First off, I did not even get a callback this year, after getting one the year before, after not getting one the first year I auditioned.

And I’m perfectly okay with it. I was very happy with my audition; I thought I did great. I went in wanting to do two things: focus on the first three lines of my scene, and expand my world from there, and make my scene partner look good. I think I did both. I know I did the first one, and my second scene partner, who I did not know, complimented me in ways that made me feel like I accomplished my second goal.

I went in and pleased the most important person I have to please – myself. So I didn’t succeed in an audition. That just means that I have one more thing in common with every person I look up to in comedy.

Last year, I was super-stressed about how my callback went, and it was all because I didn’t perform in a way that I was happy with. Instead I played from a place of nervousness and uncertainty, and that’s not me. I felt like I let myself down, and questioned my talents as an improviser.

This year, I am not letting this setback question my abilities. I’ve heard TOO MANY TIMES, from TOO MANY PEOPLE, including decision makers at UCB, that I am GOOD. VERY GOOD at this. I’m also a member of a team that I am consistently told is a favorite of LOTS of people (Thank You, Robot, if you do not know). And I’m going to ignore all that because TWO scenes didn’t make 4 people laugh as much as I hoped they would?

Let’s break down the actual stats of the first round process at UCB from this year – there were 470 people who were eligible to audition and did. Of those, we know that there will be 64 callbacks. That is a 14% chance of making it to the next round, ASSUMING that you have two good scenes at the RIGHT EXACT TIME on the RIGHT EXACT DAY. You could have an awesome set right before your audition, and then have two crap scenes in the room. That’s the danger and excitement of improv – we don’t know what is going to happen on stage. FURTHERMORE, if you are part of that lucky 14% that advances to the next round of auditioning, there are only going to be, what, 16-20 spots open? And that’s probably being generous most years. You still have to have another GREAT SET at the EXACT RIGHT TIME OF DAY on the EXACT RIGHT DAY. Again, you could be dominating a stage at The Creek, then go to your audition and have a shaky set. We all have good and bad sets; it’s science. But do you understand how much the odds are stacked against EVERYONE that walks in there?

I don’t want to sound like I question the process they have in place, because I don’t. This is the MOST democratic way they could possibly judge talent for Harold night, given how large the community has become.

UCB is a high-profile stage, with a fun community surrounding it. But they created that by venturing out and doing their own thing. It wasn’t always an institution. You can do that too. I know you can because my improv team did it. We started our own show, and MADE ourselves a weekend team. Sure it’s only 2 Fridays a month, but it’s still a great time.

I’m not saying “get over it,” because that’s a little insensitive. Sure, it stings, it’s rejection. But don’t STEW in it. Don’t let yourself think you suck because of this process. Don’t dismiss every compliment you’ve been given by friends and colleagues. You are great! Use that knowledge to push yourself to MAKE THINGS HAPPEN FOR YOU. Go start a team and have some fun doing improv on your own. If you’re on a team, start your own show – THERE HAS NEVER BEEN A BETTER TIME FOR INDEPENDENT IMPROV IN NEW YORK CITY. Treat your show like it’s the best way that performers and audience alike could spend their time, then MAKE THAT TRUE. Try to get it listed in major event publications like Time Out, or The Onion. Scramble to get press. Tape your shows and put them online. Sure, there’s more work involved in doing it on your own, and it’s a tough process, but HONEST TO GOD, that’s only going to make you better at all aspects of showbiz. Plus, a few years from now when you have more important live shows where other people take over the (UGH!) marketing duties, and something should go wrong, you’ll know how to help fix it. Take control of your career.

Don’t be a target. Targets are sedentary; they sit and wait for things to happen to them. Be a weapon. Weapons are active; they move, they seek out what they want, and they attack it.

Be a weapon.

PS – if you go to Harold night after this, PLEASE don’t judge new performers as to whether or not you’re better than them. That’s the first step down the path of bitterness, and you don’t want to be that person. The fact that they’re on a Harold team and you are not has nothing to do with them. Instead, try to be happy that they accomplished a goal that you also hoped to accomplish, because then people are more likely to feel that way when it happens for you. Love breeds love.

