(note: Archived Painhole essays can be found at the bottom of this page)
(note: Archived Painhole essays can be found at the
bottom of this page)
I hope by now I’ve driven the ice-pick deep enough into your frontal lobes that you realize I tend to use the forum of the Painhole to rant about my FNI issues de-jour. One reason for this (and like all good zealots I’ve convinced myself that it’s a noble one) is that - like you - I care a great deal about FNI and want only to see it live up to it’s potential. However, there is a second and not so hidden reason I divert good nap-time to write this column every week: I’ve got a ton of pent-up aggression over things in my life that I can’t do a damm thing about, and sadly my only outlet is to take it out on you. Me Ike. You Tina. I think you get the point. But FNI has and odd way of surprising you when your not looking, and that leads me to this week topic: What the hell can I bitch about when everything just goes absolutely right.
If you were one of the 48,000 in attendance this last week, you got to see one seriously kick-ass show. Perhaps you witnessed something different, but what I saw was one of those rare nights were a series of totally random elements all came together and balanced themselves just right to form a really memorable evening. I don’t know about you, but as I drag my ass through the mundane work week, stiffileing the every ugre to replace the non-dary creamer for my coffee with Drano, the flickering light at the end of the tunnel is that maybe, just maybe, the show will be as good as it was last Friday night. We had a huge audience, there were a bunch of new people, the games all went well, the show didn’t run too long, we had a great showcase, and, lest we forget, we had some wrestling.
And while we’re on the subject of wrestling, I’d like to tell you a little something about that. See, the Saturday before, Ben and I were enjoying a fine lunch at Uncle Sam’s (shameless plug). Because neither Ben nor I have anything close to a real-life we were discussing the show. We were trying to put a new spin on an old idea, namely that of the “recurring story” (many years ago FNI did a recurring game called Soap Opera; each week you’d see the same characters performing in an on-going story). It was then that we hit on the wrestling idea. Well, a few hours later we were driving all over god’s creation looking for a store to buy those wrestling belts. We discussed the back-plot and the general outline of how we wanted to things to go. I saw Steve Werber later that night and told him what we wanted to do. Ok, now here is the important point. While Ben, Steve, and I each knew what we had to be done, none of us had the time to really coordinate with each others on the details. We each knew our part, and how things were supposed to end up; but none of use knew what the others where planning. Long story short, while what happened last Friday night went off with all the refined precision of the Germans doing a repo job on the Arc de’ France, in reality it was as much seat-of-the-pants improv to us as anything else. And if you could have just seen the crack-addict-taking-a-fresh-hit look of Werber’s face as things were reaching the boiling point; well; let’s just say that look will keep me alive for another week.
I know, I know... you were there, you had a good time.... so why am I performing all this fine lip service? I’ll tell you. See, despite the fact that FNI is driven almost entirely by the audience, it dose not happen magically by it’s self. You’ve probably heard me ramble on ad-nausaum about how FNI is never about any one person, but the group as a whole. And this is true. However, all anti-Ayn Randisims aside, FNI lives or dies by the work of a few people. Who are they? Well, for starters, you’re one of them.
Look, I know you already support FNI. You pay your two-dollars every week. Thank-you; because that’s the blood money that keeps the Cosanorstra of the Theater Dept. from breaking Ben’s legs. Perhaps you get up and perform each week. Great - I think you’re very entertaining; you make me laugh until I pee. But the time has come, good friends of Improvs, for a bit more action on your part. Dangerous times call for dangerous people - and I think you know just who I have in mind.
See, while we languish in the K9 days of February, I see May just around the corner. What happens then? Well, soon Pitt, CMU, that Jesus place, will all go on Spring Break. When the students return it’s straight into Finals and right after that the break for the summer. When that happens, sixty to seventy percent of our audience will disappear faster than a 10 yo boy at Zigfried & Roy’s Vegas estate. Sure, they’ll be back come September, but what about the endless wasteland know as Summer Provs? While I know some of you enjoy those intimate nights when we have a whopping 30 people in the audience, I’m getting a little too old to handle three solid months Whiely & Chung. So we need your help to keep the show alive.
FNI needs you to become missionaries of mayhem. Witnesses for Winky, as it were. We need you (yes, you) to go out among the unbelievers and spread the word. Starting today, I’m challenging each and every one of the six people who read the PainHole to bring one extra person to FNI. Tell your friends, your co-workers, tell the people who call during diner asking you to switch long-distance carriers. Tell them all about FNI. When your walking down the street or riding the bus, ask total strangers if they’ve herd the Good News. Grab a poster at the show (and if you don’t see any, just ask me) and put it up *anywhere* other people will see it. Tell that freak CountZero that you type to on IRC for eight hours each day about the FNI Web site. Look, FNI has all the budjet of a cheap Ed Wood film, so we rely almost exclusively on word-of-mouth advertising. Well, I’ve got the words, and you’ve got the mouth.... let’s make lot’s of money. Listen people, if we don’t start to renew our audience base now, tomorrow will be too late. Starting this week, expect to see our audience decline faster than T-Cell count of the host on Interior Motives. Call us LeStat, but we need new blood. And it’s up to you to get it.
What happened last Friday night doesn’t happen all the time. And perhaps it shouldn’t. But that kind of kinetic comedic energy can’t be kept in a bottle either. We’ve all see it - we’ve all marveled at the wonder of it all. And I think it high-time we shared our little secret with the rest of the world; or at the very least least, the rest of Western Pennsylvania. Because in the end, if we don’t do something then the Groundlings and the rest of their no-improving ilk win. And are you going to stand for that? Especially after what they said about your mother??
Going back in my little box now
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