In case you have been living under a rock (read: not paying attention to me as you probably should be), you all know that this past Saturday was my very first improv class.
One down, seven to go.
I think I bit off a bit more than I can chew with this one.
No, I don’t believe it either.
Let’s just start off by saying I woke up extremely early to ensure that I wasn’t late to my 10:00am class. By early I mean 6:00am. I don’t get up that early on a weekday so I was pissed. But I was on time. And freaked out, honestly. Nearly in full-on panic mode.
There are 12 other peeps in the class from all over the place. Different home towns, occupations, backgrounds, sexual orientations, you name it. We are all different.
I figured the first class would be a lot of talking about how the class would go, etc., then we’d get to leave early. Nope. We did real improv shit, guys. Like legit exercises and games and such. Noises, imitations, you name it.
Overall, I’d say it went well but yea…this is seriously a big deal. I don’t mean “I’m a big deal”, I mean more of a “omg…this is serious and everyone is taking it as life and death and we have a motherfucking show at the end of the 8 weeks”.
What did you do this weekend?