My improv group Thank You, Robot is celebrating our 3rd anniversary as a team this week here:

For almost two years now, Thank You, Robot’s sole regular gig has been as hosts of our show Summer Fridays at Under St. Marks Theater. We took the slot over from the dearly departed UCB Harold teams fwänd and Tantrum, and I like to think we’ve done a pretty good job of holding down a prime-time slot at one of the highest profile non-school improv theaters in the city (was that a lot of qualifiers?). Our very first show as a team was on that stage, and in fact, at a fwänd/Tantrum show. We performed a La Ronde, a form where the opening involves a revolving cycle of two quick scenes for each performer as a specific character, then the remainder of the show pushing those characters together into scenes. Both teams did a really great job of making us feel like we BELONGED there. That we were there for the final Tantrum show, in June 2008, which ALSO took place in that slot, was an honor for us.

We like to believe we put on the type of show that doesn’t happen at other indie venues. Of course, none of that would be possible without the help of other people.

Katey Healy-Wurzburg has been our tech person for the entire run of our show. That someone would be as dedicated to a show that doesn’t have much to offer back as she has is a gift that we don’t take lightly. She’s really great at calling shows as well. There have been times where we wanted to get one or two more moves in before the blackout, but I think that just means we’ve been doing OUR job well, because there are shows where her blackouts are mercy killings. She has a sharp eye for what works and what doesn’t work, and where the peak of tying together all our nonsense arrives. Her post-show notes are always great, and she does a tremendous job of keeping us prima donnas out of our heads after particularly bad shows. Summer Fridays wouldn’t be what they are without her.

Heidi and the staff at Under St. Marks have also done a great job of tolerating us and keeping our audiences well-lubricated. That they have been patient with us throughout some behind the scenes messes we’ve created, and still allowed us to have this show, is nothing short of incredible. Heidi, in particular, has come through for us on many occasions, and thankfully has enough screws loose that she’s asked us to work with her on other shows that Horse Trade (the company that owns USM) puts on.

We’ve lost members over the last three years, which always left me in a state of panic, assuming that whichever person leaving was going to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, bringing down the team. That this has never happened is wonderful. Again, thanks to the members of TYR for not letting my madness drag you down. That we’ve been together for three years as a team, with no backing from any theater group, is something I’m damn proud of.

Finally, I just want to say thanks to the other members of the New York improv community. Thanks for making TYR feel like we belong. Thanks for coming out to our shows. Thanks for sticking around afterwards. Thanks for laughing with us when things go well, and thanks for the accurate assessments when things don’t. Thanks for asking us to do shows. Thanks for telling other people about us. Thanks for making the members of this team feel like we have a skill to do something about which we’re all so passionate. Thanks for just being a great goddamn group of people. The difference between the stand-up community and the improv community is STAGGERING, and stand-ups could learn a fucking thing or two about support from you guys. I hope you can all celebrate with us tonight.

My improv group Thank You, Robot is celebrating our 3rd anniversary as a team this week here:

Each day this week I will be talking about a different member of the group, and why I love them as performers. Today: John Robert Wilson.

JR is, in my mind, a wildcard, and I mean that in the best way possible.

JR posing as his character from UCBW. In his head is only one word – “GAMECUBE!”

When people say ‘wildcard’ in improv, they often use it with a negative connotation, and I think that may be because often people who play wildly can’t back it up. The reason their crazy, hilarious idea or character is often found wanting is because that person doesn’t have the skills to keep it focused. Not JR. He creates stuff out of left field, because he initiates first, then lets his mind catch up to what he’s doing. He trusts himself that he can deliver on whatever he’s promised the audience in that first or second line, and he’s right to do so, because he can.

He also is never NOT having fun on stage. He will make himself Swamp Thing in a scene, just because. He revels in the idea that you can create anything in improv as long as you sell it, which is why you will often see him as some type of mad scientist, wizard, mythological monster, or…well, Swamp Thing. It’s infectious and exciting. So often, we get bogged down by all the notes and instruction we’re given and forget that this is supposed to be fun. JR reminds me of that all the time.

