Create, Adjust, and Maneuver (Blog #395)

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Last night was one of the best night’s I’ve had in a while. Our improv group, The Razorlaughs, performed in Tulsa at a venue called The Rabbit Hole. A few of our regular members were unable to attend, so at first it was just going to be my friend Aaron and me. (I realize that, grammatically, that should be Aaron and I, Mom.) But at the last-minute our friend Victoria jumped in, and y’all, last night was her first improv show ever, but she did great! We had a small audience, a baker’s dozen, but all of them were into the show, and most of them participated. As a performer, this makes all the difference, performing for people who want to be performed to.

In the above photo, we are making a nod to one of our improv games–Stand, Sit, Kneel–where someone always has to be standing, sitting, or kneeling. (Therefore, if one person changes their position, the others have to also.) In the picture below, Aaron and I were playing a game called Pillars with two audience members, who had to “fill in the blanks” or give us suggestions at random times during the game.

One of the highlights of last night’s show was that my friend Kara, whom I went to high school with, came to watch. She even got up on stage. (She also took the above photos.) When we graduated, Kara was the valedictorian of our class, and I was the salutatorian, so I couldn’t help but notice how well she did with The Alphabet Game, where players have a conversation in which the first sentence starts with A, the next with B, and so on. When it came to the letter X and it was Kara’s turn to speak, she said, “Xerxes (pronounced Zerksies) only knows. (Pause.) It starts with an X, I promise.” So this morning I texted Kara, referenced this moment on stage, and said, “#ThingsOnlyValedictoriansSay.”

Last week at therapy I told my therapist that I was doing the Autoimmune Paleo (AIP) diet, which basically means eating nothing enjoyable–wheat, dairy, tomatoes, legumes, eggs, nuts, or alcohol. Later she told me, “Go easy on yourself. It’s okay to modify. If you want to eat some nuts, eat some frickin’ nuts.” So last night after the show I took her advice to heart. Aaron, Victoria, Kara, and I met at Kilkenny’s, a cool Irish pub, and whereas I stuck to AIP for my meal, I decided to have a drink. I told myself, “It’s okay to modify, Marcus. If you want to have some vodka, have some vodka.”

When our group wrapped up for the evening and said our goodbyes, I walked around the corner at Kilkenny’s and ran into my swing dancing friends Gregg and Rita, who had come by for a bite after last night’s celebratory swing dance. (Yesterday was International Dance Day). Y’all, it was the perfect little unexpected reunion. They were with their son and some of his friends, and everyone was so kind. We sat for a couple of hours and just caught up, talking about dance, work, family, earrings–you name it.

It was a wonderful night.

This is what I want for my life.

Now it’s two in the afternoon, and I’m back in Arkansas. When I first woke up this morning, I thought I was going to be sick because my sinuses were running. Maybe it’s just allergies, I thought. Still, I took some probiotics that usually help my sinuses, lay back down for a nap, and have been hitting the water pretty hard since I woke back up. (Water covers a multitude of sins.) I just had breakfast, and I need to get on the road again in an hour and a half, since I’m seeing a show in Little Rock tonight. I don’t have a “deep thought” for the day, but I do wish you could see an improv show–the way the people on stage have NO idea what’s about to happen, but are still able to create, adjust, and maneuver their way into something fun. More and more, this is what I want for my life, to be able to rise to any occasion, to take what life gives me, roll with it, and enjoy.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Our burdens are lighter when we share them.

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You Can’t Go Home Again (Blog #363)

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It’s almost three in the morning, Daddy is tired, and tonight’s blog (number 363) is one of the few that I’ve written (or am writing) on not-my-laptop. Hang in there, I’ll explain.

For the most part, today was just a day. I slept in, finished reading a book, took a nap. This evening, however, was something else. First, when I woke up from my nap, I got a letter in the mail that said my health insurance was ending in–uh–three days. Shit, I thought. My appointment with the immunologist is next week! Well, it took a few minutes, but I remembered that a friend (and blog reader) of mine works in health insurance, so I called her. “Oh,” she said, “they probably just need you to update your income information. Let me make some calls. Don’t worry until I tell you to.” Y’all, I can’t tell you what a relief this is, that even though the “problem” isn’t solved yet, I have someone who’s not only experienced with this stuff but is willing to help. (Phew.) Once again I’m reminded–no one is alone.

