Well, there are some people in Harlem that can watch me perform and refrain from immediate booing.
I live right next to Jackie Robinson Park, where today Disney, ESPN and the NYC Parks and Recreation folks were hosting "Street Games." I wandered over to check it out, and saw kids playing stickball, jump rope, skully, hopscotch, and a bunch of other simple, high-energy games. Unfortunately, I didn't notice a kick-the-can station, or I would've been all over that. I'm a great can-kicker.
They had entertainment acts on the bandshell as well, including a kid doing yo-yo tricks and a James Brown impersonator, but I had to leave that area quickly because in between acts they were playing Disney Radio versions of songs I like ("Take On Me," Bicycle Race," etc.), and it was quickly making me not like them.
I wandered farther down the park, past the arts and crafts stations and the hot dog stand, and found that 98.7 Kiss (a station which, as I've mentioned before, evokes very strong feelings) had a table set up and was giving away tickets to an advance screening (I originally typed "advanced screening," but I don't think that's correct--unless 3-D glasses are involved or something) of Ironman to people who would sing into their microphone.
With a crowd of about 20 people watching, I belted out the first verse and chorus of "Livin' On A Prayer," without Ray Chew there to help me sound good. I received a fist pound from the DJ, kudos for performing fearlessly in Harlem, free movie tickets, and most importantly, no boos!
I'm back, baby!
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
For more information on Grand Funk, consult your school library
We played Encore at FHE Monday night. That's the game where you have a word ("love," "time," "baby," etc.), and each team takes turns singing a line from a song that includes that word, until one team can't think of any more. I love this game, because it's kind of like a mini-karaoke party, and I like to see what songs come first to people's minds. Will even got me the Deluxe Encore board game edition for Christmas a few years ago.
It reminded me of a topic I had planned to blog about, back in the days when I was taking notes in anticipation of future blogging but didn't have this baby up and running yet.
Until a few weeks before I came to New York, I never owned an iPod or any of its offspring or competitors. I also rarely buy CDs, preferring the radio because I like to be pleasantly surprised when a good song comes on. Jukeboxes are great, but only when someone else pays.
However, I knew the work I would be doing out here would be incredibly isolated and monotonous, and knowing the alternative was being left alone with my thoughts, I figured I'd better get some tunes. I bought one of my brother Derek's old MP3 players (I think he had four at the time), subscribed to Rhapsody (your welcome, Lars Ullrich), and started loading up songs.
The first time I brought it to work with me, I selected "Play All," and was soon listening to 1500 or so songs in titular alphabetical order. It was great. I usually left the SanDisk (will Apple come after me if I call it an iSanDisk?) at work, but one night I was planning to add more songs, so I wore it out of the office. Big mistake.
As I walked toward the subway, Michael Jackson's "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" came on. It's a great song, and since I wasn't accustomed to listening to music while walking, my brain wasn't able to overcome my instincts.
I started strutting.
At least I think I did. After a minute I realized that I seemed to be walking differently. Nobody said anything to me (I probably only passed one or two people), and I couldn't see myself, so maybe it didn't look strange; but I was definitely, subconsciously trying to pull off a "cool walk." I'm guessing I was unsuccessful.
Speaking of that song, though...is there any non-article that starts more titles of great songs than "Don't?" We used that word at FHE, and it was the round that lasted longest. Just on my MP3 player, I've got that Michael song, "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey (who also produced one of the best music videos ever, plus Steve Perry has always reminded me of frequent blog commenter Shabba Shabba--sorry, Joey), "Don't Get Me Wrong" (I saw The Pretenders at my first concert, although the B-52s were admittedly the bigger draw for me at the time), "Don't You Want Me," a great Bill Clinton party song, "Don't You Forget About Me" (Simple Minds is a Scottish band! Yay!), "Don't Tell Me" (a mediocre Madonna song, but it's ok), and, of course, "Don't Stop Me Now," my favorite Queen song that doesn't involve David Bowie, and they were once my favorite band (I'm not sure who holds the top spot now--probably Huey Lewis and the News).
And there might even be more on there that I can't remember. Fortunately for my street safety, but unfortunately for my sanity at work, my player freaked out on me a few weeks after the strutting incident, so I can't rock out on the subway anymore.
Maybe someone has a walkman I can borrow.
It reminded me of a topic I had planned to blog about, back in the days when I was taking notes in anticipation of future blogging but didn't have this baby up and running yet.
Until a few weeks before I came to New York, I never owned an iPod or any of its offspring or competitors. I also rarely buy CDs, preferring the radio because I like to be pleasantly surprised when a good song comes on. Jukeboxes are great, but only when someone else pays.
However, I knew the work I would be doing out here would be incredibly isolated and monotonous, and knowing the alternative was being left alone with my thoughts, I figured I'd better get some tunes. I bought one of my brother Derek's old MP3 players (I think he had four at the time), subscribed to Rhapsody (your welcome, Lars Ullrich), and started loading up songs.
The first time I brought it to work with me, I selected "Play All," and was soon listening to 1500 or so songs in titular alphabetical order. It was great. I usually left the SanDisk (will Apple come after me if I call it an iSanDisk?) at work, but one night I was planning to add more songs, so I wore it out of the office. Big mistake.
As I walked toward the subway, Michael Jackson's "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" came on. It's a great song, and since I wasn't accustomed to listening to music while walking, my brain wasn't able to overcome my instincts.
I started strutting.
At least I think I did. After a minute I realized that I seemed to be walking differently. Nobody said anything to me (I probably only passed one or two people), and I couldn't see myself, so maybe it didn't look strange; but I was definitely, subconsciously trying to pull off a "cool walk." I'm guessing I was unsuccessful.
Speaking of that song, though...is there any non-article that starts more titles of great songs than "Don't?" We used that word at FHE, and it was the round that lasted longest. Just on my MP3 player, I've got that Michael song, "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey (who also produced one of the best music videos ever, plus Steve Perry has always reminded me of frequent blog commenter Shabba Shabba--sorry, Joey), "Don't Get Me Wrong" (I saw The Pretenders at my first concert, although the B-52s were admittedly the bigger draw for me at the time), "Don't You Want Me," a great Bill Clinton party song, "Don't You Forget About Me" (Simple Minds is a Scottish band! Yay!), "Don't Tell Me" (a mediocre Madonna song, but it's ok), and, of course, "Don't Stop Me Now," my favorite Queen song that doesn't involve David Bowie, and they were once my favorite band (I'm not sure who holds the top spot now--probably Huey Lewis and the News).
And there might even be more on there that I can't remember. Fortunately for my street safety, but unfortunately for my sanity at work, my player freaked out on me a few weeks after the strutting incident, so I can't rock out on the subway anymore.
