I hesitate linking to this, as I feel it is not my best work. I wasn’t feeling well, and it was difficult to get a grasp on how to handle a game that was neither fantastic nor disappointing.
It will come as no surprise to you, I’m sure, that when a store stops carrying something I’m used to buying, it causes me to panic a little bit. Whether it’s a watch I’ve been buying for two years or an orange cake mix that I really have a hankering for, it drives me crazy to find out that either the store doesn’t carry it anymore or the manufacturer has stopped making it.
I’ve been buying the same pair of shoes from Payless Shoe Source for years now, I don’t even know how long. They’re your basic brown casual shoe, and they’re something to which I’ve grown quite accustomed. Unfortunately, like everything else, they tend to wear out, usually after a year, year-and-a-half or so. A few months ago, I went to Payless to buy a new pair, only to be told they’ve stopped making that particular style. Oh, sure, they’ll still make the black version of the shoe, but the brown version just wasn’t up to their demanding set of standards or something.
Grrr.
So, since then, I’ve kind of poked around at different stores, seeing what I could find. It wasn’t critical, since once summer started, I could wear my sneakers to work (of course, soon thereafter my brand-new sneakers decided to start squeaking (thereby becoming far less sneaky), but that’s a whole ‘nother story), but I knew I’d need them soon.
I couldn’t find anything. Either the ones I’d like would be too expensive or they wouldn’t have my size or they just wouldn’t have anything I liked. It was starting to get frustrating.
Then school started and it got worse. My old wearing-out pair of shoes are also one size too small. I can get by with them for a while, but after wearing them daily for a month or so, they start to cause problems with my feet and I get all sorts of pain in my index toes.
(Is that what you’d call your big toe? It’s more thumb-like than index finger-like, but it’s the first toe, so I don’t know.)
Well, my feet have been hurting for a week or so now, and I knew it was past time to get shoes. I just couldn’t find any, though. KMart (of all places) had a pair I liked more than any other pair I’d seen, but not in my size.
Growing up, my dad had always called my shoes “boats” or “skis” and I was beginning to think that I’d have to check a marina or a sporting goods store to find some size 13s.
Yesterday, for lunch, I went to the mall for some orange chicken from Panda Express (both the spiciest thing I eat and the only sorta-Chinese food I like). I had about ten spare minutes after eating, so I went to Kohl’s just to see if their inventory had changed since the last 18 times I’d checked them. I guess my resistance was down or something, because I ended up buying a pair of Skechers – you know, those shoes with the oppressively “hip” ads that make you want to kick pop culture all over the schoolyard while taking its lunch money? Yeah, I bought a pair. I feel so dirty.
I would link you to a picture of my new shoes on the Skechers site, but, frankly, I have no idea what I bought. They’ve named their shoes things like “Komodo” and “Maxx” and “Critics – Carper,” and I have no idea what’s what. Suffice to say the soles are thicker than I’m used to, so not only am I taller than I was, I’m also having trouble walking and I’m driving faster than normal because I’m not used to the distance between my foot and the gas pedal – the angle my foot used to be at when driving yields more oomph than it did when I had thinner-soled shoes.
The shoes fit, though, so I guess that’s something. I anticipate my toe problems going away in a week or so, and that’s also good. I guess for that, I’m willing to put up with walking like Frankenstein’s monster for a while.
Now if only I could find an orange cake mix, I’d be all set.
Our improv shows consist of two teams, and MC, and a Voice. The teams compete by performing scenes. The MC announces games, explains games, and keeps things moving. The Voice announces scores, introduces players, and explains prizes. I’m normally on one of the teams.
On Friday, I was the MC.
I’ve been doing improv informally for the last 15 years. I’ve put together groups for one-shot performances and I’ve been in charge of semi-regular groups. In that time, I’ve run several shows, mostly because I was the one most familiar with the format and the games.
I’ve been a part of this group for a little over a year now. People pay actual money to come and see us, and it’s all a bit different than what I’ve been used to all these years. For the time I’ve been with this group, we’ve had two main MCs. I have seen two other group members MC when the main two were out of town, but they weren’t “official.”
About a month ago, we had a workshop where all who were interested in being an MC could come and learn how to do it. Anyone who attended would then give it a try by MCing a show. I wasn’t necessarily interested in MCing, but Matt & Kat said I was going, so I went.
Kat was the first new MC to do a show and she was fabulous. She kept the show moving, was funny, and did all the things an MC is supposed to do. She set the bar pretty high, and my nondesire to MC was only increased by her performance.
Regardless, my time came. I fretted about it all last week. Being sick wasn’t helping anything, but I just couldn’t wrap my head around all the stuff I was going to need to do for the show. Usually I just go to the show and do whatever I’m told: “Play ‘Forward/Reverse’,” “act like Celine Dion,” “rap with words that rhyme with ‘Ed’.” Now, I’d need to elicit suggestions from the crowd, judge the teams’ performances, and remember to do all the “MC stuff” in between.
Argh.
It went okay. I forgot to do a few things and I stumbled over a few other things, but the show went on and no one was killed or humiliated in the process, and, really, that’s all you can ask for in any show. I’m not in any hurry to do it again, but if I’m asked, I guess I could manage. They’d be better off with Kat, though. She was better, and I’d rather be in scenes.
The biggest kick I got out of the evening: I sent out an email to some friends and coworkers to tell them about the show and that I was MCing. A friend of mine, who is a caseworker, came and brought her boyfriend and a co-worker. This co-worker, also a caseworker, was named “Casey.” For some reason, the pairing of “Casey” and “Caseworker” struck me funny. “Casey the Caseworker.” It still brings a smile to my face.