Moving Memories

The move went very well.

By the time I got there at 10 a.m., Heather and company had taken her things from Astoria, unloaded them in the financial district, and had packed up Tom's things from that apartment. I got there just in time to drive with them to Ridgewood and carry a bunch of stuff up a fifth floor walk-up, in my opinion the hardest part of the move (because there were no elevators). And yet, with about eight people (and one very adorable little girl who could carry up one pillow at a time), we got it done in a mere hour, and then celebrated at this really great Polish restaurant.

But all that schlepping up and down 40 stairs over and over again got me to reminiscing about a move from the old days, sort of the original Year of Yes moment in my life, and it's a story I'll tell now.

This was January of 2003. I had been living in New York for just a few weeks, didn't know no one or nothing. And I had just found work as a financial proofreader on the midnight shift. So, with my days free and cold and lonely, I would often walk around the city to get my bearings and accustom myself to winter in the Big City.

One day I happened across a bunch of people moving out of a building. I stopped to watch because they were carrying a bunch of ridiculous props - the only thing I can remember is a podium made out of skulls. I ended up holding a door for someone, then maybe someone handed me something, and before I knew it, I was helping this group of people move out of a theater.

This is the sort of thing that happens to me. A few months later, I ended up helping John Flansburgh of They Might Be Giants carry some chairs into a different theater, and that's how I ended up volunteering on a production of People Are Wrong!. But that's, as Sylvester McCoy says at the end of Doctor Who: The Hartnell Years, another story.

So after an afternoon of putting things into a moving van and then taking them up to an office a few blocks away, someone finally asked me, "So... who are you?" And my response was probably "Just some guy," which no one really believed.

In hindsight, I realize that this is a comedy theater and school where any student would think it would be ever so hilarious to pretend to not be affiliated with them, that they just happened to show up and lend a helping hand. And for it to be true, for me to really be just some guy, that actually is pretty funny. So they were pretty amused when they realized I wasn't lying.

This really floored one guy, the one who was friendliest to me, and he explained (since I must've asked "What's with the skull podium?") that this was the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre, they do comedy shows and etc. etc. etc. and then was like "You know what? I'm gonna sign you up for a class, free of charge."

And I was a little wary (I remember asking "Are you a cult?" in a semi-kidding way, but I have experience with cults, so it's always good to ask), but free is free and fun is fun and as I said, I had absolutely nothing else to do with my life except work from midnight to 8 a.m., so I took a class and six years later I perform with my Level One teacher. Such is the power of the Year of Yes. Pretty nuts, huh?

True story.