Maybe someone has a walkman I can borrow.
Monday, April 21, 2008
30
That's not my new age (close though), but rather the number of Facebook happy birthday wall posts I received. That's not including the e-mails, text messages, phone calls, birthday parties and post-stake conference singles potluck Primary birthday song sing-alongs that were sent my way.
I've felt a lot of love lately from my friends and family, and they helped me have a fabulous birthday. You could say I was on a 4/20 high all day long. Hmmm, maybe you shouldn't actually say that...
I've felt a lot of love lately from my friends and family, and they helped me have a fabulous birthday. You could say I was on a 4/20 high all day long. Hmmm, maybe you shouldn't actually say that...
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Boo Radley
I was booed off the stage of the Apollo Wednesday night. Thought I'd get that out there right away, in case some of you don't want to read the 5000-or-so word post that I'm about to write. I'm going to describe the whole thing in (perhaps agonizing) detail. Seriously, this is going to get long.
It was kind of a shock when the day rolled around, because it didn't seem like it would ever actually happen. I auditioned way, way back on December 1--yes, that's over four months ago. At the time I assumed I would be back in Utah in April, and wondered if I'd actually be able to perform. Then, as the day drew closer, I knew I'd still be in the city, but wondered if there would actually be a show on April 16 (it wasn't listed on the schedule on the Apollo's home page, I found discount coupons that were valid only for shows on April 2, 9, and 23, plus I know people who've bought tickets in the past only to show up and learn that the show had been cancelled for that night).
This waiting and uncertainty, combined with my natural tendency to procrastinate, resulted in poor preparation on my part, at least for a while. From the day of the audition, my routine was always in the back of my mind, but I made only token efforts to get ready until I was nearly out of time.
By the end of December, I had three ideas that I thought I could flesh out into three-minute routines. My goal was to prepare all three, perform them for FHE focus groups, and go with whichever routine was funniest. By the end of February, I had a full outline for one routine, a bunch of notes for one of the others, and nothing beyond the one idea for the third. By mid-March, I abandoned the idea of finishing all three routines (because I knew I wouldn't do it) and started focusing on the one I had worked on the most (which I'm pretty sure was the best option of the three anyway).
I finally wrote my first full rough draft during General Conference weekend, but didn't actually have a final draft until last Sunday (and I even made a couple of changes the day of the show). I practiced it a few times on my own Monday and Tuesday to make sure I had it memorized and that it wasn't longer than three minutes, but I was fairly tense and apprehensive when I woke up on Wednesday.
I think most people would agree that I'm a pretty laid-back guy, which is great, except for the rare times I am stressed out, because I don't really know how to deal with it. I didn't go to work that day, and luckily Cousin Rachel also had the day off. We met near her apartment and got some Crown Fried Chicken (excellent), which we ate in Central Park. Rachel gave me a good pep talk (even though a lot of it consisted of telling me about others who bombed at Amateur Night, so it was also like a preemptive consolation talk) which calmed me down a lot. By the time lunch ended Marcus had joined us (Marcus and Rachel are two of literally dozens of people in my ward who live within two blocks of the north edge of the park), and I performed my routine for them.
This was a HUGE help. My nervousness was largely caused by three things: I had never performed it for an audience of any size; part of my routine involved me yelling loudly, and it felt too weird to practice that part at full volume on my own in my apartment, but outside with people watching it felt more natural; and last of all, I was worried that my stuff just wasn't that funny (when I outlined it, I thought it was really good, but when I wrote it all out I was kind of disappointed, although as I memorized it and became more comfortable with it it started growing on me again--but I just wasn't sure). But Rachel and Marcus laughed a lot, and I now felt much more at ease than I had the past few days. Thanks, guys! (Especially you, Cuzz--you're the best!)
I had to be at the theater for sound check by 3:30 (the show started at 7:30). We had to wait around in the green room (just a big open room with a bunch of folding chairs in it; I don't know if they have better dressing rooms for when big stars come to perform) for a while, which gave all of the contestants a chance to get to know Bobby Pass. Because Bobby made sure everyone knew he was there.
I actually remembered Bobby from the audition. He kept trying to cut in line, somehow thinking he was important and awesome because he was there to audition, even though that's why everybody was there. He's a big guy, a near double of the comedian Bruce Bruce, and he actually would've probably done well as a comedian (but he chose to sing). Bobby is definitely one of the most likeable unlikeable people (which is worse than being an unlikeable likeable person) I've ever met. He was constantly talking, alternating between talking about how we was going to win and we were all going to lose, bragging about his ability to perform the Whispers (he sang "Chocolate Girl"), telling the story of how he got a free bus ride from Philly to NYC to do the show and how late he'd be getting back that night, and most unsettlingly, hitting on and saying inappropriate things to every woman in the room, including the mothers of the younger competitors who were there. Not pleasant. The other comedian who performed that night did a pretty good job of keeping him in line and mocking him when he went too far (he was MUCH funnier backstage than onstage, which is too bad).
They finally came and got us for the sound check, which increased my confidence in my ability to make the top four. Several acts seemed imminently booable, including a girl who did a really cheesy (which is appropriate, I guess) rendition of a High School Musical song (although it turned out she was actually in the Young Stars competition, the under-15, boo-free portion of Amateur Night); Charles, who sang Rihanna's "Umbrella" (it started off really bad, but he and the band changed the key, which made a huge difference, but I was still worried for him); my comedian friend, whose name I can't remember (his act consisted of encouraging white people to declare bankruptcy, and how black people are constantly in a recession--again, he was much funnier offstage than on); Lena, a 19-year-old Russian singer who had talent but was super nervous, and I also thought some people might be put off by her affectations (like putting her hand to her ear even though she's not wearing an earpiece; if she auditioned for American Idol Simon would've likely found her annoying); Black Jewelz, who did some kind of rap/angry poetry thing (those acts are never a big hit with the Amateur Night crowd); Monique, who I thought was probably the second-best singer in the group but forgot the words at one point; and, of course, Bobby. He refused to hold the mic close to his mouth, which would've helped him out, but he just wasn't very good.
That left just four acts that I thought were as good as or better than me, and one of those was in the Young Stars competition, so my confidence was growing, especially after getting a few laughs during my sound check. We finished about 5:30, and were told to be back by 7:15 for final instructions and to find out the order we'd be performing in.
It was a beautiful day for walking around Harlem. I wandered the streets, where I saw old men sitting outside playing dominoes for the first time. I bought my first NYC street shishkebab in five years, and moseyed past all of the street vendors (125th Street, where the Apollo is, is almost like a Chinatown extension. It's also where Bill Clinton has his offices--it's a fun area), including the one where I bought my "costume" for my performance (more on that in a bit).
