Ch-ch-changes!

Mr.B In Chicago:
Ch-ch-changes!
or
Here I am. Where are you?

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. Welcome.
For some reason or another, you have been added to my email list and will be subject to a seemingly random, series of emails updating you on my life. I write these Mass Emails to stay in touch with people. But, do not fear the cold nature of my Mass Emails. Please know that if you take the time to respond to something that I write, I will ALWAYS take the time to write you back.
I promise never to forward anything to you. No bad jokes. No Missing Children report. And definitely no more Pass This Email on to 20 people and you will get 324.16 in GapDollars. I will only send you something that is important to me.
I also promise to send these emails to you anonymously. Thus no one else could steal your email address and ruin your life.
If you like what I write, email me back. I invite comment. Positive or otherwise. If you have suggestions about how this could be less a pain and more a pleasure, by all means, let me know. If this annoys you and you do not have use of your "Delete" key, ask to be taken off the list. No hard feelings.
Otherwise, Welcome, Villkomen, dear friend, and read on...

Okay, where was I?

Oh, right. I was suffering a nervous breakdown from the trauma of an impending move.

Right, well. At least that's over.

So, we made the entire move in one day. From 9:00AM straight through until 3:30AM, with only one small dinner break. I couldn't even guess the number of trips we made back and forth with Corey's van and Ed's truck. (Thanks again, Ed.) We didn't have much time to unpack, before we had to be back in the Metropolis and remove the massive set from Big, The Musical. Luckily for me, Ed let me have the next day off to recuperate. And I needed it, too.

I unpacked tons of boxes on that first day and there are still tons of boxes to unpack, even still. In fact, as soon as I finish this, I better get back to it, lest Corey crack the old roommate whip on me again.

You know, dear friends, as I sat in this strange new home of mine, amidst boxes, I gave the entire concept of moving some serious contemplation. I examined some of the mysteries of moving, that are usually left unexamined. For example, why am I still lugging around crap from my high school days? Old yearbooks. Tests that I actually aced. Love letters from girls that haven't given me a thought in years. Pictures. Notes. Notebooks. Scripts. Rubble.

In truth, I packed all of that shit away, because I was positive that someday, my children or the curators of my museum would want to take a look at them. But as time slips irrevocably into the past, the thought of me having children is increasingly alien to me and the foundation has yet to be laid for my museum and amusement park. So, I ask again, why am I toting all of this crap around with me, from apartment to apartment, state to state? Pure lunacy, I tell you.

I took action. I resolved to free myself of some of the clutter that I have entombed myself in. I opened a shoebox of miscellaneous crap from my failed excursion into the collegiate life at Western Kentucky University. I was positive that some of it was going to be disposed of, that very minute. But, as I looked through it all, I saw stuff that I couldn't possibly get rid of.

I found a flower that some girl must've given me, a ribbon tied around it. I found a post it note, scrawled in the unmistakable handwriting of the feminine persuasion, saying simply, "Mr.B, I love you. Call me." But with no name or number. And finally, there amidst this treasure chest of memories, was a a rare, prized artifact, a framed, desktop photograph of Miss Sietz, my first love from college.

In this particular photograph, she is wearing a green winter jacket that I remember well. She is standing next to her first car, a gift from her dad, I think. Her head is up, flushed with pride. She looks young and smart and funny and perfect. Just the way that I remember her.

And I sat there for the longest time and surrendered to the waves of memories. Late nights spent waiting in the lobby of her dorm for her to arrive. Holding her hand. Kissing her. Sleeping next to her.

It was sad. And sweet. Painful and wonderful. I tell you, friends and neighbors, it was very, very powerful stuff indeed.

And, I packed that picture away again. I could never throw it away. It means too much to me. And to think, that I forgot that I still had it.
So, I guess, that answers why I am still toting all of this crap around with me.

Whew. Got a little maudlin there, didn't I?

Okay, so back to the news.

So, we finished the move intact. the Drastically Damaged Furniture Count for this move was at an all time low for me, none. And none of the roommates came to blows. Which was a relief.

This Sunday past marked the end of an interesting sociological experiment for me. Our temporary lodger, Mike, left us, to return to his faraway home land, Lexington, Kentucky. As you may or may not be aware, Mike was with us for almost three months, occupying our couch, and working tech for Big, the Musical out at Metropolis. Mike's presence in our home and in our lives was brought about by my actions. I met Mike at my Improv Class back at Boone. He was a stellar improviser. Very brave in a way that most Improvisers cannot allow themselves to be. Truly impressive.

So, from that meeting, I invited Mike to come and live with us, for the duration of the shows run. This allowed him to sample a city that he might eventually want to live in and even take a class at Improv Olympic. It was a win-win situation for everyone.

But, Mike left us early on Sunday morning, while I was off at a meeting (more on that later) and I did not get to give him a proper send off. If I had seen him, I would've said this, " Mike, it was a pleasure having you here with us. I was so caught up in all of the trauma of daily life, that I never got to thank you for coming here. Please come visit us again. Besides, I owe you some cash and you can apply that to a nice fat bar tab, to be split between us. I hope your travels home were safe. Don't be a stranger."

Well, I guess I did get to say that to him, after all.

Okay, enough blathering. I guess I'll conclude this particular missive with my latest bit of news.

Starting this upcoming Saturday night, I am one of the newest interns at Improv Olympic. I'm told that this is a very hard position to get, so that might be something. In truth, I just lucked into it. I heard from a good friend, Karen, that there was an opening and I immediately began bugging Mike, the head of the IO Intern Program. He finally crumbled under the barrage of phone calls and invited me to come to the mandatory meeting on Sunday morning. I got the grand tour and nibbled on bagels amongst good folks.

So, for the next eight weeks and possibly beyond, I will spend five hours, each Saturday night, fetching ice and beer cases and liquor for the bartenders. I will also seat the customers and bounce the odd drunken fool. I will be available to assist the regular staffers whenever they need me, for whatever task they require. In exchange for this, I get free classes at IO and the unmistakable opportunity to prove my worth (or lack thereof), under the intense scrutiny of Charna Halpern and other Improv Luminaries. So, it could be really, really good or really, really painful. Time will tell.

So, that's my big news. In fact, it was really my reason to sit down to the computer and start typing in the first place. I don't know where that other crap even came from. Oh, how the mind rambles.

I hope that you are well.
I hope that you are safe.
I hope that you are happy.

Please feel free to write me back, as soon as your schedule permits.

Be well,
Write Often.

Mr.B