Last Saturday I got a chance to visit my friend Lillian Frances. Lillie and I were on a team called Frank Booth at ImprovOlympic in the 90s. I was on that team for about 4 years during which we probably performed over 200 Harolds together, mostly at iO, but we also performed at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe and a few other places along the way. We created a show with our friend Tara Davis called the Frank Booth in the Blue Velvet Lounge where we combined torch songs and long form improv, setting scenes in the same lounge where Tara sang. Our swan song was a show called Therapy directed by Miles Stroth where we vented our real life foibles in front of an audience and then poked fun at ourselves through improv.
It’s been years since we’ve seen each other, but we still have a very strong connection. Lillie and I had similar sensibilities and even more similar ambitions. We both wanted to run our own theatres, we both loved improv and we were both frustrated by ImprovOlympic. Don’t get me wrong, it was a wonderful place to learn and grow as performers. It was the kind of frustration you feel when you love something and feel it could be even better if only you were in charge. A feeling that many, many performers have felt over the years as they passed through iO.
(I may only use Kindle-available books for purely selfish reasons). Oh and they must be good books, hopefully with a bit of an edge.
My dad got a brand new washer and dryer for our duplex. I have spent most of my adult life without a washer and dryer. After about 6 months with a set in Arizona, I don’t know how I could live without them. This may be one of the top 3 reasons I don’t return to live in New York (unless I live far out on Long Island, New Jersey or Westchester). I remember scoffing at a friend of mine who lived in the Chicago suburbs, when he showed me his personal washer and dryer. Now I understand.