I made my way back to the theater around 7:00, and the butterflies started to return, but not as bad as they had been that morning. The woman (not sure what her title is; producer? talent coordinator?) who had laughed hardest during my audition came in and told us what would happen to the top performers (cash prizes, and the top three come back the following week for the next round of competition!), and then ran through the show's lineup: Young Stars first, then the ten acts in the regular competition. I was 9th. This, I thought, was both bad (it meant that much more waiting, that much more time for my anxiety to take over) and good (it seems like the producers put the acts they feel are best at the end of the show--the final performer was the winner both this week and when I was in the audience about a month ago).
There are three huge plasma screens in the green room, but Amateur Night is not televised, so when we were in there we couldn't see what was happening on the stage, but we could hear it. The show finally started, with house band Ray Chew and the Crew trying to get the crowd pumped up. Then they did the traditional "Apollo Soul Train Dance Off," which is often the most entertaining part of Amateur Night, and the part I was most disappointed at not being able to see. They pull people out of the crowd, usually foreign tourists, and let them make fools of themselves onstage. It's great. I heard that I missed a memorable performance from a big lady in green spandex.
While this was going on, CP Lacey tapped his way into the room. Mr. Lacey is better known as The Executioner, the man responsible for chasing people off the stage when the crowd turns on them, tap dancing all the while. I asked him for a picture, saying I hoped it would be the only time we were near each other that night.
Yes, my t-shirt says "I'm so Harlem." Jessica Allred was the one who alerted me to the shirt's existence and where to find the vendor who sold them. I tucked it in to enhance my already-raging whiteness, plus it accentuated my pot-belly, which I thought would be helpful for my first joke (keep reading). Unfortunately, I let Lacey wear my hat for this photo, and then he wouldn't give it back. Just kidding.
After the dance contest, it was time for the Young Stars competition, hosted by none other than Ronald McDonald. Having him out there, especially speaking with a New York accent, is pretty creepy, although I never had a problem with him when I was a kid. The one girl sang even worse than she did in sound check, although I couldn't see how her cheesy dance moves went. The other girl won with a decent rendition of an Alicia Keys song.
Out next was our host, a comedian named Drew Frasier, who did a short-but-not-short-enough monologue. Most of it was the same one he used a month ago, although a new bit about causes of death among black peoples' dogs was pretty funny. However, it came in relation to a strange comment about how two years ago, people were worried about mad cow disease, and last year the big scare was bird flu. Does this guy ever update his act? Overall, though, I thought he was much funnier than the last time I heard him (both in his monologue and in his comments in between acts), although I don't think any of my friends in attendance found him amusing at all.
The first one out was Clarissa, who sang a gospel song called "His Eye is on the Sparrow." In sound check, I heard the first line as "Jesus is my Porsche," but I later found out it's "portion." Makes more sense. I've seen people get booed when singing about Jesus, but I think a song about the Lord will buy you at least an extra 30 seconds of stage time than a generic pop song before people feel comfortable heckling. Clarissa didn't need it though, she was really good.
Up next was Nasty, a beatboxer from the Czech Republic. The crowd loved him, and rightfully so. He told me he ran out of saliva at the end of his performance, so he didn't get to end his routine the way he wanted to, but the audience didn't care. They cheered him throughout.
Charles was up next. He sounded pretty good, but eventually we started hearing boos over the greenroom speaker. Eventually the boos were joined by the sound of a siren, and the Executioner had his first victim of the evening. Chuck came back downstairs, obviously disappointed but not bitter (he was a super-nice guy). I sniggered as I saw Lacey walk into the room wearing a Cub Scout uniform (he's dressed in a different costume every time he dances out onto the stage), but stopped as soon as I saw the angry look on his face.
"That wasn't cool man," he said to Charles, who quickly tried to apologize. (Apparently, when the Executioner came out on stage, Charles aimed a mock martial arts kick at him which had accidentally grazed him.)
Lacey started walking away before quickly spinning around, with a big smile on his face.
"I'm just kidding, man," he said. "It's all part of the show." He then advised Charles that at the Apollo, it generally doesn't go well "when guys do girl songs or girls do guy songs." That's been true from what I've seen and heard at previous Amateur Nights.
After Charles came the Apollo Legends video tribute segment. Obviously noticing the large LDS contingent in the audience, they featured Gladys Knight and the Pips. GK and the P won Amateur Night an astounding five times early in their career.
When I say large LDS contingent, I mean large. I made sure my performance was mentioned in the ward e-mail the last few weeks, but the fantastic Becca Shim went one step further and organized a way for people to get tickets together as a group. I had about 50 fans sitting together in the lower balcony level plus five to ten more scattered throughout the audience. I was and still am very surprised and flattered at the massive amount of support I received from my friends.
Lina was up next, and she made it through her song without getting booed off. The other comedian was up next but not so fortunate, despite Drew urging the audience to give the comedians a chance to get going before they judged them (he lasted about 20-30 seconds before they started letting him have it). He didn't even return to the green room. I guess he just left.
My man Bobby hit the stage next, but the crowd wasn't having it. It seemed they had gotten into a booing mindset, like when the Springfieldians are stealing their lemon tree back from Shelbyville and Homer tosses a steak to distract the junkyard dog chasing Bart, but the dog gulps it down and continues the pursuit. "Faster, son," Homer calls, "he's got a taste for meat now!" Yeah, that's how the crowd was, and it had me a little worried.
Bobby lasted probably about two minutes before getting the boot. He came back down obviously angry, cussing up a storm, which at least distracted him from hearing the insults Drew dished out after he left the stage. Monique made it through her Chaka Khan song without forgetting the words or drawing the crowd's ire. Then there was intermission.
The intermission seemed so long. There were only three acts left; Sharmain was super nervous, which was making me more nervous. Black Jewelz didn't say a word to anybody the entire night, so I don't know how he was feeling.
They finally brought us all up to the stage area. Jewelz didn't rub the Tree of Hope (the tree stump every performer rubs for luck as they walk onto the stage) for some religious reason, he said, which didn't sit well with the crowd. And neither did his passionate semi-rap about how finding Jesus turned him away from a life of crime and drug abuse. He didn't get to finish.
I was then pulled in to the area just offstage, where some of the stage hands were muttering, "I don't know what religion that is." I barely had enough time to grab the microphone handed to me before I heard Drew Frasier say my name.
I walked on to the stage, gave the Tree a vigorous "Wax on," then looked up at the crowd. The lights were so much brighter than they had been during sound check, and it kind of threw me off. I received a number of positive comments on my shirt from my fellow performers and some Apollo employees, but I doubt that many in the audience could actually read it. Darn. I wasn't scared, just excited, and I didn't freeze, but I made a couple of mistakes right off the bat. First, I probably waited at least a second or two longer for the noise to die down before I got started (the crowd gave me polite applause as I emerged, and my cheering section was probably more vociferous).
Then I gave my first line, "I know what you're all thinking," but instead of following it up with "but NO, I am not the pregnant man you saw on Oprah," which always gets a good laugh, I inexplicably ad libbed something about how they were all probably waiting to boo me off just like they had done to the rest of the male performers. I was practically inviting them to boo me, and some people did. (Unfortunately, I don't think any were saying "Boo-urns.")
Realizing I had made a potentially fatal mistake, I immediately launched into my routine, but it was too late. As soon as my friends heard the first boos, they started cheering like crazy in an attempt to save me. This seemed to motivate the booers to increase their volume, and soon there were two competing waves of sound with me trying to shout jokes about the subway over them. I got about halfway through my routine before my friends were overpowered, and the siren went off. I gave the classic Mountain West ref pose (arms spread in a "What happened?" fashion), gave a wave to the crowd and walked off stage. I didn't notice what Lacey's costume was when he came to collect me; if anyone saw, please let me know.
I'm pretty sure I would've been booed off anyway, but those first few seconds sealed the deal. Apollo crowds are notoriously vocal, but some are more harsh than others, and this seemed to be one of them. Also, comedians rarely fare well; the crowd generally prefers singers, rappers and dancers (I was surprised we didn't have any dancers in our group). It also certainly seems they prefer women to men (or at least feel worse about booing women)--five out of six guys were booed off, but all four women made it through. Race may be a factor for some people, but I don't think it's the case generally; the crowd always loves the white people in the dance contest, and I was the only one to be booed off out of three white performers. If anything, I think my skin color may have helped me, but I guess there were too many factors working against me that night.
I have to say, there's nothing that can really prepare you for being booed. I've had plenty of jokes fall flat in shows and conversations, performed in front of unresponsive crowds, been turned down for dates and jobs spots on basketball teams, but I had never experienced anything with that level of hostility before. It's not a pleasant feeling. Realizing that it's "part of the show" makes it easier to get over, but I'd prefer to never have it happen again. Maybe this will help me be nicer to people.
Sharmain went next and sang "I'm Goin' Down." She nailed it, and deservedly won first prize. You can see clips of the other finalists I hoped to compete against here. As far as I know, there is no video of me performing on the Apollo stage. Sad.
Once I heard the results, I made my way out the back door and walked around the block to greet my public. A few people I didn't know told me I did a good job as I passed, which was nice. My friends were great; I started feeling better as soon as I saw them.
Yes, this is generally how it goes at formal or informal church outings here: a big group of good-looking women, and me and maybe one other guy. One of my top reasons for wanting to stay out here.
Becca lives just a few blocks from the theater, and had also arranged for people to pay a few extra bucks when they got their tickets so we could all gather for soul food on the roof of her building after the show. Did I mention she's fantastic?
Not surprisingly, everyone wanted to hear what they had missed, and I was happy to oblige. Yes, I know that cup isn't plugged in, but I need a crutch when I perform.
And I got quite a few laughs! I was vindicated! Take that, Apollo! Take that, Executioner! Take that, Drew Frasier! Most of all, take that, boo birds! I'm awesome.
False bravado aside, I will readily admit that I wish things had ended differently than they did, that I was returning this week to defend my title, and above all that I hadn't been booed. But if you've read this far, hopefully I've made it clear that the process was enjoyable and incredibly memorable. I'm really glad I did it.
It seems this blog has fulfilled the measure of its creation. I plan on continuing to write, but I may have to come up with a new name. If you're still reading at this point (only about 3800 words instead of 5000--I'm always looking out for you), feel free to leave suggestions in the comments.
Thank you Apollo! Good night!
It was kind of a shock when the day rolled around, because it didn't seem like it would ever actually happen. I auditioned way, way back on December 1--yes, that's over four months ago. At the time I assumed I would be back in Utah in April, and wondered if I'd actually be able to perform. Then, as the day drew closer, I knew I'd still be in the city, but wondered if there would actually be a show on April 16 (it wasn't listed on the schedule on the Apollo's home page, I found discount coupons that were valid only for shows on April 2, 9, and 23, plus I know people who've bought tickets in the past only to show up and learn that the show had been cancelled for that night).
This waiting and uncertainty, combined with my natural tendency to procrastinate, resulted in poor preparation on my part, at least for a while. From the day of the audition, my routine was always in the back of my mind, but I made only token efforts to get ready until I was nearly out of time.
By the end of December, I had three ideas that I thought I could flesh out into three-minute routines. My goal was to prepare all three, perform them for FHE focus groups, and go with whichever routine was funniest. By the end of February, I had a full outline for one routine, a bunch of notes for one of the others, and nothing beyond the one idea for the third. By mid-March, I abandoned the idea of finishing all three routines (because I knew I wouldn't do it) and started focusing on the one I had worked on the most (which I'm pretty sure was the best option of the three anyway).
I finally wrote my first full rough draft during General Conference weekend, but didn't actually have a final draft until last Sunday (and I even made a couple of changes the day of the show). I practiced it a few times on my own Monday and Tuesday to make sure I had it memorized and that it wasn't longer than three minutes, but I was fairly tense and apprehensive when I woke up on Wednesday.
I think most people would agree that I'm a pretty laid-back guy, which is great, except for the rare times I am stressed out, because I don't really know how to deal with it. I didn't go to work that day, and luckily Cousin Rachel also had the day off. We met near her apartment and got some Crown Fried Chicken (excellent), which we ate in Central Park. Rachel gave me a good pep talk (even though a lot of it consisted of telling me about others who bombed at Amateur Night, so it was also like a preemptive consolation talk) which calmed me down a lot. By the time lunch ended Marcus had joined us (Marcus and Rachel are two of literally dozens of people in my ward who live within two blocks of the north edge of the park), and I performed my routine for them.
This was a HUGE help. My nervousness was largely caused by three things: I had never performed it for an audience of any size; part of my routine involved me yelling loudly, and it felt too weird to practice that part at full volume on my own in my apartment, but outside with people watching it felt more natural; and last of all, I was worried that my stuff just wasn't that funny (when I outlined it, I thought it was really good, but when I wrote it all out I was kind of disappointed, although as I memorized it and became more comfortable with it it started growing on me again--but I just wasn't sure). But Rachel and Marcus laughed a lot, and I now felt much more at ease than I had the past few days. Thanks, guys! (Especially you, Cuzz--you're the best!)
