Sacrament Meeting Sniper

One of the few podcasts I follow is a locally produced broadcast about LDS people and culture. It is called "The Cultural Hall." I first discovered this podcast a couple of years ago when I learned that my friend and Improvables colleague The Artist Formerly Known as the Anxious White Virgin was a regular contributor.

Each time guests are interviewed on "The Cultural Hall," they are asked, among other things, what their current callings are in their wards/branches and also what their ideal calling would be—even if they had to make up a calling that doesn't currently exist.

Not that I'd ever do anything noteworthy enough to be a guest on "The Cultural Hall," but I think today I figured out what my answer would be to the made-up calling question. I would be a sacrament meeting sniper.

Don't get me wrong; I'm fully aware of the whole "Thou shalt not kill" commandment, and I intend to keep it. I also wouldn't aim (see what I did there?) to maim or injure others in the process of carrying out my calling.

No, I would certainly not be the kind of sniper who would use any kind of deadly force. Instead, I would hide out in some sort of carved-out nook or cranny in the back of the gym and, using a silencer so as not to disrupt the meeting nor to distract others in any way, would carefully shoot tranquilizers only at those people who tend to inordinately monopolize others' attention or time. These tranquilizers would pack enough punch to render my victims unconscious for the remainder of the meeting but otherwise perfectly fine physically and mentally upon reawakening.

Anyone saying the opening or closing prayer and going on for longer than 30 seconds? Tranquilized. Any speaker saying anything like "I know that we're out of time, but I have just three more stories to share"? Shot in the neck, and I'm to blame. Any twitterpated young couple displaying their affection for one another in an inappropriately "laying on of hands" or "gift of tongues" manner? Tranquilized with multiple shots.

I also might go so far as to seek out this couple's car in the parking lot and set it on fire. That's what Orrin Porter Rockwell, the Sacrament Meeting Sniper of his day, would have done.

You know who else would get tranq'd? That one person in the ward—you know who he or she is, because every ward and/or ward choir has one—who thinks he/she needs to sing the hymns far more loudly than everyone else, usually employing what I call loco on vibrato, aka the Captain Caveman form of singing I referred to in another post here back in October.

At any rate, that's what I would do if I could make up a calling that doesn't currently exist. But I'm far too nice of a person to actually go out and do that.

*Do* Be Ridiculous!

Lately, I have finally been "getting with the times" and have slowly been coming into the 21st century. That's right, folks! I have jumped onto the "Downton Abbey" bandwagon and have been watching episodes of everyone's favorite TV show.

Because, you know, you never know when "Downton" will come up in a conversation with the cool kids. And you've gotta be prepared for when that happens.

Okay, so, if you hang out with some of the same people I hang out with, you know that's not really a necessity. At any rate, I have found "Downton Abbey" to be a decent show, as long as it's not featuring storylines involving such silly things as Ouija boards.

In an episode I watched last night, I found a line uttered by Violet Crawley (Maggie Smith), who is basically the comic relief in almost every scene in which she appears, to be particularly insightful. Her granddaughter having been called "ridiculous" by a detractor, she replies, "Life is a game in which the player must appear ridiculous."

I like this comment because I feel that being ridiculous is one of the things I do best---or, at least, it is when I am most comfortable being me.

Appearing ridiculous is certainly an important part of performing improv, something that I have been doing semiprofessionally for the past nine years now. It is not uncommon for me to have a conversation with friends who, according to their reckoning of time, have literally not had one free night to come and see perform in a show during that nine-year period and who have no idea what an improv show is like. Also, these people tend to believe that I have just made up the word improv (which is funny, because improv is all about making up things on the spot!).

"I basically make a nincompoop out of myself on stage," I tell them. To tell the truth, that may very well be the most accurate way to describe an Improvables show. There's really no other way to explain what we do each week.

Indeed, one of the ground rules of comedy is making the ridiculous to seem normal and the normal to seem ridiculous.

Off stage, however, it is also comforting to have family members and good friends with whom I can feel comfortable by being my ridiculous self. In dating, I have found that I have enjoyed myself most when I have found others who can be their silly selves along with me.

At their house, my parents have a collection of home video tapes of my siblings and me acting silly in our younger years. Even though my initial attempts at both acting and filmmaking are a somewhat of a mixed bag as I look back on them today with some degree of embarrassment, there are many good memories associated with those movies, as well.

Don't ask me if you can watch them, though. They're just one accidental arson incident away from being destroyed and lost to the world forever.

Karaoke Nerds Unite

As I discussed in a recent post, I am white and nerdy about a lot of things. One of the things I'm especially nerdy about is karaoke.

I have been hooked on karaoke from the first time I tried it. Years ago at a singles activity, there was a room with a karaoke machine in it, and out of sheer curiosity, I signed up to sing Hanson's immortal hit from 1997, "MMMBop." I began singing the song in a lovely falsetto, designed to match that of lead singer Zac Hanson. By the time the song was over, though, my throat began to get tired from that, so I switched my voice to an octave lower.

