For the second week in a row, we did line-at-a-time limericks at Playground last night. Also for the second week in a row, I sucked horribly at it! Limerick writing isn’t a skill I’ve exactly mastered, and doing a line of a limerick based on other peoples’ lines is even harder. Clearly I need to practice a lot more. This is an important life skill!
In the name of practice and public humiliation, I’m going to subject you to a few limericks I’ve come up with. I hope you’ll still respect me in the morning.
In retrospect, getting through my first improv class was a pretty big deal. It didn’t really feel like it at the time, though. By the end of the class, I was having so much fun that I’d almost forgotten I was nervous in the first place. I wouldn’t say that the first class had me hooked for life; there were still some doubts lingering in the back of my head. But I was definitely tiptoeing down the path to addiction.
In the weeks leading up to my first improv class, I experienced a bunch of conflicting emotions. I was excited to be doing something new, but I was also terrified to have to perform in front of other people. I was eager to meet some new people, but I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to match their brilliance. I was especially afraid of needing to be funny — I was sure that all of my classmates would be hilarious, and I’d be outed as a bore. In the end, the excitement may have surpassed the terror by a small margin, but was a very close race.
Tori recently blogged about starting improv, and Kenner blogged about an improv experience that has apparently scarred him for life. So I thought I’d jump on the bandwagon and share my experience so far. First, a disclaimer: I’m an absolute beginner at improv. A neophyte. A n00b. What I’m about to describe is my experience over my first sevenish weeks of improv classes. Please don’t mistake me for an expert. You’ll be sorely disappointed.
So, without further ado, I present you with part one of the story of my personal introduction to improv: