This is Not The End!

I'd like to take another crack at writing about the Theater. When I was writing the other blog I just kind of touched upon how important the place was and I feel like I glossed over everything. (A regular obit.) Then I got an email from Nate Johnson that confirmed it. He captured my feelings so well and did what I had wanted and planned to do... And oh yeah, this may not be my last blog about the end. So, here are a couple of things I remember about Improv Boston.

At one point I came out of the Theater and somebody tried to fill me in on the fact that my brother had just stolen a Biga Bread truck. "Yeah. He just got in and took off..." they said. I WAS present when the driver came back, though. Standing outside of Bukowski's . The guy was medium size. Above average build. Kind of an Italian looking guy with a dark complexion. He walked out of Bukowski's and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk once he noticed his van was turned around One Hundred and Eighty Degrees. "FUCK!" is what he said. "FUCK!" and looked around at everybody giggling. After he got back into his van and started it up he yelled again, "FUUUUUUCCCCCK!" when he realized that all of his music buttons were reprogrammed to the same Classical Radio Station.

Also, here are a few memories from Nate that he reminded me of:
until the drive in to the show last night. It was weird. I didn't have the radio on or anything and in this weird quiet, 5 years of memories kinda came rushing back in a half hour. From the first shows I did there (and at the Wingate) to 5 or 6 people, to the Wednesday night meetings we had when that dude walked in and we took off our shirts to the fuckin chaos of so many of those 03 shows (the late arrival/early departure of fuckin Lou Viola, The Heat is On, West Side Story, Heavy metal detector, You must be TRIPPIN, GameMasters), to Murray breaking his ankle so awkwardly (I walked out last night amazed I never broke anything running up/down ladders in there over 5 years) to that idea that Chris had of the Margarita Time Travel machine that worked from abortions, to the Halloween Show with the Hell House (2nd favorite show, Top 10 life experiences), to the fuckin crazy birdman who broke your camera ("I'll make it right..."), to D-Robot and the Roast of, to the Bank Heist show (1st favorite show there, Top 3 life experiences), to the Mental Hospital show w/invisible Brindle (unless you're Jack Hurney) and Dave peeing in a cup on-stage, to your last show there...
-Nate Johnson

There were a million moments just like these... I like Nate's style so let me bite it. Here's a random bunch: Stuffed Pants Salad (Guys pulling vegetables and dressing out of their pants to make a salad), The Achilles Wheel (Our name for the Wheel Chair we got for Murray when he broke his ankle, along with video), my battle with Aram's 1 across the street, This is Your Life, The Weekly Distraction (Pie Eating Contest, The Sniper, Rabbit Trap, Mocking, Acid Dream, Everyone Gets Distracted...), SHOT IN THE FACE!, Nate as the lackadaisical/ disgruntled Alligator, Jack Hurney playing guitar, the bum from the alleyway, running around Bukowski's naked, Dancing Drac, a visit from Cookiepuss on the hottest day of the year, and on and on. Till the break of dawn.

One of the best moments I experienced, that happened in the Theater, was "The Tom Dustin Incident." Truly, one of the best moments of my life and only around four months before we left. (Give me time. I'll figure out how to download the shittin' photos from muh phone.) To get into the right mind-set you should start thinking along the lines of the Matt Damon Monologue from "Saving Private Ryan" and we'll be on the same wavelength. You know the one. Where he's talking about his brothers and how the barn burned down, at the end of the movie, and he can't keep from laughing. Right before he realizes all of the other Ryans got themselves perished.

Anyway, Tom Dustin, was passed out drunk in a chair down in the basement and Joe List, Renata, and I thought it would be funny to wrap him in tinfoil (it was Joe List's Idea). I've never laughed so hard in my life. We gave him a tinfoil hat. A tinfoil jet pack. Tinfoil knee pads. Tinfoil glasses. Tinfoil sneakers. Tinfoil everything. When he woke up he had no appreciation for the new tinfoil life we had created for him but he did use his tinfoil claws to find the couch, across the room, to rest his weary tinfoil body. He looked like a tinfoil cyborg/mummy and mumbled his way across the room. I think, all told, it took about two hours out of my life and it was one of the funniest moments ever... and I wish I could live it again.

This is one of those "If I Hit The Lottery" moments. In this case: If I hit the Lottery I'll fly back and buy that whole block. Then it'll never have to close and everyone will live upstairs and we'll never complain about the noises that are coming up through our floorboards. We'll write shows that'll make people cry with laughter. People's jaws will ache for weeks and every performance will be for free.

The Treehouse may be closed for now but I got a ticket, that hasn't yet been scratched, and the prize is a dusty old theater made of magic.
-Chris

Goodnight Improv Boston

When I first set foot in the theater it went by a different name than it does now. Back in those days they were calling it “The Back Alley Theatre.” This was, I’m gonna take a stab here, back in 93’-94’. I had decided to take an improv class and at the time there was only one place, that I knew of, to do so- Improv Boston. The Theater itself, way back when, went by another name but the company itself was called “Improv Boston.”