Also, thanks, friend.

Tonight our improv comedy group, The Razorlaughs, had our monthly performance at a local restaurant. We were short a couple members, but thankfully some talented (hilarious) friends of ours were in the audience and were able to fill in. (The show went great.) Afterwards, I went over to my friends Justin and Ashley’s house to eat Taco Bell, have a few drinks, and–apparently–play the longest card game ever, Phase 10. (I came in second, even though we technically quit before the game was over, since some people have to go to work in the morning.) Anyway, I’m at Justin and Ashley’s now, as I opted to stay here rather than drive home not-drunk-but-not-sober-either.

Good choice, Marcus, good choice.

We were like Three’s Company.

For those of you that don’t know, Justin has been one of my closest friends for the last eighteen years. As he says, we’ve known each other longer than some people have mortgages. We met on the debate team in high school and moved in together in 2009. Now Ashley is his wife, but back then they were just dating, and after a while Ashley moved in with Justin and me. Well, she actually moved in with Justin, but I came along with the deal. Anyway, for several years all of us lived together here on Reeder Street (where they still live, and I am now), and we were like Three’s Company or whatever. Looking back, it really was magical. Having lived with my parents until I was–uh–twenty-eight, this was truly my first “on my own” home, the first place I thought of as mine, even though it technically wasn’t. (Justin bought the house, and I paid rent.) Still, when I moved in I got to pick the colors for my room and have some shelves installed in both my room and my closet. Plus, I got my own bathroom and half the office, and Justin pretty much let me do whatever I wanted.

Again, for four years, this was my home. This is where I ate my meals, this is where I brought my dates, this is where I meditated, and this is where I taught dance lessons when I wasn’t at the studio. But eventually, things changed (like they do). In 2013, just as Justin and Ashley were preparing to get married, I decided to move out of the Reeder Street house and in with my ex. (If you’re familiar with the blog, you know that relationship didn’t end well, but it did send me to therapy, and that turned out great. Consequently, now I live with my parents and have this blog. Such is the mystery of life.) Anyway, I’ve been back to Justin and Ashley’s a number of times in the last several years, but tonight is my first time back in my old room, my first time sleeping here, since I moved out.

Currently I’m trying to take it all in and not get too emotional. The room itself is still the same–the walls are still brown and orange, the shelves still hang where they did before. As I’m writing I keep looking around the room, picturing my old bookshelves, my old knickknacks, even my old ceiling fan–all things that no longer even belong to me since the estate sale. Like, I couldn’t find them if I wanted to–they only exist in my mind. And yet there I can find them as if it were yesterday. There was a red leather chair sitting where the bed is now. A picture of my sister hung low on the wall, underneath the window. (The nail hole hasn’t been filled in.) I used to cry in this room. I used to laugh in this room.

They say you can’t go home again, and I guess that’s true. Both back in my old room at my parents’ house and back in my old room at Justin and Ashley’s, I feel a twinge of the familiar. These places are comfortable, filled with memories the way the sky is filled with clouds–here one minute and gone the next. And whereas I’m grateful for both my old rooms–for a night, for a year, whatever–I know that I have long since outgrown them. Things are different now. I’m different now. This is what not being able to go home again means–not that you can’t be in the same physical space you grew up in, but that you can’t turn back the clock to a time when things were simpler or less complicated. You can’t exchange your memories for reality. You can’t un-live your life or un-grow yourself.

The past is no more serious than a cloud in the sky.

Three more posts (including this one) away from a full year of blogging, and this is what being in my old room reminds me of–how much I’ve grown. Honestly, my life has been a roller coaster since I moved out of here. Sometimes it’s been a real bitch, actually. But even though I’d like to see some things in my outside world change, I love where I am on the inside, and I see every bit of my past–including this room–as having brought me to where I am now. For this reason, I’m grateful for my past, with all its tears and laughter. But I also know that I wouldn’t choose to go back or relive any of it if I could. The past is the past, for a reason. I’m glad it’s over. Looking back, I remember being so over-the-moon or distraught about countless things. Now I’m like, whatever, just as surely I’ll be “whatever” about my cancelled insurance a month from now. So surely the past (and even the present) is no more serious than a cloud in the sky, here one minute and gone the next. Surely we weren’t meant to cling to any of it. Surely life was meant to be lived right here, right now, and then let go of.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No good story ever ends.

