Phit's scramble team finally all met each other over dinner and drinks and rich chocolate tortes this friday night. What kismet! Either we are all jacked into our own group mind already, or the fact that we selected a weekly practice night within 60sec indicates that we have no lives.
Several of us were unclear on what the Scramble is, and had never actually witnessed one. Our director Greg explained that our format will involve multiple ghost-scenes all at once, wherein each player is interacting with an "invisible" scene partner, and frequent split-screen situations with character crossovers. He said that the busy nature of a scramble makes common improv tactics like reincorporating material from previous scenes, or at least doing so purposefully, absolutely impossible. Rather, these things do happen, but when executed correctly they occur so organically that the players cannot claim to be consciously aware of it. Frankly it makes me wonder how I'll know when a scramble is wrapping up. ...Intimidating.
Oh, and this was cool. It turns out Shane and I are friends from back like a thousand years ago when we both had long wavy hair. Not that that's why we hung out or anything, exchanging conditioner tips, comparing hair-dryer diffusers. But, yeah, we used to hang out a whole lot - seriously, he was one of the coolest people I'd ever met. And all that sweet auburn hair. Plus he used to be in Polywumpus with my incubator master, Rick. Connections...
After I reluctantly passed my espresso torte around the booth for the tasting, Nick and Jeff agreed to accompany me on a walk sort of near the Shubin where I was considering an apartment but was unsure of the neighborhood after sundown, and how hard it would be to score meth in a two-block radius. We met a few people setting out on their stoops, shook some hands, caught some smiles from some lay-dayz aw yeah. So, yeah, I'm into this place. And Jeff was very cool to let me keep him from his burgeoning family (well, his wife is what's burgeoning, with eight months of biscuit) and to escort me thru an unfamiliar 'hood at midnight, upon our first meeting. Right on, that's a friend. He'll be first to get a call from me when it's time to move my bureau, bed, desk, sofabed, horizontal filing cabinet, and lathe.
So hello, our group is coming along nicely, and hopefully they'll all be making themselves known around the blog, too.
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So, obviously I should have recognized Mr. Milkshake a lot earlier, like, say, at auditions. But here's my incredibly shameful secret: I find it almost impossible to recognize people if they look different from the way I remember them looking. If you change your hair or throw on a pair of shades, I instantly have no idea who you are. I'm like every person in Metropolis and Gotham City. "Bruce Wayne? Batman? Nope, don't see it..." You know how, like, Nicole Richie puts on sunglasses so she's not recognized? I'm the only person on the planet who is fooled! I would be the lousiest stalkerazzi person. So anyway, shorn of his luxurious locks and Depeche Mode Violator t-shirt, I sadly didn't recognize him. But I'm so happy to have run into him again. He has always been one of the funniest people I've known; of *course* he would be in this awesome-seeming troupe. It was a blast meeting all of you, and I can't wait for rehearsals to start.
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