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• playing an instrument
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• tone
• the early 20th century
• what everyone else thinks is funny, as opposed to what I think is funny
• painting
• why “Nip/Tuck” is on the air
• management
• the little things
• jazz

If Ladybug ever doubted that I love her, even one little bit, I think that doubt should now be obliterated. We just returned from her 10-year high school reunion.

I must say that the highlight of the evening was the “awards” section of the agenda, during which someone with a little too much excitement about her high school years read out the superlative categories the class had voted on in high school and had people guess who the class had voted for. They all knew most athletic, but other than that, there was a lot of silence and a lot of incorrect guessing… until they got to “Most Intellectual,” at which point the woman reading the categories said, “And you all know who this is…” Everyone in the room said, in unison, Ladybug’s name. My poor wife turned bright red.

I took some time to read last night, and while it began as reading for school, and I was ready to take copious notes, it devolved into reading for enjoyment. And I enjoyed the hell out of it. Louise Gluck– The Triumph of Achilles.

I’ll read it again tonight, this time with a critical eye. But it’s a nice treat of being in an MFA program: the required reading is pleasure reading. Almost always.

So, I’m in this somewhat sticky situation, in that I went to grad school to make sure that I would write, and I’m reading a boatload (and really enjoying it), and writing critically (which I didn’t enjoy a lot the first time but kinda did the second time). But I haven’t been writing quite as much as I would like to.

Last night, after the power went off and came back on, I sat down and gave myself a task: I was going to look at someone else’s artwork and translate that into a poem. I chose a somewhat unlikely source (Ladybug saw the source material and the draft product– the rest of you will have to wonder forever, because I won’t give it up, and neither will she), and three hours later, I had a two-and-a-half page poem. Most of you don’t know this, but I rarely exceed about 25 lines. So this was a big damn deal for me, and it gave me a little fire for another project I have been wanting to work on.

The poem is flawed in a million ways and may not even be worthwhile if you don’t know what the unlikely source material is, and hell, may not even be worthwhile then. But I got about 15 lines that I think may stand on their own, and I’m insanely happy with that. Granted, those 15 lines were the least faithful to the assignment I had given myself, but is that not how we create? We set limitations for ourselves, and we break those limitations in the name of doing something more worthwhile. I’m going to try to keep the larger piece together, though I may pull those 15 lines out for something else. We’ll see how that goes.

But what’s more important is that I think I hit on an exercise I can repeat– hell, it’s been done about a million times before. Everyone talks about jazz in their poems.

No, my source material was not jazz.

Nor was it that “Cantaloop” song.

This is a keen meme:

http://www.flickr.com/groups/infinite/pool/show/

As though this were the only lesson I have learned from Matthews… but as I was poking through After All, when I hit “Bucket’s Got a Hole In It,” I remembered something I learned from Matthews years ago:

I don’t want to tell you everything. I don’t even want to tell you enough.

You don’t have to agree to appreciate it:

http://www.streetartblows.com/

OK, so you have been reading this blog for a good long while, and you see all of this news about the new Carrboro-based comedy theater, and you think to yourself, “Wow, even though those DSI cats have been doing some stuff for a couple of years, getting into improv now that they are going to open a theater in October would put me on the ground floor of a really remarkable project.” And you’re right!

I’ll be teaching a Level 1 improv comedy class beginning in early August. And if you take that class, enjoy it, and continue on, you’d be looking at a Level 2 performance right around the time the theater opens. How cool would that be?

So, come take a class from me. I’m a remarkably affable fellow who makes himself very available to his students. I will turn you from a stage novice or stage newcomer into a comedy machine. That’s right– no comedy or theater experience is necessary. Just the willingness to come out and have fun each week.

Click here to register: http://dirtysouthimprov.com/classes/classdetails.php?ClassID=14

If you enroll in this class and you do not have a great experience, you may punch me in the face.*

*Please do not punch too hard. I am very fragile.

Ladybug and I just got back from my mom and stepfather’s house in Cary, where we had dinner. Ruth was also there, which was delightful. It’s nice that our mothers are close and friendly; it makes for a pleasant, supportive family environment. I could get used to this.

During the three hours we were there, my mom brought up the poetry assignment several times. She’s sent me a couple of drafts, and I have told her that when she sends one that meets the requirements of the assignment, I will send her my completed assignment. She’s quite desperate to know what I have been working on, especially since she has now shared three drafts and has a fourth draft ready on her work machine.

Ladybug thinks I am being petulant or that I’m enjoying the chance to torture my mom, but the truth is that I’d be thrilled to send her a copy of mine. She deserves it at this point because the assignment has clearly become the kind of game for her that it was for me, insofar as it seems like a mild obsession. But, until she meets the letter of the assignment, I’ll not be sharing. And frankly, I’m glad I’ve asked her to comeplete the assignment to the letter, because her poem has improved greatly from draft to draft!

“The adhesive force is is your way of writing, not sensible connection.”

“Guessing leaves you more options.”

–Richard Hugo, The Triggering Town

Or, restated for the improviser, the adhesive force if your character, persona, or true heart. Sensible connections aren’t always important, and leave them to your teammates if you need to.