Even though he always has fun, JR is also dedicated to working hard at improving. I believe that performing is fun, but it’s much more fun when you’re GOOD AT IT, and I know JR feels the same way. When we practice, he’s usually the first person to volunteer for whatever exercise we’re doing, even if we’ve never seen it before. Even during practices where we all feel like we’re failures as performers, JR is still the first one to bounce back and try again. That also goes a long way towards keeping me out of my own head, which is where I often find myself if I am not sleeping and am still breathing.

The guy is also one of the best straight men I’ve worked with. When he plays straight man, he’s hilariously unflappable. Once in a scene, he was, apropos of little else in the scene, accused of hoarding hobgoblins in his basement. His reaction was, dead faced, “guilty as charged.” He then launched into his sane reasoning for doing so, which made enough sense that I wanted to get a basement and some hobgoblins later.

If I had to sum him up in three words, they’d be: wildcard, fun, dedicated.

If I had to sum him up in three songs, they’d be these (right click to save):
The Rentals – Waiting
Lo-Fidelity Allstars – Cattleprod
Das Racist – Combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell (Wallpaper. RMX)

Visit JR on the web:
www.johnrobertwilson.com

My improv group Thank You, Robot is celebrating our 3rd anniversary as a team this week here:

Each day this week I will be talking about a different member of the group, and why I love them as performers. Today: Jeremy Bent.

I will posit this: the only reason Jeremy Bent hasn’t taken over the world is either because it’s not worth it to him, or he is just that benevolent.

Jeremy (front) rocking “Brandy” by Looking Glass, backed by Ted Leo and the Pharmacists. For reals! He was so good, Ted kicked himself out of the band, and they’re now known as Jeremy Leo and the Pharmacists.

He’s also great at tying our insanity together. Where we’re a bunch of flapping walruses onstage, silently panicking about what we’re doing, he pulls it together with one line. Jeremy sees the logic in whatever is happening, and grounds it in a way that doesn’t take the fun out of what is happening, but instead makes it more relatable, and thus, more interesting.

For as logical as he can play, he also knows how to make a scene explode right out of the gate. His initiations are always clear, dynamic, fun, and exciting. When he steps out and starts a scene with someone else, I find myself cursing the fact that I’m not in that scene, because it looks like so much damn, simple fun. He once started a scene, where someone else came out holding their arm, by revving a chainsaw and saying “that’s why they call me Dr. Chainsaw!” I was squatting in the corner, out of breath from laughter. I know that’s a “you had to be there” moment, but goddamn, I’m glad I’m there any time he performs.

If I had to sum him up in three words, they’d be: brilliant, kinetic, exciting.

If I had to sum him up in three songs, they’d be these (right click to save):
Julian Casablancas – Out of the Blue
Ted Leo – Me And Mia
Talking Heads – Lifetime Piling Up

Visit Jeremy on the web:
goodsongsbadlyrics.tumblr.com

My improv group Thank You, Robot is celebrating our 3rd anniversary as a team this week here:

Each day this week I will be talking about a different member of the group, and why I love them as performers. Today: Seth Lind.

I want you to think of something really strange and funny to say. Something off-the-wall. Got it? It’s still not as clever or creative as whatever Seth will come up with the next time he opens his mouth.

Seth once spent a month doing undercover work in the 1930s as a zoot suit salesman to make his olde-tymey characters more believable.

I get both excited and intimidated to be on stage with him, because I literally never know what’s going to come out of his mouth next. He often starts his characters with some type of physicality, and if his shoulders hunch, or he shifts his body weight down slightly before he opens his mouth, prepare yourself to see and hear something you have never seen or heard before. Seriously, his physicality is awesome. Dude finds ways to make standing still look interesting. He may be my favorite member of the team to sit back and watch from the back line, because I am always surprised, and always laughing when he is performing.

Regardless of how offbeat his characters can be, they’re always honest. He’s versatile, too. He is perfectly capable of playing an incredible straight man, reacting in real and honest ways to whatever bullshit you (meaning ME) might spew out. He isn’t odd for odd’s sake; in fact, there is always a logic to how he is behaving in scenes. That’s what pulls you in, and it’s what makes you want to see more.

If I had to sum him up in three words, they’d be: madgenius (yes, one word), honest, hilarious.