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The Improv Adventure (Blog #261)

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A couple months ago I bought the wrong-sized boxer briefs. These were small, and I’m usually a medium. (I’m glad we can talk about such things.) Anyway, I tried to fit into them, but there was simply no way in hell. I mean, my butt’s really big, and it was like trying to push a bowling ball through a pea shooter. Not cute. At first I thought about trashing the boxer briefs, but I’m not really one to waste things, so then I thought about giving them away. Surely I can find a skinny twink in need of a pair of four-dollar underwear. (Hey–I’m not cheap–they were on sale! Also, look at me, trying to put underwear ON a twink.) But, honestly, giving once-tried-on underwear away is a rather weird thing to do, even for the holidays. I get that. Besides, what would the card say–Thinking of you? Plus, I’d already taken the tags off.

So I just kept them.

The History of my Underpants by Marcus Coker.

Believe it or not, there’s a point here. Last night, in a mad dash to get ready for my first improv comedy show, I realized I didn’t have any clean underwear–except the small boxer briefs! Well, I’ve lost some weight recently, so I thought, What the hell, it can’t hurt to try. So I took a deep breath, and y’all, it’s amazing what a few pounds can do–I actually managed to get the waistband over my hump. Granted, I felt like I was wearing a girdle, but I had clean underwear on, by god. Actually, it was rather pleasant the way they squeezed everything together, pushed one cheek up against the other, and made my assets, well, perkier.

Yes, I said assets.

The improv show last night with The RazorLaughs was a fundraiser for Dwight Mission, somewhere in Oklahoma. I didn’t drive, so I honestly have no idea where it was, but I guess getting people to come to an improv show in the middle of nowhere is about like getting people to attend a rumba lesson in Arkansas. In other words, there weren’t a lot of people there. This made me nervous, like, this could be awkward, but Aaron, Ian, and Summer said they’d performed for small groups before, and sometimes they’re easier than large ones–it just depends on the particular crowd. Fortunately, we lucked out. First of all, we got fed, and the food was great–apple and cranberry stuffing, sweet potatoes, green beans, and make-your-own sugar cookies. (Talk about fancy!) Second, the group was wonderful. We performed for over an hour, and not only did they not leave the room or throw rotten fruit at us, they participated and laughed–a lot.

If you’ve never been to an improv comedy show, it’s intentionally silly and unbelievable. In one of the scenes last night, I was a party host who had to guess what made each attendee special–Ian was a guy who laughed at EVERYTHING, Aaron was a hand model, and Summer was a sloth. It took me FOREVER to guess the sloth thing. Why are you moving so slowly–are you a woman on drugs? I mean, I was only given so much to work with (I knew I was a party host, and that was it), then I had to figure the rest out as I went along. In this sense, it was like an adventure. This is the fun of improv–not knowing where you’re going until you get there. In another scene, Summer was Frosty, and she was fighting with Aaron, who was Santa. Well, before things were over, Santa revealed that Frosty was his son. (Who would have guessed!) Summer said, “Uh, I’m actually your daughter.”

End of scene.

I realize these sketches aren’t that funny to read about it–you’re probably not even laughing out loud–but in the moment, they were hilarious. More than that, at least for me, they were actually interesting. At one point I was watching Summer play Jack Frost and Ian play Santa. They were thinking of stealing Christmas or something ridiculous, but I got so wrapped up in it. I kept thinking, What’s going to happen next?

It seems giving anything our attention is what makes it interesting. Like, I know that no one else cares about the size of my underwear, but it’s fascinating to me when I focus on it. And just like good underwear, even the silliest comedy sketches can be riveting and fun once we manage to get into them. I imagine this is how life is. We think we need a big audience. We walk into a room and say, “Where is everybody?” But last night Summer said a small crowd can be a great crowd if they simply want to be entertained. Ultimately, I guess it’s what we’re looking for, whether or not we’re willing to consider the pieces of our lives and be fascinated by them, whether or not we can take what we’re given and turn it into an adventure.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We all need to feel alive.