I had to be at the theater for sound check by 3:30 (the show started at 7:30). We had to wait around in the green room (just a big open room with a bunch of folding chairs in it; I don't know if they have better dressing rooms for when big stars come to perform) for a while, which gave all of the contestants a chance to get to know Bobby Pass. Because Bobby made sure everyone knew he was there.
I actually remembered Bobby from the audition. He kept trying to cut in line, somehow thinking he was important and awesome because he was there to audition, even though that's why everybody was there. He's a big guy, a near double of the comedian Bruce Bruce, and he actually would've probably done well as a comedian (but he chose to sing). Bobby is definitely one of the most likeable unlikeable people (which is worse than being an unlikeable likeable person) I've ever met. He was constantly talking, alternating between talking about how we was going to win and we were all going to lose, bragging about his ability to perform the Whispers (he sang "Chocolate Girl"), telling the story of how he got a free bus ride from Philly to NYC to do the show and how late he'd be getting back that night, and most unsettlingly, hitting on and saying inappropriate things to every woman in the room, including the mothers of the younger competitors who were there. Not pleasant. The other comedian who performed that night did a pretty good job of keeping him in line and mocking him when he went too far (he was MUCH funnier backstage than onstage, which is too bad).
They finally came and got us for the sound check, which increased my confidence in my ability to make the top four. Several acts seemed imminently booable, including a girl who did a really cheesy (which is appropriate, I guess) rendition of a High School Musical song (although it turned out she was actually in the Young Stars competition, the under-15, boo-free portion of Amateur Night); Charles, who sang Rihanna's "Umbrella" (it started off really bad, but he and the band changed the key, which made a huge difference, but I was still worried for him); my comedian friend, whose name I can't remember (his act consisted of encouraging white people to declare bankruptcy, and how black people are constantly in a recession--again, he was much funnier offstage than on); Lena, a 19-year-old Russian singer who had talent but was super nervous, and I also thought some people might be put off by her affectations (like putting her hand to her ear even though she's not wearing an earpiece; if she auditioned for American Idol Simon would've likely found her annoying); Black Jewelz, who did some kind of rap/angry poetry thing (those acts are never a big hit with the Amateur Night crowd); Monique, who I thought was probably the second-best singer in the group but forgot the words at one point; and, of course, Bobby. He refused to hold the mic close to his mouth, which would've helped him out, but he just wasn't very good.
That left just four acts that I thought were as good as or better than me, and one of those was in the Young Stars competition, so my confidence was growing, especially after getting a few laughs during my sound check. We finished about 5:30, and were told to be back by 7:15 for final instructions and to find out the order we'd be performing in.
It was a beautiful day for walking around Harlem. I wandered the streets, where I saw old men sitting outside playing dominoes for the first time. I bought my first NYC street shishkebab in five years, and moseyed past all of the street vendors (125th Street, where the Apollo is, is almost like a Chinatown extension. It's also where Bill Clinton has his offices--it's a fun area), including the one where I bought my "costume" for my performance (more on that in a bit).
I made my way back to the theater around 7:00, and the butterflies started to return, but not as bad as they had been that morning. The woman (not sure what her title is; producer? talent coordinator?) who had laughed hardest during my audition came in and told us what would happen to the top performers (cash prizes, and the top three come back the following week for the next round of competition!), and then ran through the show's lineup: Young Stars first, then the ten acts in the regular competition. I was 9th. This, I thought, was both bad (it meant that much more waiting, that much more time for my anxiety to take over) and good (it seems like the producers put the acts they feel are best at the end of the show--the final performer was the winner both this week and when I was in the audience about a month ago).
There are three huge plasma screens in the green room, but Amateur Night is not televised, so when we were in there we couldn't see what was happening on the stage, but we could hear it. The show finally started, with house band Ray Chew and the Crew trying to get the crowd pumped up. Then they did the traditional "Apollo Soul Train Dance Off," which is often the most entertaining part of Amateur Night, and the part I was most disappointed at not being able to see. They pull people out of the crowd, usually foreign tourists, and let them make fools of themselves onstage. It's great. I heard that I missed a memorable performance from a big lady in green spandex.
While this was going on, CP Lacey tapped his way into the room. Mr. Lacey is better known as The Executioner, the man responsible for chasing people off the stage when the crowd turns on them, tap dancing all the while. I asked him for a picture, saying I hoped it would be the only time we were near each other that night.
Yes, my t-shirt says "I'm so Harlem." Jessica Allred was the one who alerted me to the shirt's existence and where to find the vendor who sold them. I tucked it in to enhance my already-raging whiteness, plus it accentuated my pot-belly, which I thought would be helpful for my first joke (keep reading). Unfortunately, I let Lacey wear my hat for this photo, and then he wouldn't give it back. Just kidding.After the dance contest, it was time for the Young Stars competition, hosted by none other than Ronald McDonald. Having him out there, especially speaking with a New York accent, is pretty creepy, although I never had a problem with him when I was a kid. The one girl sang even worse than she did in sound check, although I couldn't see how her cheesy dance moves went. The other girl won with a decent rendition of an Alicia Keys song.
Out next was our host, a comedian named Drew Frasier, who did a short-but-not-short-enough monologue. Most of it was the same one he used a month ago, although a new bit about causes of death among black peoples' dogs was pretty funny. However, it came in relation to a strange comment about how two years ago, people were worried about mad cow disease, and last year the big scare was bird flu. Does this guy ever update his act? Overall, though, I thought he was much funnier than the last time I heard him (both in his monologue and in his comments in between acts), although I don't think any of my friends in attendance found him amusing at all.
The first one out was Clarissa, who sang a gospel song called "His Eye is on the Sparrow." In sound check, I heard the first line as "Jesus is my Porsche," but I later found out it's "portion." Makes more sense. I've seen people get booed when singing about Jesus, but I think a song about the Lord will buy you at least an extra 30 seconds of stage time than a generic pop song before people feel comfortable heckling. Clarissa didn't need it though, she was really good.
Up next was Nasty, a beatboxer from the Czech Republic. The crowd loved him, and rightfully so. He told me he ran out of saliva at the end of his performance, so he didn't get to end his routine the way he wanted to, but the audience didn't care. They cheered him throughout.
Charles was up next. He sounded pretty good, but eventually we started hearing boos over the greenroom speaker. Eventually the boos were joined by the sound of a siren, and the Executioner had his first victim of the evening. Chuck came back downstairs, obviously disappointed but not bitter (he was a super-nice guy). I sniggered as I saw Lacey walk into the room wearing a Cub Scout uniform (he's dressed in a different costume every time he dances out onto the stage), but stopped as soon as I saw the angry look on his face.
