I carry a black bag.

I carry a black bag!
or
Time for you to 'fes up too!

As captain of this particular love boat, allow me to welcome you aboard with
a lame, form letter explanation...
Before, I hack out a single word of this email, Allow me to welcome new subscribers to my email list. If you've never received an email from me before, then allow this to be your greeting. If you did not give me your address, then I probably stole it from someone else's email list and added it to mine. Hopefully, this won't be a problem. But, if my deluded ramblings annoy, then feel free to let me know. I'll be glad to remove you, after your public stoning and general taunting. On with the report...

So, I was walking home from the El station, down the stairs to the street level. The guy in front of me, had on one of those canvas briefcases. It hopped around wildly as he fairly well jumped down the stairs. the straps that held it, were invisible against his black windbreaker. The bag just convulsed behind him, seemingly unconnected, but always bouncing close behind.

I wear a black canvas briefcase. My dad gave it to me for Christmas. it was surprise gift. I hadn't asked for a new bag, because it never occurred to me that I might need one. So, on Christmas morning, I loaded the bag up with it's first cargo, other presents and it has been by my side ever since. It's better than a purse, it holds much much more. It's always full, so it doesn't bounce very well behind me. And if I ever run anywhere, it flops like a paralyzed extra appendage, so I run like Quasimodo. So, I run as little as possible.

The thing about these bags, is everyone seems to have one. Most of the actors that I work with at 2nd City carry one. Several members of my Improv class have one. Last week, when Corina and I went and saw Bronson Pinchot's one man play, he portrayed a struggling actor and the first thing he did, upon entering the scene, was to remove his canvas briefcase. These things are everywhere! And, I want to know what's in them!

So, I am issuing a challenge to the few people that I can truly affect. If you carry a canvas briefcase or a book bag or a purse or an actual briefcase, I want you to go get it right now. If you don't have one, a wallet will do, just as well. We'll wait.

Back? Good. At this point, you should see where this is going.

Open the container of your choice, look through it. Then answer the following questions about what you see? This is your chance to share an honest glimpse of yourself with complete strangers. For some, this will be a revelation. For others, confirmation that I have too much free time. For still others, a chance to practice using that "delete" key. I say, follow the path that you choose. You will only get out of this exercise, what you are willing to put into it.

After the question section, I will lead by example and crack open the aforementioned black bag.

Also, when you respond to this email, please respond to All. Otherwise, I have to copy your answers and forward them on to the group and I'm sure we all prefer to get "Replies" over "Forwards" any day.

Here we go.

No, I'm not kidding.

Copy these questions and answer them honestly. If you see a statement, followed by periods, finish the sentence. Elaboration is a plus.

Part One: Getting to Know You:
What is your name?
How do you know Mr.B?
How did Mr.B get your email?
When you see a new email from him, you wish...
In one word, how would you describe yourself?
In one word, how do others see you?

Part Two: Getting to Know Your Bag:
What bag are you examining?
Describe It graphically. Mention any imperfections or Details that we would
notice upon inspection.
How long have you had it?
Where did you get it?
If you lost it tomorrow, how would you feel about it?

Part Three: Getting Inside Your Bag:
Pick out five objects at random. Tell us about them.

Item One is...
I got it from...
I carry it around with me, because...

Item Two is...
I got it from...
I carry it around with me, because...

Item Three is...
I got it from...
I carry it around with me, because...

Item Four is...
I got it from...
I carry it around with me, because...

Item Five is...
I got it from...
I carry it around with me, because...

What one item in your bag, is most out of place? Bonus points if you have no idea where it came from or why you kept it.

Finally, Did you find any partially consumed food products inside?
If so, what kind?
How long do you estimate that it was in there?

Part Four: Getting to Know Your Final Thoughts:
When was the last time that you actually bothered to look inside?
After examining your bag, do you find that you are tidy or a slob?
If I were Johnny Q. RandomPerson and I looked in your bag, what would I think of you?
What one word would you use to describe the person that owns that bag and the
five items found within?
Make up a cheesy sitcom moral that you learned from this entire exercise.

Ok, time's up. Put those pencils down and stop writing.

And send those mothers back to us all.

If anything, I just helped you waste a few precious minutes that you'll never get back. Also, consider the responses that you'll receive from strange people that you do not know and enjoy that vaguely creepy, voyeuristic sensation that we all got from "Temptation Island."

So, hurry up and send me those emails! I literally can't wait to see what you crazy bastards are lugging around, for no apparent reason.

Be well,
Write Often,
Mr.B


As promised, here are my responses to the same questionnaire that you are about to answer.

Part One: Getting to Know You:
What is your name? Mr.B
How do you know Mr.B? I am he. I am the Mr.B.
How did Mr.B get your email? I was drunk and he was nice, so I gave it to him. Truth to tell, I never read the crap that he sends me. Delete. Delete. Delete!
When you see a new email from him, you wish...that he would lose my email address or implode. Whichever. I'm not picky.
In one word, how would you describe yourself? Complicated.
In one word, how do others see you? Loud.

Part Two: Getting to Know Your Bag:
What bag are you examining? The aforementioned black canvas bag.
Describe It graphically. Mention any imperfections or Details that we would notice upon inspection. It is still in fantastic condition, probably due to the fact that it has spent most of it's career hidden under my desk or on my lap or hanging free at my waist. The metal handles for the zippers tinkle loudly when I walk. Sometimes, they seem really loud to me and I reach around and hold them, to quiet them. Not a good bag to be wearing, if stalking virgins in the park. Black strap with a hard rubber shoulder pad. Three chambers. One big center chamber and two shallow chambers on each side. Sized roughly the same size as a briefcase.
How long have you had it? Since this Christmas past.
Where did you get it? My dad gave it to me.
If you lost it tomorrow, how would you feel about it? I would lapse into catatonia. I carry everything important in it. it would be a major setback. Plus, I get attached to things. I tend to use something well past it's intended period of usage, because I am so used to them, that I could not possibly think of using something else. Man, I just reread that and that's so sad. Wimp! It's just a damn bag!

Part Three: Getting Inside Your Bag:
Pick out five objects at random. Tell us about them.

Item One is... A steno notepad with a pen tucked inside.
I got it from ... the office supply shop at my temp job.
I carry it around with me, because... I use it to record any interesting ideas that I have for potential scripts or scenes. Very handy.

Item Two is...a role-playing book, autographed by the author, a friend.
I got it from...the author was kind enough to send me a copy, when it was just about to come out. He is proud of the book and well he should be. It's very well written. I read parts of it, from time to time, depending on mood.
I carry it around with me, because ... it's good readin!

Item Three is...my new queen MegaMix made by a friend off of Napster.
I got it from... my friend Josh at 2nd City.
I carry it around with me, because... you never know when you will need to hear "Who wants to live forever?" or "Bohemian Rhapsody," at a moments notice.

Item Four is...two different editions of the Onion.
I got it from... a newspaper box out front of Merchandise Mart in Chicago.
I carry it around with me, because... I promised a friend back home that I
would send them to him, periodically. So, they kind of build up between
mailings.

Item Five is...Jeffrey Sweets book, "Something Wonderful Right Away." A good book about the humble beginnings of 2nd City.
I got it from... A groovy Used Book Store
I carry it around with me, because... It's good readin'!

What one item in your bag, is most out of place? Bonus points if you have no
idea where it came from or why you kept it.
A receipt for something that I mailed, via the US Postal Service. But what
that item was or who it was sent to, completely escapes me. the carbon paper
has bent itself to the point where it is totally illegible.

Finally, Did you find any partially consumed food products inside? None.
Funny story about the genesis of that question. I'll tell you some other
time.
If so, what kind?
How long do you estimate that it was in there?

Part Four: Getting to Know Your Final Thoughts:
When was the last time that you actually bothered to look inside? Today. I
was searching for something I could not find and I ended up emptying pretty
much everything on my desk.
After examining your bag, do you find that you are tidy or a slob? Tidy, at
least in that respect.
If I were Johnny Q. RandomPerson and I looked in your bag, what would I think
of you? He must be a great writer!
What one word would you use to describe the person that owns that bag and the
five items found within? Busy
Make up a cheesy sitcom moral that you learned from this entire exercise.
Our canvas briefcases are important, because they offer honest little
glimpses into our lives.

Happy St. Patty's Day

Happy Saint Patty's Day!
or
There be Leprechauns amongst us!