If I had to describe Seth in three songs, they would be these (right click to save):
The Dirtbombs – Chains of Love
Against Me! – Up The Cuts
The Avett Brothers – Kick Drum Heart

My improv group Thank You, Robot is celebrating our 3rd anniversary as a team this week here:

Each day this week I will be talking about a different member of the group, and why I love them as performers. Today: Chris Scott.

I have been very lucky.

For all the bitching and whining I do about my life, I do understand the areas in which I have been actually hit with the luck stick and been allowed to be a part of something special. One of those places has been improv. About 3 and a half years ago I met some of the best performers I’ve ever had the privilege of taking the stage with. To have been lucky enough to be swept up in their madness and allowed to be a member of what became Thank You, Robot was one of the best gifts I’ve ever been given. These guys have been some of my closest friends in comedy. We’ve all pushed each other, and helped each other grow, made each other more confident as performers, and more daring as an ensemble. A lot of people that try to do comedy either go at it alone or fall in with petty people who have NO ONE’s best interests at heart. I’m proud to say that neither has ever been the case with this group, especially not Chris Scott.

Chris, serving up gifts even when he’s NOT on stage.

Chris has an amazing energy on stage, like a spring constantly extending and recoiling. He is capable of creating reserved, thoughtful characters that have the type of insight you THINK you have until you actually try to play like him and realize you don’t. On the flipside, he can also be a bounding ball of energy, screaming and hollering and exploding with emotion. My favorite characters to see him play are pompous assholes that are so confident in their meager skillset that you sit on the edge of your seat waiting for their world to fall apart around them. I believe Will Farrell and Adam McKay call that character type the “mediocre man.”

None of this means anything, though, if it doesn’t make SENSE, and that’s something that Chris makes happen when he steps out. He sees the stage like he’s not on it, knowing what needs to be clarified, and what needs to be blown out. Then, he serves up the simplest moves that not only make the scene make sense to YOU as a performer on stage, but to the audience as well. Kids, if you ever want to perform with someone that will make YOU look like a genius on stage, call Chris.

The only time I’m ever uncomfortable onstage is when I’m performing with people who hesitate, and that is something that Chris has NEVER done. He is balls out, unafraid, and revels in whatever is taking place at the moment. He shares the POV that I do – if you’re gonna do something onstage, SELL IT. This thinking has actually found us making out for reals on stage in more than one show (you’re welcome, ladies). It has also, however, found him doing scenes where he is unafraid to break down emotionally, to actually be a vulnerable character, which most people have trouble doing because you have to make yourself a lot more open than most are comfortable with.

If I had to sum him up in three words, they’d be: fearless, committed, and honest.

If I had to sum him up in three songs, they’d be these ones (right click to save):
Fang Island – Daisy
Alphabeat – Fascination
Los Campesinos – This Is How You Spell “HAHAHA, We Destroyed The Hopes And Dreams Of A Generation Of Faux-Romantics”

Visit Chris on the web:
twangofthevoid.blogspot.com
chrisreblogs.tumblr.com
obamarama.tumblr.com

Earlier this month, I passed the 6 year mark of chasing comedy as a career goal. Two weeks after graduating from college in 2003, after doing stand-up about 6 times in college, I went to the Pittsburgh Improv for an open mic night with the specific goal of that being the jump-off point, the very first step in what I knew would be a very, VERY long road. Herein, I’ll be looking back at what I’ve done, what I should have done, where I am, and what I still need to do.

All through my life, I knew I wanted to be an entertainer, but I didn’t really know how to do that or what it entailed. To be honest, I still barely know. I denied that a lot, because I grew up in an area where people didn’t do “entertainment industry” as a career choice. Beaver County wasn’t a place where dreams grew, it was a place where dreams rusted out, then you got someone pregnant and eventually taught yourself to hide your seething animosity for your own place in life. It wasn’t until I was hanging out with a girlfriend in college that I said I wanted to be a comedian, and she turned to me and said “yeah, I can totally see that.” That was all the validation I needed, because she’d trusted me enough to let me fuck her, so I knew she believed in me.

