How could you do this to me?

All I wanted was to know you better. Like, in the biblical sense. I wanted to “know” you. And by George, I could have shown you the world! What I lack in monetizable skills, I make up for in bedroom enthusiasm. We could be heros, just like that David Bowie song! 

But then you had to up and pee in the pool.  

Listen. I get it. Politicking isn’t sexy. I know you got scared if you just called Benghazi a terrorist attack, the ladies might dry up and withdraw (out of fear). But if there’s one thing everybody knows, it’s that fear is an aphrodisiac. Being scared is physiologically indiscernible from craving that sweet, sweet dick.

And I can handle the truth, baby. 

Tell me about the CIA’s warning in Susan Rice’s report, months before the attack! Remind me it happened on September 11 of an election year (SCARY)! Point out Al-Qaida took credit for it and hey, didn’t somebody email you guys immediately?

Don’t you see? Scary shit is scary, but the truth is always sexy. Who doesn’t want to rock socks with a powerful man with principles? 

I guess what I’m trying to say, Obama’s Penis, is stop being a lying piece of shit. 

You didn’t want to talk about terrorism in Benghazi because it’s a buzz kill. Fine. But then a 29-year old Redditer from Hawaii says you’ve totally been checking my texts?

Like, seriously, Obama’s Penis: you’ve been saving my email for 7 years? With attachments? WTF! I would have gladly shared those nUD3z with you any day, any night. Open access. But not if you just unilaterally decide to download them yourself, forever, in perpetuity. YOU’RE KILLING THE MYSTERY. 

And don’t give me that “It’s cool, baby: checks and balances” talk. We all know that FISA court is a rubber stamp, and even if it wasn’t, you’d still be harshing the Fourth Amendment’s buzz. I mean, you were a constitutional lawyer for fuck sake!

And while we’re talking about the Constitution, maybe tell your bros at the Justice Department to stop wiretapping AP journalists. And tell the IRS to stop politically targeting your opponents. And tell the Secret Service to stop intimidating Twitterers. And tell the Supreme Court the 5th Amendment (or ANY right) does not need to be “invoked” to be a right.

You know, on second thought, Obama’s Penis, I’m good. Please don’t fuck me any more.

charstar:

Like Cleopatra? Marie Antoinette? Beyonce? Beyonce can have whatever she wants, right? She’s had to have made a few bold requests. (Surrogate mom, anyone?)

If I could have whatever I want…

I would write on the wall, any wall, whenever I want. Maybe it’s a thought. Or something funny. Or a grocery list. Maybe it’s just my name with a drawing of a pig. I don’t know, whatever I want, and it wouldn’t be a big deal.

I’d never drive ever again. And my driver just happens to be my therapist. Horrendous traffic to Santa Monica? More like an enlightening hour of self-actualization and dream analysis!

I would have my very own ferris wheel. It’s where I would sit to center myself. “Where’s Char? Has she chosen a gown for the gala yet?” “Not yet, she’s been in the wheel for two hours.”

I wanna be carried away on a stretcher whenever I get sad.

I want a professional photographer when something makes me happy.

I wanna ride Space Mountain whenever I get mad.

I wanna go to a rave whenever I’m worried.

Whatever I want.

“Scramble the eggs. All six dozen of them!” I’ll tell my chef.

“She only talks about her feelings through email,” my assistant will tell my men.

“She requires that her stuffed animals be tucked in,” my maid will never, ever, say to the newspapers.

“I am taking a leave of absence because I have fallen in love!” I will tell my employers.

“I am taking a leave of absence because I have fallen out of love!” I will tell the press.

Let me DJ the party.

Let me choose the dessert.

I will tell you immediately when I am unhappy. I won’t have to fake anything. I’m allowed to cry through brunch, I don’t care about your new haircut, I took too many Xanax yesterday and I woke up wearing a glow bracelet. I want to talk about the lack of emotional support in my Catholic childhood.

I don’t think I need a reason to get my face painted like a tiger.

I can leave whenever I want to. I don’t have to listen to this boring conversation. I don’t have to sit through this play. I don’t have to be at this birthday party. Maybe it’s too hot today, I don’t have to be here. Call my private jet. Let’s go to Copenhagen.

“Where’s Char?” they’ll all ask.

“She left to get a mani pedi,” or

“She left to make an avocado sandwich,” or

“She’s been in the wheel for two hours.”

I wanna wear a seatbelt at the dinner table because it’s comfortable.

Give me my hot tea already at a manageable temperature.

Will you shape my eyebrows for me?

And when I die, you all will party. “This is what she wanted!” you’ll scream to your friends while you’re rolling on MDMA and getting your face painted like a tiger.

“SHE DIED DOING WHAT SHE LOVED: WANTING TO DIE” reads my tombstone.

“She was crazy,” you’ll all say, “but she had everything she wanted.”

Char deGuzman gets it, and I couldn’t have put it better. 

Nico gets it.

This is the best.

I was reading Jay Mohr’s book, “Gasping for Airtime: Two Years in the Trenches of Saturday Night Live” and came across this:

“One day Buddy asked me what my monitor on stage was. I asked him what a monitor was. A monitor, Hackett explained, was the number of distracting thoughts in your head when you’re onstage. Thoughts such as, ‘What’s that sound?’ ‘Why is the waitress talking so loud?’ and ‘Why aren’t those people laughing?’ are all part of the negative and counterproductive side of your monitor. Basically, any thought that inhibits the projection of your natural self is a piece of your monitor.

Buddy’s theory was that the first time a comic goes onstage, his monitor is 100. Standing onstage is so foreign and standing in front of a live audience is so frightening that being yourself is the hardest thing to do. Yet in spite of nearly everything in your brain working against you, you still earn applause. Even though you had use less than 1 percent of your natural talent, people still saw a spark in you and wanted you to come back.