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My Family Soap Opera (Blog #260)

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Currently my aunt is at the house. She came over to have breakfast, and the plan is for her, my dad, and me to “clean the damn house for once.” Dad’s been talking about it for weeks, and I can’t blame him. We don’t do much deep cleaning around here, and you could write your name in the dust on the coffee table. Last night I started in the kitchen and spent a few hours. There was a sheet of baking soda on the cabinet shelves so thick it looked like a couple of cocaine dealers lived here. If there were any more cobwebs on the light fixtures, we could turn this place into Disney’s Haunted Mansion.

Of course, I’m exaggerating.

Now my dad and aunt have taken a break and are watching their soap opera, Days of Our Lives. (My aunt doesn’t like Chad’s new mustache.) Both of them are quite serious about this show. If one of my dad’s friends calls between one and two, he gets so pissed. “Don’t they know my soap is on?” That’s what my grandma used to call it–my soap. Like she personally had something to do with it. Dorothy Coker, Executive Producer. Anyway, she’d say, “Marcus, I watch this show because it makes my life seem normal.” I guess since this was a benefit she could obtain without getting out of her chair or putting her teeth in, it was a pretty good deal.

The phone just rang. Dad, of course, isn’t happy about it. “Every day, somebody calls during the soap opera!”

Dad’s on a real tare today. Before I could even stumble into the kitchen and get myself vertical this morning, he told me he wanted me and “someone” to go to the hospital where Mom’s been getting chemotherapy and sing and dance–as a thank you for saving my mother’s life. Apparently there’s a board at the hospital where they tack thank-you cards that people send the staff, and Dad wants to stand out. And whereas I appreciate his thinking out of the box, I’m not exactly thrilled about the fact that he wants to pimp his son out in order to show his gratitude. “Couldn’t you just send a cookie cake or some balloons?” I said. He practically rolled his eyes. “Everybody does that.”

Now the soap is over, my aunt’s dusting, and Dad’s got the vacuum cleaner out. My assignment is to clean the bathrooms, so I really need to wrap this up.

Last night was the final improv class, which was a performance. Honestly, I was super impressed with the kids. I guess there’s something about the pressure of an audience that makes everyone rise to the occasion. Anyway, in the thick of the whole affair, my friend Aaron, who teaches the class, introduced me as on of the instructors. Ian and Summer, the other instructors, were there, and people actually clapped for us. I told Summer, “I’m just a student. I feel like a fraud.”

Well, as if that weren’t enough, Aaaon, Ian, and Summer, invited me to join their improv group, The Razorlaughs, this evening for a private Christmas party. Of course, this invitation terrified me, but it also excited me, so I said yes. So this is another reason I need to get on the stick and finish cleaning the house–the show’s in a few hours. Daddy’s got things to do, places to go, people to see. As always, I’ll let you know how it goes. Until then, I’ll be giving myself pep talks.

Be funny, Marcus. Be funny.

I guess some things never change. Friends will always call during your soap opera, parents will always volunteer their children for things they don’t want to do, and dust will always be a part of life. But other things do change, thankfully. After months of not cleaning, your family can link arms and spruce the place up. You can spend a semester or your whole life as a student, then in one night you’re a teacher, or at least ready to say goodbye to the classroom and say hello to something new. The hope of something new–this, I think, is what each new day brings.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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If you’re making yourself up to get someone else’s approval–stop it–because you can’t manipulate anyone into loving you. People either embrace you for who and what you are–or they don’t.

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Improvising My Way through Life (Blog #140)

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Except for the part where I stopped at a car wash and vacuumed my car with a vacuum cleaner that smelled like vomit, today was a great day. First of all, I didn’t get out of bed until three in the afternoon, and second, at the tender age of thirty-six, I went back to school–improv comedy school.

I’ll explain.

Several of my friends are in a local improv comedy group called The Razorlaughs. (They’re super creative and hilarious.) If you don’t know, improv comedy is comedy that is made up on the spot. It’s sort of like eating a box of chocolates while riding a roller coaster blindfolded–you never know what you’re gonna get or what’s gonna happen next. Anyway, The Razorlaughs (Aaron, Ian, Summer, Austin) are teaching an improv class at Future School of Fort Smith, which is the new kid on the block in terms of high schools ’round these parts. (I don’t know why I suddenly started talking like a cowboy.) The cool thing? The class is open to adults as well as high school students. (Come join the fun.)

