALL-TIME GREATEST FIRST EWING TROUPE IMPROV PRACTICE EVER that went down this morning at the DCH, of course...

Basically, my super new and super fresh Ewing troupe, AKA "the purple team" is the tits. The bee's knees. An improv mafia, if you will. There are three guys and three gals, a Brady Bunch family of six, in case you went to a small-town, public, Texas high school like me and can't count. Luckily for me I've been in a writing class, improv class, showcase, workshop, or open jam sesh with every one of them, so to proudly quote the infamous line from my first blog post that tragically ruffled feathers of a few family members philistines hopefully in therapy now (#praying), "I'm more comfortable stripping down naked in front of my [Ewing troupe] people than family..." Because despite me clicking/loving anyone at the DCH, I've never felt this connected to a sundry clan of improvisers before in my life.


Not sure who embodies Tony Soprano the best of my purple team yet...

I had Maggie Rieth, a super funny/talented/upbeat human for level 1 and I'll never forget being told that, "the ultimate goal of the improviser is to perform with someone who supports endlessly, and intentionally delivers in a way that makes their scene partner look good, via sly tools learned/practiced in fancy improv training (initiations, physicality, heightening, etc., not hammers or nails). And if one can be that gift-giving performer or play with that kind of performer, all is well and the stage is your utopian playground.

Translation for non-improv folks because I failed at paraphrasing that one: be selfless, give gifts, keep yo mind open, and always say yes. (But only on the stage. Don't do this on a date or at work or randomly on the street).

*Side note: I can't remember if it was Maggie who bestowed this wisdom, her TA Colten, or another rando that I'm unable to give recognition to. 

And all five fellow purples succeeded in this today, at least for me, and I was so proud of everyone because not once did I question an instinct or hesitate the slightest to jump out there with any of those playas; 99.99%* of our scene initiations, edits, tap-outs, walk-ons, physical moves, dialogue, etc. magically transpired in this universe, as Sage, my writing class creation would say. Naturally, beautifully, organic-ly... I could go on forever, baby. (*cue grumpy, old. shooting man from Kevin McAlister's fave b/w films in Home Alone*). And I attempted a wider (but not too wide, I didn't get crazy) array of characters/voices than normal, despite always being the lower-energy performer, naturally comfortable with pauses or supportive-but-sarcastic lines with mostly eye-rolling/brow-raising/or I'm-unimpressed-with-my-hands-on-hips moves. And I tend to gravitate towards laid-back stoner, peppy but dumb housewife, and/or cynical b*tch/lover-in-charge characters because that's fun for me, though I'm not any of the aforementioned individuals... underlying spirit animals, perhaps? I'm not sure of the psychology behind this, may not want to know, but I'll do some googling on this and get back to everyone, because I know you're all just dying to understand, too.

*denotes the remaining .01% being error on my part because my troupe bros/hoes were obvi perf. 

But ultimately, the greatest two-hour practice ever that flew by too quickly was buckets horse troughs of fun. Pure, funny fun and. And serious, respectable training things also happened. Like we learned stuff. Thoughts took place. Class/teacher/overall expectations were surpassed. I walked away with Elle Woods confidence and I can't effing wait to perform with my purples live. (I'll save the "buy your tickets to my show!" DCH endorsements for later on). And lastly, Mike Maiella, our hilarious/baller coach that is one of my favorite funny DCH-ers to watch, is currently my new DCH legend/favorite; at least for the time being because we all know I'm obsessed with my DCH profs for the first few weeks, just like any new junior high school semester.

And for an inspiring, motivational finale... 


(Rachel Dratch nails it as I face no fear nowadays when ordering that 10-piece nugget MEAL, dancing like everyone is watching at home when nobody's home and my dog's asleep, or confidently answering formerly-uncomfortable life/job/goal questions from others with a sudden, urgent phone call, thanks to Dallas Comedy House and the beautifully inspiring art of improvisation.)