"That wasn't cool man," he said to Charles, who quickly tried to apologize. (Apparently, when the Executioner came out on stage, Charles aimed a mock martial arts kick at him which had accidentally grazed him.)
Lacey started walking away before quickly spinning around, with a big smile on his face.
"I'm just kidding, man," he said. "It's all part of the show." He then advised Charles that at the Apollo, it generally doesn't go well "when guys do girl songs or girls do guy songs." That's been true from what I've seen and heard at previous Amateur Nights.
After Charles came the Apollo Legends video tribute segment. Obviously noticing the large LDS contingent in the audience, they featured Gladys Knight and the Pips. GK and the P won Amateur Night an astounding five times early in their career.
When I say large LDS contingent, I mean large. I made sure my performance was mentioned in the ward e-mail the last few weeks, but the fantastic Becca Shim went one step further and organized a way for people to get tickets together as a group. I had about 50 fans sitting together in the lower balcony level plus five to ten more scattered throughout the audience. I was and still am very surprised and flattered at the massive amount of support I received from my friends.
Lina was up next, and she made it through her song without getting booed off. The other comedian was up next but not so fortunate, despite Drew urging the audience to give the comedians a chance to get going before they judged them (he lasted about 20-30 seconds before they started letting him have it). He didn't even return to the green room. I guess he just left.
My man Bobby hit the stage next, but the crowd wasn't having it. It seemed they had gotten into a booing mindset, like when the Springfieldians are stealing their lemon tree back from Shelbyville and Homer tosses a steak to distract the junkyard dog chasing Bart, but the dog gulps it down and continues the pursuit. "Faster, son," Homer calls, "he's got a taste for meat now!" Yeah, that's how the crowd was, and it had me a little worried.
Bobby lasted probably about two minutes before getting the boot. He came back down obviously angry, cussing up a storm, which at least distracted him from hearing the insults Drew dished out after he left the stage. Monique made it through her Chaka Khan song without forgetting the words or drawing the crowd's ire. Then there was intermission.
The intermission seemed so long. There were only three acts left; Sharmain was super nervous, which was making me more nervous. Black Jewelz didn't say a word to anybody the entire night, so I don't know how he was feeling.
They finally brought us all up to the stage area. Jewelz didn't rub the Tree of Hope (the tree stump every performer rubs for luck as they walk onto the stage) for some religious reason, he said, which didn't sit well with the crowd. And neither did his passionate semi-rap about how finding Jesus turned him away from a life of crime and drug abuse. He didn't get to finish.
I was then pulled in to the area just offstage, where some of the stage hands were muttering, "I don't know what religion that is." I barely had enough time to grab the microphone handed to me before I heard Drew Frasier say my name.
I walked on to the stage, gave the Tree a vigorous "Wax on," then looked up at the crowd. The lights were so much brighter than they had been during sound check, and it kind of threw me off. I received a number of positive comments on my shirt from my fellow performers and some Apollo employees, but I doubt that many in the audience could actually read it. Darn. I wasn't scared, just excited, and I didn't freeze, but I made a couple of mistakes right off the bat. First, I probably waited at least a second or two longer for the noise to die down before I got started (the crowd gave me polite applause as I emerged, and my cheering section was probably more vociferous).
Then I gave my first line, "I know what you're all thinking," but instead of following it up with "but NO, I am not the pregnant man you saw on Oprah," which always gets a good laugh, I inexplicably ad libbed something about how they were all probably waiting to boo me off just like they had done to the rest of the male performers. I was practically inviting them to boo me, and some people did. (Unfortunately, I don't think any were saying "Boo-urns.")
Realizing I had made a potentially fatal mistake, I immediately launched into my routine, but it was too late. As soon as my friends heard the first boos, they started cheering like crazy in an attempt to save me. This seemed to motivate the booers to increase their volume, and soon there were two competing waves of sound with me trying to shout jokes about the subway over them. I got about halfway through my routine before my friends were overpowered, and the siren went off. I gave the classic Mountain West ref pose (arms spread in a "What happened?" fashion), gave a wave to the crowd and walked off stage. I didn't notice what Lacey's costume was when he came to collect me; if anyone saw, please let me know.
I'm pretty sure I would've been booed off anyway, but those first few seconds sealed the deal. Apollo crowds are notoriously vocal, but some are more harsh than others, and this seemed to be one of them. Also, comedians rarely fare well; the crowd generally prefers singers, rappers and dancers (I was surprised we didn't have any dancers in our group). It also certainly seems they prefer women to men (or at least feel worse about booing women)--five out of six guys were booed off, but all four women made it through. Race may be a factor for some people, but I don't think it's the case generally; the crowd always loves the white people in the dance contest, and I was the only one to be booed off out of three white performers. If anything, I think my skin color may have helped me, but I guess there were too many factors working against me that night.
I have to say, there's nothing that can really prepare you for being booed. I've had plenty of jokes fall flat in shows and conversations, performed in front of unresponsive crowds, been turned down for dates and jobs spots on basketball teams, but I had never experienced anything with that level of hostility before. It's not a pleasant feeling. Realizing that it's "part of the show" makes it easier to get over, but I'd prefer to never have it happen again. Maybe this will help me be nicer to people.
Sharmain went next and sang "I'm Goin' Down." She nailed it, and deservedly won first prize. You can see clips of the other finalists I hoped to compete against here. As far as I know, there is no video of me performing on the Apollo stage. Sad.
Once I heard the results, I made my way out the back door and walked around the block to greet my public. A few people I didn't know told me I did a good job as I passed, which was nice. My friends were great; I started feeling better as soon as I saw them.
Yes, this is generally how it goes at formal or informal church outings here: a big group of good-looking women, and me and maybe one other guy. One of my top reasons for wanting to stay out here.
Becca lives just a few blocks from the theater, and had also arranged for people to pay a few extra bucks when they got their tickets so we could all gather for soul food on the roof of her building after the show. Did I mention she's fantastic?
Not surprisingly, everyone wanted to hear what they had missed, and I was happy to oblige. Yes, I know that cup isn't plugged in, but I need a crutch when I perform.
And I got quite a few laughs! I was vindicated! Take that, Apollo! Take that, Executioner! Take that, Drew Frasier! Most of all, take that, boo birds! I'm awesome.
False bravado aside, I will readily admit that I wish things had ended differently than they did, that I was returning this week to defend my title, and above all that I hadn't been booed. But if you've read this far, hopefully I've made it clear that the process was enjoyable and incredibly memorable. I'm really glad I did it.
