v. Chair

This is the last entry in a series of posts about Chicago.

I could write more, but I won't. I started writing these as an homage to Chi-town. But they're getting harder and harder to write the closer and closer I get to leaving. That last entry in particular felt especially forced.

I now have less than 48 hours in this city. I've cried three times in the past week because I am a punk-ass bitch and I've been listening to Sam Smith while writing these (and because of this damn video series about living in Chicago). I haven't cried three times in the past ten years. So I kinda want to stop making myself feel bad.

Full disclosure: I am hopped up on Dayquil, slathered in Vaporub and grappling with all these very conflicting emotions right now. Also, I just watched "Birdman" last night and it hit a little too close to home so this might be very rambly and ranty. Neither of those are words. None of this makes sense. I'll keep this short. Amen.

This is a Bentwood chair. It's used by many improv theaters in Chicago (notably iO and Second City). For scenes and stuff. You can use it as a dinner table or as a fireplace or even a rocket ship because it's improv and you can do whatever the hell you want. The only limit is your imagination.

Most improvisors end up using it as a chair though.

A few years ago, I was this close to getting a tattoo of that chair. On my right forearm. I wanted a tattoo that would show off my dedication and love for the craft of improv. I thought of other tattoos. The word "React" on my arm. "Yes And" in cool type on my chest. Del Close's face on my left butt cheek. Ultimately, I settled on the chair. The only reason I didn't get it was, days before I was supposed to be inked, I went to an improv show and met a dude with that exact tattoo in the exact location I had planned on getting it.

There are no original ideas.

I do wish I had gotten that tattoo though. I still might get it. Maybe.

Not because of my dedication and love for improv. Honestly, I haven't done improv in a couple of years. iO and the Annoyance recently moved to different locations in the past few months. I haven't been to either. I honestly can't remember the last time I even went to an improv show.

You know how people say never meet your heroes because they'll only disappoint you? Sometimes I wonder if the same should be said of pursuing your passions.

There are many reasons I don't do improv anymore. The biggest one is that it just stopped being fun. I stopped loving it. It was as if someone flipped a switch in my brain. One week, I was taking three improv classes, devouring books on improv theory and attending shows every night. The next week, I just… stopped.

(Delma gets worried when I talk to her about this. "How can you just suddenly stop loving something you've loved for so long?" she'll ask. I don't know. It's a scary thought.)

So then why would I still get that tattoo?

Because it's what brought me here.

Improv was the catalyst that made me uproot and plant myself in an unknown city 1,100 miles from home. Even if improv ended up not working out, coming to Chicago was one of the best decisions I've made. The tattoo would be a reminder of that time, that reason, that passion, etc.

I don't know if leaving Chicago is the right choice. I might not love improv anymore, but even with the snow and the corrupt politicians and the hatred against putting ketchup on a hot dog (IT'S FUCKING DELICIOUS, CHICAGOANS, TRY IT SOMETIME), I still love this city. And, even if it's only been five years, I'm much more proud of what I accomplished in those five years here than anything else I've done in my life.

So I'm having doubts.

But if improv has taught me anything, it's this:

1) Never ask questions. Ever (not even if, in the context of the scene, it's a perfectly valid and acceptable decision to do so).

2) No choice is a bad choice.

The worst thing you can be as an improvisor is indecisive. Standing on stage, thinking of what to do next, makes for a shitty scene. Make a choice, any choice, and commit to it. Bold choices are usually the most rewarding, even if they are the most terrifying.

I've made a choice. Is it the right choice? Who knows. But it's a choice. It's happening. We'll see how this pans out.

But I'll miss you, Chicago. You've been good to me. Real good.

And scene.