Afterward, friend of mine approached me to tell me that it sounded like Hanson going through puberty.

At any rate, I had lately been feeling what my friend the Awkward Mormon Girl calls "The Neediness" (assuming I have correctly understood what "The Neediness" is, AMG) and decided to begin organizing monthly karaoke nights at the Karaoke Café in Murray for myself and my friends as a way of reaching my required karaoke quota. There were seven of us in June and four of us in July. This past Tuesday night, I was joined by only two friends out of the dozens who were invited.

Sure, it's the Law of Diminishing Returns in action, but all you really need is at least one good friend with you in order to enjoy an evening of karaoke, so two is an added bonus. In addition to being a fantastic place to work on such theatrical techniques as performing solo songs in front of crowds and stage presence (all three of us are, after all, members of the Improvables), the Karaoke Café is also a great place to people-watch.

There are the showtunes geeks, usually singing selections from Wicked, Les Misérables, or Disney's many animated films. No fewer than five women ever take the stage together to sing and/or shout "Girls Just Want to Have Fun," "I Will Survive," or "Dancing Queen." There are older couples reliving happy memories from their long-ago days of courtship, and there are young adults, teens, and kids. There are often as many tone-deaf people as there are those who can genuinely sing well, but, truth be told, nobody cares if you can sing well or not. In karaoke, it's a win-win deal, as everyone listening cheers on every singer who takes the stage, which is really what it's all about.

On this particular Tuesday, there was even a group of what I can only surmise were either special-education students or a special-needs Primary, many of whom were brought in in wheelchairs. A handful who sang could barely make coherent sentences, but even so, we clapped to the beat along with them and applauded them wildly when they finished, which I am sure only made them feel good about themselves.

It's certainly 10 times better than watching "American Idol," which is basically a national karaoke contest but with far-less interesting people. Especially that Seacrest guy.

How Nerdy I Am . . .

When the Improvables perform, the show rarely ends when the last improv game is played, the audience goes home, and the theater doors are closed. Quite often, in fact, it is just the beginning.

Such was the case Saturday night when, following another performance at Playbills' Theater in Clearfield, we congregated over at one of our two local greasy spoons and ended up playing a game we called "Wanna Hear How Nerdy I Am?" - something we made up earlier during our warm-ups for the show - for most of the rest of the evening.

"Wanna Hear How Nerdy I Am?" basically works like this: Each person takes a turn telling a story about his/her own nerdiness, first asking the question "Wanna hear how nerdy I am?" The other members of the group reply, "How nerdy are you?" The person then tells a story that answers both questions.

Some of the more interesting stories told included tales of sewing Hobbit costumes, staying up late to read the latest Harry Potter book during the last week in the mission field, the extent to which someone went to meet her favorite rock star, and having the neighbors call the police because someone was loudly singing showtunes at 2:00 in the morning.

As far as covering all of the nerd bases goes, we discussed everything from Star Wars and "Star Trek" to superheroes and "Saved by the Bell" trivia.

Speaking of which, some of my own admissions included:

 -My LDSJEDI license plate, which was the result of an attempt to impress a girl I was dating (and a fellow Star Wars fan). When she saw the plates for the first time, she remarked, "That's a little extreme, isn't it?"

 -Dressing up in my Jedi robes to attend the midnight premiere of Star Wars: Episode II - Attack of the Clones and then being interviewed by a radio DJ about the film on my way out of the theater

 -Taping every episode of "Saved by the Bell" over four VHS tapes

 -Writing plot summaries of "Transformers" episodes in my journal when I was nine and 10 years old

 -Dressing up in my Superman costume day after day when I was a kid

And so forth. There are plenty more stories where those came from.

My concluding thought: It's okay to be nerdy about nerdy things. There's no shame in it . . . unless the thing you're nerdy about is Twilight, of course. After all, the geeks shall inherit the Earth, or so I have been told.

Chances are, there are many others who feel just as nerdy about the same things.

"It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them."
   -Ralph Waldo Emerson

It's about Love . . . and Courage

On Saturday evening, members of the Improvables, myself included, were invited to perform for Common Bonds, a local group sponsored and supported by LDS Family Services in Centerville. Though we are frequently hired to do improv shows away from our home turf, we soon found out that it would be no ordinary performance.

Common Bonds, as it turns out, is a group of mothers who, at one point or another in their lives, gave up a child or children for adoption. On the Saturday before Mothers' Day each year, they meet together as a show of support for one another and the difficult but important choices they have each made: to give these children a better life than they could have ever done at the time the children were placed for adoption.

Many of the mothers were unmarried when they made this difficult decision. A few were married but were in abusive relationships and preferred not to bring children into that sort of environment. There was even one expectant mother several months pregnant, and she planned to place her child for adoption. Each had an amazing story to tell, and it was clear that they were all motivated by a great deal of love, as well as a significant amount of prayer and thought, in their actions.

I gained a great deal of respect for these women as they shared their stories. It was a privilege to perform for them, and my co-actors and I had a great time in doing so.