It seems this blog has fulfilled the measure of its creation. I plan on continuing to write, but I may have to come up with a new name. If you're still reading at this point (only about 3800 words instead of 5000--I'm always looking out for you), feel free to leave suggestions in the comments.
Thank you Apollo! Good night!
Monday, April 14, 2008
Shiny objects and loud noises
Here's a partial list of things that have distracted me from blogging the last two weeks:
- March Madness spilling over into April
- General Conference (awesome, I thought--even more so than usual)
- Attending a taping of The Daily Show
- Seeing La Boheme at the Met
- Work (boo!)
- Visiting an Evangelical church in Harlem (a great experience)
- Institute
- Reading! (Mainly reacquainting myself with "The Chronicles of Prydain" in preparation for one of Rosemary's literary salons)
- Meeting my neighbors
- Trying to wrap my head around what I heard one 50-something man in a suit say to another 50-something man in a suit while I walked behind them across the Columbia campus: "They just switched the baseball field over to an artificial surface. It's completely...completely...artificial. It has a grass-type look to it." One of the two is clearly a moron, but I don't know which one.
- And, of course, preparing for my Apollo performance, which is this Wednesday! I can't believe it's here. I auditioned over four months ago, and it seemed like it would never actually happen. Once it's past, I'll hopefully become a more regular blogger again.
For most of the stuff on the above list, I was with one or more of the awesome people in my ward. I seriously love these people, and they like me too: about 60 of them are coming to watch me perform! I still can't believe it. I'm stunned, in a very good way. Now I'm nervous about my material, because I don't want any of my friends to have to pretend I was good if I wasn't (they're way too nice to tell me if I'm bad). So I hope I'm funny, for my sake and theirs.
Wish me luck!
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
It's April, fools!
Remember in the last post, when I said I was done with the holiday-themed posts? Well...April Fools'! Actually, I'm back to blogging about current events, and today happens to be a holiday, so there you go.
Do we have any serious pranksters out there? If so, leave your April Fools' Day story in the comments, or write about it on your blog and let me know.
I don't usually do much for this "holiday", but two years ago I pulled a good one on the friends in my improv comedy troupe, Laugh Out Loud. First I sent everyone this e-mail, just after midnight so it would seem like I sent it on March 31:
"Well, I hope the girls' show was a big success, because it may be the last show we get to do for a while. Allan got a letter from BYUSA today, and it was bad news. He asked me to send out this e-mail to let you all know what's going on.
It seems that BYUSA has been compiling a list of complaints about our club and our shows. According to the letter, most of the complaints fall into one of three categories:
1) Inappropriate jokes: Some people have been offended at some of our shows; according to the letter, most of the detailed complaints indicated that the offensive jokes usually happened during one of our "line-up games" (I assume they mean jump-up games).
2) Players' appearance: A lot of people have apparently complained about the facial hair seen at our shows.
3) "Discriminatory practices": The letter said our girls' show violated BYUSA's policy of inclusion by "deliberately excluding a segment of the campus community" and making non-LDS students feel unwelcome. This, after all of the other complaints, was the "last straw."
By "last straw," they meant that LOL is officially on probation. That means that we can't have any more official club meetings or performances until Allan meets with BYUSA people to discuss the issues outlined above. The letter indicated that if we are reinstated, some changes will have to be made, including a policy that only current BYU students are allowed to perform and that all performers must be in compliance with the dress and grooming guidelines in the Honor Code (of course, this contradicts the third complaint category, but I guess that's BYUSA for ya).
Obviously, we're going to appeal, and I like our chances. Allan should be able to handle most of it on his own--he'll contact you if he needs your help (basically, I'm saying it probably won't do much good at this point if we randomly call up BYUSA to complain or start wearing t-shirts of protest).
Hopefully we'll get this taken care of quickly, and we won't have to cancel any practices or shows. For now, keep letting me know of your availability for shows on the 13th and 14th, and keep responding to Brendan's e-mails about fortune cookies. We'll get you an update as soon as we can.
Keep laughing,
Jeff"
The key to believability, I think, was my use of fake quotes (well, that and BYUSA's general incompetence). I waited three days, then sent this e-mail (gosh, I'm clever):
"Guys and gals--
Okay, here's an update on the status of LOL.
Today Allan and I met with the folks at BYUSA to try and get our probation lifted. Unfortunately, the meeting didn't go very well.
You may be surprised to hear this, but the BYUSA people were stubborn and uncooperative. They refused to discuss specific shows or jokes which resulted in complaints, or even to give a clear definition of what an "offensive" joke was. Basically, if someone was offended enough to complain, then that joke was offensive. Love the circular logic there.
Allan did most of the talking, and was amazingly patient as he tried to discuss the complaints against us...but then out of nowhere, they mentioned that they had looked at our club accounts and wondered why we needed to make so much money, and indirectly accused Allan of using the club's money dishonestly. I was stunned, and Allan was too, for a moment. I don't know if they were ready for what came next but I know I wasn't...
!$%?!@*#
Allan basically freaked out on them. I think he used the word "Nazi" more than once, and that was about the nicest and cleanest thing he called them in the next 60 seconds. I'm sure it felt good to vent, but it probably didn't help our cause much. They asked us to leave and come back when Allan had calmed down.
Probably about ten minutes later, Allan had mellowed enough to go back in front of the Gestapo. They didn't let us say anything else in our defense; they said they had come to a final decision (something tells me they had reached that decision before the meeting even started).
Ready for this? Here's what they decided: our club charter is immediately revoked; we can reapply for one at the beginning of Fall Semester, but only if we meet a few conditions: we can only have a maximum of one club fundraiser ( i.e., one show) per month; only BYU students and alumni can be in the club, and they must abide by the Honor Code's dress and grooming standards; before our first two shows, a BYUSA official has to approve every joke (we tried in vain to explain what improv comedy is, but they didn't want to hear it); and Allan cannot be an officer in the "new" club.
Immediately after hearing this, Allan stormed out of the office, tossing a few more "nice" remarks over his shoulder as he did so. They asked me to tell him that they would be referring him to the Honor Code office.
Looking on the bright side (it's a small one, but still), they said that if the planned audit of our club accounts didn't turn up any improprieties, the money would be available to us again in the fall--enough to spearhead a pretty good anti-BYUSA advertising campaign, I think.
Folks, LOL is on life support, but it isn't dead. Here's what'll happen next:
Obviously, we'll exhaust any other appeals processes that may be available.
