PORKINS-ON-A-BIKE-METER: 2

Once more, on the way to work, I spotted him: Porkins on a bike. If I weren’t driving, I would take pictures of this dude for you.

I finished up a Level 1 class last night, which means I don’t currently have anything planned at the DSI Theater. I did a show Friday, hosted my Level 1 Sunday, and taught Monday, and it was that same familiar “weekend of improv” feeling that I’m so used to (albeit interspersed with family madness). I do miss it, and part of me wonders what it will be like to know that for the next little bit, I have absolutely no improv lined up. I have a couple of possibilities to guest here and guest there, which is sort of rending, because part of me would like to dive back into a full-time commitment at the theater and part of me knows that a little time off is going to do wonders for the exhaustion and justs general chronic crud that was Februrary and March. It’s like, the minute I sense that I’m not stretched to my absolute maximum, I start looking for ways to overextend myself. Bad Ross! Bad Ross!

I have, however, committed to directing a one-man show later in the summer and wild horses could not keep me away from that.

Some pix that Lauren took Friday that make me happy:

Watch the hell out for Nikida… she’s going to be wicked good in a couple of months and will contribute mightily to the unstoppable juggernaut that is ComedySportz.

Since it was my stepfather’s 70th birthday, my mom brought cupcakes for everyone in the audience.

I got tongue-tied at the beginning of the second half, and what came out sure sounded like the word “shit.” I tried to barrel on and hope no one noticed, but members of the audience started calling for the brown-bag foul. I was caught. What choice did I have but to bag myself? Embarrassing. Awful. At least I got to end on an absolute low note, right? (Actually, it was a strong show.)