Buddy went on to explain that as you do more comedy and spend more time onstage, your monitor naturally begins to decrease, and eventually it becomes so small that you can stand onstage and give the audience nothing but you’re true, funniest self.

Inevitably I asked Buddy what his monitor was. I assumed, of course, that it would be zero. Buddy replied. “One.” ”Why not zero?” I asked. He then leaned close to me and whispered, “I always figure out where the fire exits are.”
 

What would happen if you committed really hard?

But not just hard. Really, really hard. So much so that you believed the words you’re saying, and the things you’re doing. You’re no longer an improviser trying to dream up the smartest move in a scene. You’re a character existing in this reality, and it’s actually happening to you. 

What if you committed even harder than that?

What if you made a comedic choice and stuck to it no matter what? Even when it wasn’t getting laughs. Even when you’re terrified.

What if you just kept doing it with greater confidence and conviction?

What if the audience truly believed your character, and understood your world view? Your thoughts and actions make sense because they HAVE to.

What if you committed so hard, you could never be wrong?

charstar:

Coin toss. UCB Cagematch, February 13th.

(Photo by Miles Crawford)

Dreams really do come true.

After a record-breaking 25 wins at Thunderdome, Private Street stepped down at Second City and within DAYS, the little-improv-team-that-could won UCB Cagematch. 

This was an astounding, if not unprecedented victory.

During Heather and Miles’ year long run, very few indie teams were invited to play Cagematch. We got to see many seasoned improvisers perform in different exciting makeshift teams. But I believe a real indie team is a group of improvisers who practice regularly, and do not have (or perform in) a main stage show.

How many Cagematch winners can you say that about? The members of Private Street are not on Harold Night. They’re not on Maude teams, and they don’t host a monthly show. For most of them, it was their first time performing at UCB period, and they absolutely KILLED.

As a fan, it’s just straight up cool to see your friends from 101 win Cagematch. But as a third year improviser, it’s also hugely inspirational.

Congratulations to Private Street! And much love and respect to Murdercliff, the original indie team heros. <3

Soulmates got accepted into the Chicago Improv Festival. Holy shit.

We’re bouncing off the walls about this. We got accepted into their Alternative Improv category, which is described by Sean Cusick (the curator):

“There’s a class of improviser who KNOW that they generate material that isn’t safe, mainstream, normal, whatever. Their subject matter, their language, their approach to the whole thing.

That’s what Alternative is to me. It might be dumb, it might be super silly, it might be crude.” 

<3

Tonight marked the end of Heather and Miles astonishing 49 week run at UCB Cagematch.  By their record setting conclusion, Heather and Miles had battled against nearly every UCB performer, including both former academic directors of the school. It was the free-styling indie darling Murdercliff, who took down H&M in a packed-to-the-gills theater. It was an emotional moment. Heather and Miles had captured the imaginations of so many improv fans, who learned from them every week. It wasn’t just the end of their record; it was the end of an era. 

I first watched Heather and Miles in December 2011 when I was taking UCB 401. I remember the rush of excitement surrounding this new dark horse team. No one had heard of them, but they tickled the curiosity of many. Within a few short weeks, Heather and Miles had gained a loyal following who wanted to see what they’d do next. Their shows had an air of magic about them - with Heather’s larger-than-life physical comedy and Miles’ explosive straight men. The chemistry was magnetic. You often forgot there was only 2 of them. 

Heather and Miles painted the universe around them - a whirlwind of perverts, weirdos, and misfits. Their most memorable sets told a larger story, which became their signature. It wasn’t 20 minutes of random funny scenes; it was a piece. In Miles’ Level 2 workshop, we spent weeks discussing “the piece” and how to create a satisfying, unforgettable set. H&M didn’t stop at callbacks - they integrated multiple story lines and laced second beats with new information that changed everything you thought you knew. Just when a scene couldn’t heighten any more, Heather and Miles catapulted it into the stratosphere.   

I’ll never forget the pussy monster, who laid dormant in Miles’ chest until the last minute of their set. When it finally burst out, Miles screamed for help from Heather’s lesbian character, who he’d been mocking all night. In that moment - instead of calling for help - Heather proceeded to eat out the pussy monster. If this sounds insane, wait till you watch the recap video. I’ve never heard louder screams of horror and delight. 

Heather and Miles earned their place at Cagematch, battling legends of improv from New York to Chicago to LA. They triumphed one of the craziest gauntlets on record, obliterating UCB favorites like Skinny Business Will Not Apologize, Dierkes and Fernie, Funtown, Typhoon, The Swarm, Derrick and Convoy. Every H&M show not only had to beat their competitor; it had to top their last show. They set the bar so high that by the end of their run, Heather and Miles were implementing a new form every week. Their musical improv set (which you can view clips from here) was one of their greatest shows yet, and it happened on Week 49. 

It would be enough for the legacy of Heather and Miles to be 50 weeks of incredible shows - but something else remarkable happened. In the last year, I watched my friends and teammates push harder than ever before. Heather and Miles inspired an entire generation of performers. Suddenly, my peers began playing characters and experimenting with fast play. A budding crop of two-man teams became regular fixtures at indie shows, and you saw more people playing multiple characters in a scene. Miles Stroth’s workshop became headquarters for a generation of hungry improvisers, and the talent that emerged from it was unparalleled. At one point, all the major Cagematches (UCB, iO West, and Second City) were taken over by Miles’ performers.   

Heather and Miles redefined what many of us thought improv could be. And while their run at UCB Cagematch may be over, their impact on the community will live on. Thank you, Heather and Miles. You gave this generation more than you’ll ever know.