As captain of this particular love boat, allow me to welcome you aboard with a lame, form letter explanation...
Before, I hack out a single word of this email, Allow me to welcome new subscribers to my email list. If you've never received an email from me before, then allow this to be your greeting. If you did not give me your address, then I probably stole it from someone else's email list and added it to mine. Hopefully, this won't be a problem. But, if my deluded ramblings annoy, then feel free to let me know. I'll be glad to remove you, after your public stoning and general taunting. On with the report...

Well, it's Saint Patty's Day. In fact, even as I write this, the Chicago River runs a particularly green, limey shade. The dyers went to work at 9:00 this morning and right now, the job is done. Now. that's Irish Pride.

I don't know what it is. Perhaps it's the size of the city, or the higher nut-to-citizen ratio, but strange things happen around the holidays in the Windy City. Last Christmas, I met Latino Claus, fresh from the slammer, clad in leathers and studs. I have yet to tell that particularly bizarre tale, maybe next year. This time, I had a strange St. Patty's Day encounter.

Yesterday was the official Office St. Patty's Day. All of the office workers that could not wear their green and kilts at the office on the real St. Patty's Day, did so on Friday, the last work day before the true holiday. I chose a tasteful green sweater and left it at that.

I took my lunch break at quarter to noon, to better avoid the lunch rush. I chose the Thompson Center food court, in downtown Chicago, because it has a large food court and it's within the closest walking distance. As an added bonus, I get to walk down Clark Street and cross the bridge over the river.

I like crossing the bridge. When a big truck goes over it, it sways and bucks dangerously and that's a thrill. On the off chance that it actually breaks and deposits me and other walkers into the brink, I have an emergency plan. I will grab the railing and climb out, like Indiana Jones. The railing is slatted and would make a perfect ladder. If the whole bridge breaks free and drops into the river, in it's entirety, I will slowly freeze to death and then sink like a log. Granted, that's not the ideal plan, but I am so set on the Indiana Jones contingency, that I haven't worked up a follow up plan.

But I digress.

I ate a yummy meal from the Subway. As I was finishing the meal, a whole troupe of children, oddly dressed, marched by. They were all excited, fairly well bouncing off the walls. Mainly girls, the troupe clicked and clacked their tap shoes, as they made their way through the food court. The girls wore strangely Celtic dresses. Not so much skirts, as triangular slats, draped in such a way as to give the impression of a skirt. They also wore halberds, you know, those tunics favored in the Middle Ages. These girls were primped in their best Jon Benet Ramsy hairdos and their dresses were very, very bright. In fact, I thought to myself that if I were to look at their dresses and guess the designer, I would have to go with a gay Dr. Suess, tripping on LSD and entering an "experimental" phase. The kind of dresses that you do not look into, without protective eye wear.

I was curious, I had to see what these little monkeys were up to. With any luck, it was a bank heist in progress. Perhaps the triangular slats of the dress were bullet proof sheets of iron. They'd enter the bank and spread out to cover all exits. Then the littlest girl, only three feet tall would leap up onto the teller's desk and whip out a large, black uzi. "Sure and yur ta be givin me alla yur cash now!" she'd say and smile like the devil incarnate.

Or maybe it was a dance recital.

I bought a small cup of Cookies and Cream ice cream, dumped my Subway trash into the waste receptacle and scurried up the escalator to the balcony on the second floor that over looks the main courtyard. Sure enough, a new banner was hung with a "Happy Saint Patty's Day from Illinois Governor George Ryan!" message scrawled across. You know, it's funny how much green you see on St. Patty's Day. Green dyed rivers, green dyed beer, green clothes. Chicago even changes the lens in their stop lights so that the "Go" light is green. God bless, civic pride!

Some random governmental figure head made a lame speech about Chicago and St. Patty's Day and Children and Future of Tomorrow. Blah blah blah. He cued the guy operating the CD player and a joyful Irish tune leapt out. Some Irish guy was playing on his violin, a happy, whimsical tune! The speaker returned to his seat and thus was entered the world famous, award winning Irish Trinity Dancers. Taa-dah!

The little monkeys danced out in curved lies that intercepted and joined. They tapped and clicked their heels and bounced and kicked! Hoorah! The girls bounced delicately and I saw the wisdom of the design of their dress flaps. They bounced too, moving rhythmically in unison with all of the other girls. As a big finale to the first number, the littlest girl, the one I pictured with an uzi, came dancing out, between a line that the others had formed and kicked her little legs and smiled at the audience, adorably, and raised her shoulders in a big shrug as if to say, "Oh I don't know how I got to be so darn cute. Lucky, I guess!" and she danced back into the line of the other girls.

