You should know this about me: I am not funny. I have a good sense of humor. I love to laugh. I’m great as an audience member because I guffaw easily and with great gusto. But sadly, all that does not make me funny.
I am surrounded by funny people. Hubby is quick witted and funny. My four close guy friends: Eric, Mike, Brian, and Chad (I know, they sound like a boy band) are hilarious. They often all try to top each other in group emails and I’m in awe of their humor. I want to compete, to be at the same comedic level, so I enrolled myself in an improv class.
So far in class we’ve learned various improv games, character and object work, how to connect with scene partners, and the giving gifts of information. I honestly thought I’d be really good at improv. I’m outgoing, not easily embarrassed, self-deprecating, and a goofball. But here’s another admission: I kinda suck at it. No, I actually do suck at it. This is what my improv teacher, Keli Semelsberger at Charlotte Comedy Theater, wrote me when I asked for ‘extra-help,’ “The brain is a muscle and you are using it in a new way, so it will take time to develop that skill. You’ll get it.” It drives me nuts because I’m usually a quick study, an overachiever used to getting good grades. But in this class, I’m squeaking by! I know the problem, I think too much into it. I’m not freeing my mind! I desperately want to be funny, so I analyze, probe, and ponder ways in which I can be.
Class wraps up in a couple of weeks. If I’m still not funny by then, I’m considering a stand-up class. I’m going to be funny, damn it!