Tonight the improv class started with introductions, then we did some basic stretches, since apparently it’s not uncommon for actors and actresses to hurt their ankles. (Who knew?) Then we warmed up our voices by making noises like rockets and whiney little children. (It was awesome.) Finally we did some tongue twisters, such as saying “wristwatch” and “toy boat” five times fast.

Go ahead and try it. No one’s watching.

The actual improv part of the evening centered around a game called Freeze, Unfreeze. The idea is that two people start the scene, each with a character and a setting. Like maybe a guy and a girl are on a blind date at a bowling alley. Hopefully each character is all dramatic with lots of gestures, then at some point, maybe while the guy is celebrating with his hands in the air, one of the other actors says, “Freeze,” and steps in to take the place of one of the people on stage, assuming their exact position. But the catch is that when they Unfreeze, the setting and situation change. Maybe now the guy has his hands in the air and is being arrested. So everyone has to adapt and go in a different direction.

When it was my turn to participate, I noticed my heart was beating pretty fast. I told Summer (who’s a pro at this sort of thing), “I’m nervous,” and she said, “It’s all right.” Well, like any typical Thursday evening, I started out on my knees (just kidding), as I was given the assignment to “be someone who plays video games.” My partner for the scene, a girl, was someone riding a bike. The setting was–get this–a disco club. Honestly, I’m not sure what happened next. I just know there was a simulated bike-to-video-gamer crash, some John Travolta moves, and a lot of silliness.

Soon I was tapped out, and others took over the scene. The whole thing was a blur, but somehow or other, Ian ended up on the ground with someone sitting on top of him. Maybe they were wrestling–I don’t know–but I said, “Freeze,” tapped out the person on top, and took their place. Quickly I grabbed Ian’s leg, slowly dragged him along the floor, and sang, “Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream.”

These sorts of shenanigans went on for over an hour. Several times I got so caught up in what the others were doing and creating, that I couldn’t think fast enough to jump in. Seriously, I was really impressed with the high school kids–not just for being half my age, but for all their bravery and good ideas. At one point I started a scene on one leg, which I was thinking of as a yoga pose, but then one of the students stepped up, put my arms above my head, and said, “Now this is how you do a pirouette.” Later, someone else pushed me around the floor after telling me I was a lawnmower.

It was fun, but I wish I’d known to bring my kneepads. (I am almost forty.)

After class Aaron said that one of the principles of good improv is something called “yes and,” which means that if someone tells you that you’re a lawnmower, you say yes and add something to it. In my case, I added the fact that my lawnmower ran out of gas, which gave the next person something to work with. So if each person does this, it moves the scene along. But obviously a scene would die if someone said no–no, I’m not a lawnmower–and just stood there.

Tonight I finished a young-adult fiction novel I’ve been reading, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie. The story centers around a teenage Indian who leaves his reservation to attend an all-white school. Toward the end of the story, he joins the basketball team. Before his first game, much like I did with Summer tonight, he tells his coach he’s nervous. In response, his coach says there’s a difference between being nervous and being scared. He says, “Nervous means you want to play. Scared means you don’t want to play.”

I hadn’t thought about this distinction before. I mean, before the class tonight, I was definitely nervous. As I think about what’s to come next in my life and whether or not my dreams will come true, I’m definitely nervous. Perhaps a little scared, but mostly nervous. And I love the idea that maybe my nervousness simply means I want to play–I want to get out there–I want to try something new and see what happens.

I want an adventure.

Honestly, it seems that life is a lot like an improv game where things are constantly changing and new characters are coming in and out of the scene. One minute you’ve got your own business, and the next you’re living with your parents. (I’m just pulling possibilities out of a hat here.) And whereas there are certain things you can’t change, you can always adapt and go in a different direction. You can say “yes and.” Yes, I’m living at home again–and I’m taking the opportunity to write every day. Yes, I don’t have a job–and I’m using my free time to learn something new. Yes, I’m the oldest person in the improv class–and at least I know what disco is.

Yes, I’m nervous–and I still want to play.

[Thanks to the Razorlaughs for a great evening. You guys rock. Thanks to Kate for the pictures of me. You rock too. Lastly, here’s a video of the pros playing Freeze, Unfreeze (3.5 minutes).]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Sometimes we move with grace and sometimes we move with struggle. But at some point, standing still is no longer good enough.

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