I took the stage for the very first time in October of 1999, during Penn State’s East Halls Talent Competition. Like most talent competitions, this meant “a bunch of singer/songwriters.” And me. If you ever feel like you want to do comedy, but keep chickening out, here’s my advice: hire Rob Griffiths to come over and force you to do it. Standing in front of the sign-up list, after passing it and discussing it for weeks, he dropped the gauntlet: “You can either write your own name on the paper, or I can do it for you.” To protect my dignity, I wrote my own name.

The night of the show, I specifically remember being so nervouse that my vision blurred a few times. Lucky for me, my sense of responsibility and my secret lust for danger and instability far outweigh my fear. I had written the themes and keywords of my jokes on the back of my hand, and the sweat had smeared some of them past recognition. I thought I was going to die, in front of 300 people eating or waiting for food at The Big Onion. I did my first joke, which I believe was something terrible about Penn State instituting a course in Pimpology. I must have thought it was REALLY funny, as I later repurposed it for an article in the school humor magazine a year later. When I finished the joke, a table of 12 people sitting directly in front of me got up and walked out. This was entirely visible to everyone around, since their table was slightly elevated, and thus, they blocked people’s view of me during their exit. At that point I knew that, no matter what, nothing would ever happen on stage that was worse than that. I birthed my very first comedic thoughts in front of hundreds of strangers, and in a very public display, a dozen said “No thank you,” got up, and went home. It helped me relax.

So flash forward: post-grad, living at home with my mother (aka LIVING THE DREAM), I called and put myself on the list for the Improv open mic night. My mother was in the audience that night, and I remember ordering her a Mike’s Hard Lemonade from the stage to either make up for a joke about my childhood, or to thank her for being there. Either way, I remember the important part: the alcohol.

The material I performed was adequate for someone who’s set the game to “child” difficulty. I felt good after getting off the stage, adrenaline still rushing as I checked my notebook to see if I had done every joke I’d planned. Somewhere, I have a notebook with this material. Also still lurking in my mom’s apartment, I’m sure, are scraps upon scraps upon scraps of paper with bits, notes, and ideas. If there was something to write on, it was written upon. Recipes, seed planting instructions, napkins, menus…I think I even ripped off part of a greasy box of KFC to write something down and kept it for a very long time. Sadly, the bit had a shorter shelf life than the cardboard’s.

Soon after I was doing 1-2 sets a week, and man, did that feel good. The only problem with all of the performing I was doing was a) in my head, I knew I wasn’t very good yet, and b) most gigs required about an hour of travel. That can be difficult when you don’t own a car, and your only methods of transport are your mother’s 12-year-old Plymouth Acclaim with 125,000 miles on it, or borrowing your dad’s 18-year-old Lincoln Towncar, a behemoth of a vehicle that spilled every fluid inside of it at any chance, and couldn’t be driven over 50 because of the cracked cylinder heads in the engine. Wow, I’m writing this as if my worst times are behind me, and meanwhile I haven’t been gainfully employed in 4 months. Career trajectory, or patterns of life? Jesus, kill me now.

Anyhow, soldiering on is what my dreams called for, and soldier on I did, until a downturn in my mother’s health and a lack of a car of my own prevented me from doing more than 3 sets over a 7 month period. I won’t go in to too much detail, but I still don’t know how the fuck I – or we – survived then. My dad played a big part in helping my mom meet her rent, and I handled all the bills in the apartment while my mom slowly fell apart. Trying to help with that while working 40 hours at a $9.00/hour job meant something had to give, and that something was comedy. This was easily the most depressed, darkest place I had ever been in my life. Reminding myself about what a shithead I was even now makes me a little uncomfortable. You know what I thought I was going to be doing 6 months after graduating college? Living in New York, trying to do comedy. You know what I WAS doing 6 months after graduating college? Working at my 5-year-old summer job, in the winter, taking care of my mother, broke, with no idea of how to make anything happen for myself. Luckily, I fell in with a good group of people that were having some fun doing improv, which helped me get back into comedy and out of the funk I was in.

*This is a good breaking point. Tomorrow, I’ll post about how The Cellar Dwellers helped keep my head in the game, and taught me that no matter what field you go in to, there are going to be fucking douchebags.*