Afterward, I had the chance to speak with a gentleman who was there as an adviser to the group, and I thanked him for the invitation for us to be there. He reminded me of another important quality that each of these women possesses: courage.

It certainly took courage for them to love their babies enough to let them go so that they could have better lives. It took courage for them to deal with an unplanned and an embarrassing situation and to make the very best of things. It also takes courage for them to meet together now and to stand for a very important cause.

I should also be sure to point out that those mothers who make the very difficult decision to keep and raise their children are no less loving or courageous.

For many of the mothers who were at Saturday's event, fortunately, there is a happy ending. Many of them were there with their fiancés and/or spouses and have gone on to have other children that they've been able to raise. There was also a mother who has adopted three children of her own.

It was one Mothers' Day holiday that I won't soon forget. Happy (belated) Mothers' Day to my own "angel mother" and to all of the great moms out there.

Happy Accidents

It was about eleven years ago when I got bit by the acting bug. I had done some theater in the past, including a handful of plays, and I had even taken an Acting 1010 class as part of my studies at the University of Utah. But I had never really got into the theater until I was cast alongisde my brother Ben in My Fair Lady at Rodgers Memorial Theatre in Centerville.

Being in a musical was an all-new experience for me, and not just because I played four different roles in the show. It quickly became my favorite acting experience up to that point. I relished the opportunity to act, sing, and dance all in the same production for three nights a week, and I made some great friendships in the process.

As the musical was wrapping up, I had fully been bitten by the bug, and I eagerly looked forward to participating in another show. I learned of tryouts for the theater's next production, Brigadoon, and I attended my tryout with great enthusiasm. To my surprise - and, I'm sure, to the surprise of many of those who knew me - I was cast in one of the lead roles.

However, over the course of the next week, a strange kind of pain gradually developed in my chest. A few more weeks passed, and the ache got worse and worse. I learned that I had torn my right pectoral muscle on one of the last nights of performing in My Fair Lady, and, after about a month of rehearsing for my new role in Brigadoon, I was forced to drop out of the musical so that someone else could fill the part.

I was upset, I cursed my rotten luck and the timing of it all, and I was in a great deal of pain, to boot. Fortunately, physical therapy and time helped my body to heal, though I watched the run of my missed musical opportunity come and go with envy and bitterness.

It was at this same time that a friend of mine took a beginning improv skills class and invited me to attend a performance put on by him and the other members of his class. I had seen a little bit of "Whose Line Is It, Anyway?" on TV, but I had never previously been to a live improv show. It was amazing.

I soon learned that this theater was offering Improv-oke - a combination of improv and karaoke - nights, during which attendees could volunteer to come up on stage and perform along with the actors. I went to one of these and was called up to participate in a game of "Da Doo Ron Ron," and somehow I was the last person standing for this game for three weeks in a row.

Once I had been given the opportunity to perform improv myself, I was hooked. I was not great at it at first, and I made several mistakes (I still do), but I kept coming back to it. I took a class with some of my friends and learned the ropes, putting on a few performances with the Village Idiots in Bountiful. A couple of years later, I tried out for and was accepted into ComedySportz in Sugar House and Provo, which gave me the chance to perform in a semiprofessional environment for the first time and to learn from some of the best actors in the state. In 2008, I learned that a Davis County-based troupe was being formed at a familiar location: Rodgers Memorial Theatre.

In the six years since I had had to drop my role in Brigadoon, I had not tried out for anything else with this theater, and, in the back of my mind, memories of my earlier injury and the accompanying fallout still lingered. Nevertheless, I took a chance and returned to my former stage in a different capacity. I found a home with this new troupe, which was named the Improvables, and I have been with them ever since, including a move over to CenterPoint Legacy Theatre in 2011 and an expansion to Playbills' Theater in 2013.

One of my friends recently blogged: When one door closes, another door opens. As far as musical theater and improv goes, that had certainly been the case for me. Through a happy accident, I discovered improv 11 years ago when I had nothing left to lose, and because I took a chance on myself and on it, my life has been the better for it. In fact, I don't think I could ever go back to musical theater - at least not permanently - knowing what I know now and having had the experiences I have had with improv.

This very thought occurred to me just the other night when my Improvables colleagues and I put on a memorable show that included a broken vase (my fault), mouths full of Peeps candy that had three of us nearly tossing our cookies, and water all over the stage and mostly all over me through a game of "Spit Take." And those were just three of our games for the evening's performance.

Why do we do it? you ask? It's hard to explain in a few words, but improv is never the same, and that fact alone keeps me coming back again and again. As the song goes, there's also "no people like showpeople," and my fellow improvisers are among my very best friends today.

Whether or not I excel at what I do is debatable, I suppose, but I try my best at it and give it my all. It's not often for me to toot my own horn, but (honk! honk!) I have been humbled over the years to have had a handful of audience members approach me to say that I was their "favorite" performer. I continue to look forward to each new opportunity to make a nincompoop out of myself in public, and I hope that it is something I can continue to do for years to come.