Enter the boys. There's an odd look on a prepubescent boys face as he dances in a dance recital. Part fear, part grim determination, part embarrassment. The little boy monkeys locked their arms at the side, as I am sure they were told to do, and hopped and kicked, just like the girls. The boys wore black shirts and slacks and ties. They looked like junior morticians, forced to dance upon penalty of death. I wondered to myself if they asked to become Irish Dancers or if Mom and Dad made that choice for them. Makes you wonder.

Anyways, the girls surrounded the boys and they all gaily danced back, off the stage. Everyone, including myself, applauded their energetic first number.

I'd finished my ice cream and I was preparing to make my way back to the office, via a trash bin, when I saw the leprechaun. He was downstairs, just off to the side, leaning casually against a pillar, watching the dancers. He was short, perhaps two and a half feet tall, with a bushy red beard and a perfectly tailored green suit, complete with wee bowler. Tucked under his arm, was a bonafied shelayleigh. He clapped his hands and smiled at the wee ones. And, as luck would have it, he was standing next to a trash bin.

My fascination with midgets and wee folk is well documented. No, size does not matter, but it sure is interesting to look at. So, I went out of my way to get to the trash bin by the midget, so that I could talk to him. I dumped my trash and walked up, to stand casually next to him. he glanced over at me and then went back to watching the Dance of Celtic Joy for the Motherland!

I couldn't resist, I had to talk to him.

"They're pretty good aren't they," I said, casually.

"Aye. That they are. That they are," He replied, in thick Irish brogue. This guy was good. I bet he makes an incredible elf, for Christmas.

"That's a great costume. Really! It's fantastic!" I said.

He stopped clapping and looked over up to me. He examined me, as if I'd just taken a Poo on his shoe and he wasn't sure what to do with me. I hoped he wouldn't club me in the crotch with his shelayleigh.

"Lad, it's isn't a costume, I assure you. These are me natural vestments. Where I come from, everyone wears them," he explained.

I think I got the joke, so I asked him, "And where do you come from?"

"Why, Ireland, of course. The Emerald Isle! That's me home, I'm only visiting for the weekend, for to see the river dyed and to grab a pint at the local pub."

"Sure, you are."

" Ye don't believe me? Oh and yur a cocky one aren't ya? I've half a mind ta turn ya into a wee hare, just fur ya lip! But, I'm enjoyin the dances and feelin festive, an seein how yur a yank, an dumb to the magical ways of the world, I'll leave ya be."

"I bet you make a great elf, for Christmas."

"Go away," he said, "Ya aren't funny ta me, anymore."

"Sorry. I just wanted to let you know, that I thought you look great! Very Leprechaun. I like midgets, as a rule, and I think you're one of the best. Very authentic. Well, Slainte, and I hope that everyone buys you lots of green beer this weekend."

"Uh-huh,' he murmured. He was watching the dancers again. Ignoring me.

"Bye, little leprechaun. Enjoy America! Say "Hi" to king Bryan for me," King Bryan is king of the Leprechauns in the Disney classic, Darby O Gill and The Little People. I think he's still their king.

"I will. Happy Saint Patty's Day."

"You too, Happy Saint Patty's day. Bye" and I walked away. As I walked away, I thought to myself that that didn't go as well as I'd hoped. He was an uppity midget and not given to receiving compliments. Oh well. I guess he was so caught up in the whole leprechaun thing, that he wasn't able to break character. I thought to myself, what if he really was a leprechaun and he really was here for the river and what if, when I turned around to look at him, he was gone?

I started to turn and look at him, but I didn't. Because, what if he wasn't gone. It's a better story if I walk on and imagine him disappearing or better yet, dancing with the wee bonnie lasses. I don't believe in magic, per se. But I do believe in helping a "magical" moment to come to fruition. So, I didn't turn back and I left the Thompson Center and decided that I met a real leprechaun and he almost turned me into a rabbit.

See? Isn't that a much better story?

Happy Saint Patty's Day! Drink lots, but not so much that you vomit green stuff on to your shoes!

Be well,
Write Often,

Mr.B