Organizations other than BYUSA sponsor clubs. Divine Comedy, for example, left BYUSA, I think in part because of money, and is now a departmental club. This may be a viable option for us.
Last of all, if it comes down to it, there's always grassroots protest. People are rallying around that Hendricks guy that got fired a few weeks ago, and few if any of his supporters knew him before. We're a popular, talented, affordable comedy troupe that is being persecuted by "the man"--we shouldn't have trouble drumming up support for our cause. We will make people laugh again!
So come to practice Thursday (our club no longer officially exists, but I doubt anyone else has scheduled the room yet), and we'll discuss our plan of attack. If we go down, let's all go down like Allan, in a blaze of glory. So all together now:
!&#$*%@ you, BYUSA!
Jeff
P.S. Go back to the top of the e-mail and read the first letter of every paragraph. Thanks."
Not bad, eh? Oh, and for those of you who read this post's title and hoped there would be some Mr. T content, don't worry, that was NOT an April Fools' prank (if you watch the videos, know that they are also not pranks--sadly/awesomely, stuff like that happened all the time in the 1980s).
Do we have any serious pranksters out there? If so, leave your April Fools' Day story in the comments, or write about it on your blog and let me know.
I don't usually do much for this "holiday", but two years ago I pulled a good one on the friends in my improv comedy troupe, Laugh Out Loud. First I sent everyone this e-mail, just after midnight so it would seem like I sent it on March 31:
"Well, I hope the girls' show was a big success, because it may be the last show we get to do for a while. Allan got a letter from BYUSA today, and it was bad news. He asked me to send out this e-mail to let you all know what's going on.
It seems that BYUSA has been compiling a list of complaints about our club and our shows. According to the letter, most of the complaints fall into one of three categories:
1) Inappropriate jokes: Some people have been offended at some of our shows; according to the letter, most of the detailed complaints indicated that the offensive jokes usually happened during one of our "line-up games" (I assume they mean jump-up games).
2) Players' appearance: A lot of people have apparently complained about the facial hair seen at our shows.
3) "Discriminatory practices": The letter said our girls' show violated BYUSA's policy of inclusion by "deliberately excluding a segment of the campus community" and making non-LDS students feel unwelcome. This, after all of the other complaints, was the "last straw."
By "last straw," they meant that LOL is officially on probation. That means that we can't have any more official club meetings or performances until Allan meets with BYUSA people to discuss the issues outlined above. The letter indicated that if we are reinstated, some changes will have to be made, including a policy that only current BYU students are allowed to perform and that all performers must be in compliance with the dress and grooming guidelines in the Honor Code (of course, this contradicts the third complaint category, but I guess that's BYUSA for ya).
Obviously, we're going to appeal, and I like our chances. Allan should be able to handle most of it on his own--he'll contact you if he needs your help (basically, I'm saying it probably won't do much good at this point if we randomly call up BYUSA to complain or start wearing t-shirts of protest).
Hopefully we'll get this taken care of quickly, and we won't have to cancel any practices or shows. For now, keep letting me know of your availability for shows on the 13th and 14th, and keep responding to Brendan's e-mails about fortune cookies. We'll get you an update as soon as we can.
Keep laughing,
Jeff"
The key to believability, I think, was my use of fake quotes (well, that and BYUSA's general incompetence). I waited three days, then sent this e-mail (gosh, I'm clever):
"Guys and gals--
Okay, here's an update on the status of LOL.
Today Allan and I met with the folks at BYUSA to try and get our probation lifted. Unfortunately, the meeting didn't go very well.
You may be surprised to hear this, but the BYUSA people were stubborn and uncooperative. They refused to discuss specific shows or jokes which resulted in complaints, or even to give a clear definition of what an "offensive" joke was. Basically, if someone was offended enough to complain, then that joke was offensive. Love the circular logic there.
Allan did most of the talking, and was amazingly patient as he tried to discuss the complaints against us...but then out of nowhere, they mentioned that they had looked at our club accounts and wondered why we needed to make so much money, and indirectly accused Allan of using the club's money dishonestly. I was stunned, and Allan was too, for a moment. I don't know if they were ready for what came next but I know I wasn't...
!$%?!@*#
Allan basically freaked out on them. I think he used the word "Nazi" more than once, and that was about the nicest and cleanest thing he called them in the next 60 seconds. I'm sure it felt good to vent, but it probably didn't help our cause much. They asked us to leave and come back when Allan had calmed down.
Probably about ten minutes later, Allan had mellowed enough to go back in front of the Gestapo. They didn't let us say anything else in our defense; they said they had come to a final decision (something tells me they had reached that decision before the meeting even started).
Ready for this? Here's what they decided: our club charter is immediately revoked; we can reapply for one at the beginning of Fall Semester, but only if we meet a few conditions: we can only have a maximum of one club fundraiser ( i.e., one show) per month; only BYU students and alumni can be in the club, and they must abide by the Honor Code's dress and grooming standards; before our first two shows, a BYUSA official has to approve every joke (we tried in vain to explain what improv comedy is, but they didn't want to hear it); and Allan cannot be an officer in the "new" club.
Immediately after hearing this, Allan stormed out of the office, tossing a few more "nice" remarks over his shoulder as he did so. They asked me to tell him that they would be referring him to the Honor Code office.
Looking on the bright side (it's a small one, but still), they said that if the planned audit of our club accounts didn't turn up any improprieties, the money would be available to us again in the fall--enough to spearhead a pretty good anti-BYUSA advertising campaign, I think.
Folks, LOL is on life support, but it isn't dead. Here's what'll happen next:
Obviously, we'll exhaust any other appeals processes that may be available.
Organizations other than BYUSA sponsor clubs. Divine Comedy, for example, left BYUSA, I think in part because of money, and is now a departmental club. This may be a viable option for us.
Last of all, if it comes down to it, there's always grassroots protest. People are rallying around that Hendricks guy that got fired a few weeks ago, and few if any of his supporters knew him before. We're a popular, talented, affordable comedy troupe that is being persecuted by "the man"--we shouldn't have trouble drumming up support for our cause. We will make people laugh again!
So come to practice Thursday (our club no longer officially exists, but I doubt anyone else has scheduled the room yet), and we'll discuss our plan of attack. If we go down, let's all go down like Allan, in a blaze of glory. So all together now:
!&#$*%@ you, BYUSA!
Jeff
P.S. Go back to the top of the e-mail and read the first letter of every paragraph. Thanks."
Not bad, eh? Oh, and for those of you who read this post's title and hoped there would be some Mr. T content, don't worry, that was NOT an April Fools' prank (if you watch the videos, know that they are also not pranks--sadly/awesomely, stuff like that happened all the time in the 1980s).
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