I went to voice class Saturday morning. I was early, even after taking the CTA (two buses) for a 10:30 start. Class usually begins at 11:00, but Gwen had been starting early so everybody could rehearse enough for our class show at Davenport’s on Sunday.
This never happens. Me arriving at school, or anywhere really, on time. When it comes to class, I am usually 20 minutes late and I usually take a cab. I found Peggy settling into a seat. She usually arrives early, as she likes when it’s quiet. We talked about our recital the next day, and how made-up we wanted to be. I told her Linda and I would only be wearing plain black cardigans with some some fabric flowers. Peggy had found a paisley top, and a friend to help her with hair and makeup.
Gwen showed up, more people arrived, and we started to practice our songs. When we weren’t singing we were cutting flowers out of construction paper (decorations for the venue) or folding program sheets to slip into the psychedelic program covers. Linda and I sounded pretty good, which of course worried me. What if us sounding good in practice on Saturday resulted in us sounding just plain crazy bad on Sunday? I tried not to get myself into a panic.
I had no time to panic. After class, I rushed home, ate some lunch, did a load of laundry, and met Khloé and Jeff for a show at Second City. I’d forgotten how to access the mainstage, so I spent about 10 minutes sitting at the tables outside the entrance to the attic space, surrounded by napping Second City student before I figured out that maybe my evening’s entertainment wasn’t going to consist of watching napping Second City students while sitting on a dirty lawn chair.
Found the proper entrance. My friends had the tickets so I parked myself on a bar stool and looked at my fellow audience members gawk at photographs of former cast members hanging on the walls of the lobby. Tina Fey with shorter hair, Rachel Dratch with thicker eyebrows, Chris Farley at various sizes. PS: folks looking at Chris Farley’s pictures were not exactly kind in their comments, either. Khloé and Jeff arrived, and we were seated in a large dark room, chairs packed practically on top of each other to squeeze as much revenue out of the space as possible. My two drinks were a root beer float (made with Sprecher root beer) in a souvenir glass, and a hot chocolate. The hot chocolate was necessary, as I was freezing. Is good sketch comedy worth freezing for? Definitely. I don’t remember the cast of SC shows being so small but there were only four people, and they were all hilarious. Why have I not been to a show at Second City since the late nineties? Is it because it brings up memories of my own horrible, desperate attempts in auditions for the campus improv comedy troupe at college, reminding me that I’m not nearly as funny or clever as I’d previously believed?