There were a couple of things that I loved about taking that class. The first was the other people in the class. Everyone was older than me and they were characters. I can remember one guy vividly. He had a lisp and would repeat the last word of everything he said. Said… Like that. Which made for weird scenes whenever you watched him or performed with him. The other thing that struck me was how awesome the space was. It looked a little different in those days. For one thing: the seats were on the opposite side of the room, where the stage is now, which made for a nice layout. Although the current configuration is why I fell in love with the place.

It’s a classic Theater because it has those amazing theatery-style seats. Three raised rows and enough room to add more chairs in front when we were lucky enough to get a packed house. Which was more often than I could wish for. (Making the price free and handing out beer helped.) But it’s the signature Brick Wall that made the Theater timeless.

Now, since we’re getting all nostalgic, lets take a swig of the free PBR that we have hidden under our chairs- inside of a flashlight- and then go outside, grab James “The Geograflight News Guy” and ask him if we can borrow his time machine. “James, take us back to the night of Tony Moschetto’s show during the Boston Comedy Festival in 2002.”

Tony Moschetto was performing his one man show at the Theater and before it started I was sitting, in the bleachers, with Tom Dustin. We were both looking to start a comedy show someplace that wasn’t a regular comedy club. Dustin was the first one of us to speak aloud what we were both thinking, “This’d be a great place to do a show!”
“Yeah, you’re right…" I said, "and I never thought to look here. I forgot all about this place.” (Up to that point I'd been checking coffee shops and pizza parlors.) We talked about it some more and then I asked him, “Would you mind if I asked the guy in charge if my brother and I could do a show here?” And Tom said "go right ahead."

I asked around and got in touch with Will Luera, the Artistic Director. I told him that we had a performance scheduled later in the week, for the fest, and that we were looking for a place to produce a show. I lied to him and told him that a lot of the people involved had already been on Comedy Central. (Maybe it was somewhat true.) He came by later in the week and watched us perform. I suppose whatever he saw was good enough to warrant giving us a shot.

Eventually, we arrived at Thursday as the best night and Ten o’clock: the right time. We kept pushing back the date and decided that it’d start up in September, after Labor Day. I remember being extremely excited about having a show to work on. From the outset we were ambitious. The first week we booked all of our favorite comedians, only we had to cancel because there was no audience, though. Back to square one. Everybody got ice cream at Christina’s next door and sat around talking about the possibilities.
The next week there was a show but only because my girlfriend, Brooke, brought some friends. Our first audience was about nine people. They were theater folks so they were extremely supportive and we had a good time. It was a start…

In time we decided to keep the show free. We also threw in a Thirty Pack of free beer every week to draw people in. Traditionally our show started on the street about an hour or so beforehand. We would scream and shout about how great our “free comedy show” was. The Great and Secret moniker was one that I stole from a book I had read a few years before written by Clive Barker. I thought it was a fitting name because we were working our asses off to get people in the seats and make them laugh. Yet nobody seemed to know we were there. That changed a little over time. This was also around the same period that our battle with the neighbors began.

They had a problem with us using bullhorns to advertise our show. At first, we were told to “keep the loudness down after ten.” Then, “no bullhorns at all.” We conformed. Then, "no shouting on the street." Over the next four or five years the rules got more strict. Eventually the precedent was set: "no performing outside on the street, at all." Let’s just say, by the time we left town there were a lot more rules. Things change. Even in the early stages some of the tenants above the theater were uncool. There was a time or two when we almost came to blows.

To be truthful, we were responsible for causing a lot of problems in that space. What with the free beer, parties after the show until sunup the next day, blasting music at four in the morning, live bands, stolen cars, axes in the ceiling… We could have been smarter. At least when it came to sound levels. But the show stayed alive.

What an amazing place to perform. I don’t know exactly what it was. Maybe that you performed on the same level as the audience, or that they were so close you could touch 'em… Maybe it was because we never used microphones or that a lot of the audience came back, week in and week out. Whatever it was, I loved performing in that theater. It was the best. I want to live there. For ever.

We had multiple incarnations of our show, a shit load of people peformed, and tons of great memories. It was the place where David and I "figured it out" and began our career together. A place where anyone could do whatever they wanted. The only limit was our own imagination. Anything was possible. I've never been as comfortable on any other stage. Most of the best nights of my life were spent in that building. Some, honest to God, story book moments. Now, it'll be turned into ice cream storage. I'll regard the loss of The Improv Boston Theater as I would the passing of a close friend.

I know, I know, the show will go on. It’s only moving to Central Square... And I hope to perform in that space too. It sounds cool. But, when you get right down to it, there’s only one Improv Boston. I wish I could have been there for the last hurrah but unfortunately I couldn't make it... I’m in Los Angeles. Working on an all new Great and Secret Comedy Show.

What's Really Crazy...

Is that I've had a Baby Ruth in my pocket for far too long. I bought it over Christmas in Boston, traveled back to Los Angeles with it, back to Boston, and THEN it survived yet one more flight across the continent. Safely, it traveled all the way back to Los Angeles. Here's another thing. The Baby Ruth made it through two movies without getting eaten. Two opportunities to gobble it up: 'There Will Be Blood' and 'Cloverfield.' And at least one of those movies is a big-budget/popcorn flick. A ripe situation for gnawing on a nutty-nougat candy bar if there ever was one. I don't know how that thing survived. You may be thinking "perhaps he forgot it was there, waiting to be devoured, in his pocket." But I knew. I knew...

For some reason, as of late, I've been hording candy. I think it's a phase. Perhaps I fear the Candy Apocalypse. Don't we all? Whatever the reason. That candy bar made it through a minimum of four flights, two movies, and the Christmas season.

Rest assured this oversight has been corrected. I'm eating it right now. Lest it join the rank of candies piling up in my fridge. Mostly Goobers.
-Chrispy

3 For The Road

Hey all,
Haven't written anything in, if you ask me, far to long. I've made a promise to never stop but as they say- making a promise is one thing, keeping it is another. The truth is: I've never had so much fun doing the work I'm supposed to be doing. For someone who should be a writer I always have such a hard time writing. In the few weeks before I traveled home to Boston for the Holidays I was on a mini-writing-tear. I even found myself thinking, "that'd make a great blog." (That last phrase ranks number two on the "things I never thought I'd think list." Right up there with asking myself, "where's my machine?" Sincerely referring to a "blazing 7s" slot machine in a casino while gambling in Las Vegas.)

Anyway, happy to be writing, whether it's just an exercise or whatever the case may be... Hello again.

I thought I'd reaquaint myself with the process by easing in with a couple of short short stories, accompanied by personal pictures. A trinity if you will. And I hope you do. I realize that I have written a small deal about our travels across the Globe in the last year but I haven't actually captured our experience as well as I should have, Yet... I will. My plan is to get to that in a few months time. There are so many stories to be told but for now, these.

This first one traveled a long way from New Orleans to get here. Back in April we passed through Louisiana and spent a couple of days there, hanging out, with our good friend Tom Dustin. After a few nights of debauchery we put Tom on a plane back to Boston and found ourselves in the middle of the Big Sleazy with a hankering to dry out from all of the crazy drinking. We made a mad-dash to find a fun way to spend our time. We came up with a really good idea. Vampire Tour. Upon consulting a touristy brochure we saw that we had almost no time at all to use the map and run down to the meeting spot. When we got there we were greeted by a guy in a goth gettup. It only makes sense, right? For a guy to be dressed in an appropriate costume? He made it look good too. I thought it was all part of the tour until I saw the picture I had taken of him and my heart stopped.

Cuh-razy-spookey...
This next one was also taken in Louisiana, just outside of New Orleans. The three of us: Tom, David, and I took a ride to the outskirts of the city to go on a Swamp Tour. It was a great albeit laid back experience. (Someday soon I'll publish my Tom Dustin retrospective from that trip.) We expected to see many alligators. Instead we just saw one. Giant. Alligator.

El Whoppo!


El Whoppo is a sixteen foot alligator many believe to be the largest on the planet. "Many" doesn't include my brother David or Tom for that matter. They believed "El Whoppo" to be one of the largest fake alligators in the world. To complicate things further when we were done searching for gators, 20 minutes later, the driver took us back to check out El Whoppo one more time and he was facing in the other direction.


Not two to be easily had, Tom and David reasoned that the swamp tour must employ some nutty Cajun in another boat who rushes out there to turn the old rubber El Whoppo around. Either way you couldn't have paid me enough money to take a dip in that water. It may not show in the photo but that mother could easily have eaten my six foot frame whole. No death-roll necessary.

Finally, this next one is a little blurry. For that, I apologize but the story is as sharp as the knife I'm licking. (Why? Because I'm teaching you how to creep people out. Is it working?)

Anyways, let's take a trip to "Graceland." Here it is the day after Elvis' birthday so why not visit his overpriced (the admission not the property) and multi-trophied home. While we did get pictures of ourselves striking "King Poses" all over the joint,


what I really want to write about is The King's reading habits.

It seems that the big E really liked to read. An obsession with books you may call it. I was curious because that's an obsession I share. It seems that good old Elvis couldn't leave home without a trunk full o' books. He'd take that trunk ever'where: on the plane, to his gigs, whenever he had a peanut butter and banana sandwich... I'm sure the trunk was always nearby. (Or so the little audio guide told me.) Also, when we came to his old desk there was a book, under glass, that Elvis had read at one point. I guess Elvis was very fond of underlining and taking notes in the margins. Much to my extreme delight the book, under the glass, was marked up. (A picture of it is below. Unfortunately it was impossible to get a clear shot of it through the glass. So, I'll translate for you.)

The chapter title was:
The Coming Aquarian Age And The Emancipation of Women

And here was a paragraph Elvis had particular interest in:
a retrospective glance over the events of the past century and a half will be enough to show that great changes have already taken place in the mental outlook of humanity at large, and more particularly so in the position of women.

In the margin, Elvis' note for the underlined passage was simply-
KARATE

Happy Belated Birthday Elvis! And as for you. Thanks for reading,
-Chris