Upstairs Gallery

Tonight the Upstairs Gallery, Chicago's best underground art space, closes its doors.

I performed less than a dozen times at the Upstairs Gallery, I watched many shows there and (I think) paid for most of them. I didn't find my voice there, I never put up a run, I wasn't on a house team. What the UG gave me and what I learned there doesn't directly have to do with improv or comedy. It has to do with friendship and belonging, kindness and inspiration.

When the UG began I was jealous and resentful. I had some friends doing shows there but felt like I wasn't invited, didn't have a way in, didn't know the secret handshake. The first time I went to a show there I had to bolster myself with liquor. In the beginning I went there sporadically, always felt like an outsider, and I'm sure most times behaved erratically. Then I got sober.

As a newly sober unemployed man I had many hours to kill and I went to the UG with more frequency. I was raw and sometimes scared. I had a reputation, either in reality or in my own mind, of being unpredictable, at times slovenly or cruel. And this gave me some reticence in showing up to places unexpected for fear of being unwanted. But time and time again I was greeted with increasing warmth, at first by Alex's casual and inviting smile, then by an expanding population of new friends. I found that when I put myself out there I was received with affection and interest, found myself responding in kind.

The UG became a place I felt welcome and safe. Not through any overt action but by the nature of its function. The idea and the venue morphed to satisfy the needs of its participates, my needs were interpersonal others were creative.

From artistic direction to simple layout the UG provided a level playing field, a safe zone, a free space. It cultivated openness, risk, honesty, emotion, absurdity, and artistry. You could come and go with impunity, on a great night you shared in the triumph, on a bad night you shared in the irony. You could stay late talking with friends until Alex went to bed or was spirited away in an Uber. Regardless of your level of involvement you were accepted.

In improv the word "community" is bandied about with little discretion and even less meaning. The Upstairs Gallery created and fostered the community we had all been searching for.

Wedding Day

The day of the wedding dawned and I went to go sit with Marta as she got her hair done. Very interesting and fun to see what goes on with brides in high-end salons. I got a peak behind the curtain no man is meant to see.

Later, the groomsmen got ready at the venue and took some pictures, the photographers were really cool, shockingly personable and pliant with the ever-shifting wedding schedule. Above, the readied reception room.

Marta's bouquet.

Nicole and my cousin Chloe with my Aunt Julie and Uncle Mike in the back. Ceremony imminent.

My grandma and I talked poetry before I walked her down the isle to kick things off.

The ceremony was gorgeous. It sprinkled for about thirty seconds and then the skies were clear and the sun shown. I didn't expect to get emotional but of course I did. A family friend Randy officiated and at the beginning said the names of the relatives who have passed. Our grandfather Irv Nelson and our Uncles Mark Brannon and John Pritz. Their spirits were with us today.

Both our parents walked my sister down the isle and it was all I could do to keep it together. It was a beautiful union.

The ceremony ended with a kids parade, they had noisemakers and streamers and we all marched out to "When The Saints Go Marching In" the same song my parents recessed to.

The rest of the day is kind of a blur. The reception was wonderful, best wedding food I've ever had, everyone mingled and it was wild to see all the different people connected by my nuclear family. The speeches were great with a surpirse slam dunk from the best man Ryan. I talked to a ton, but not all, of my relatives and Nicole and I did some dancing. By 11 we were both all in but we stuck around and were the last ones to leave helping my parents clean up when they were both dead on their feet. Nicole handled the event and all the family with so much grace, I couldn't ask for a more loving and understanding partner, couldn't be more grateful to share this day with her.

Marta was beautiful, Nick was dapper, they were both exceedingly happy. A victory, a success, a joy.

Wedding Rehearsal

This morning the venue got set up under the supervision and tyrannical grip of my mom and Aunt Judy. My dad and I picked up my cousin Lauren(left) from the bus to help, my sister(center) came by to approve everything, and I just mostly tried to stay out of the way. The reception room is in the far end of the Rockford Discovery Center right next to the river, the ceremony is going to be in a little amphitheater about 150 feet away. All my favorite weddings have had the same self contained set up, the ceremony and the reception in the same location, no lag-time/all celebration.

The rehearsal went smoothly as they all seem to, the ritual of the wedding, for me at least, is pretty ingrained. There's a couple different variations but it's all riffing off of the same structure. The processional, the readings, the vows. They are all unique but the set ups are similar so it's never too hard to figure out where to stand, when to walk, what to say. We have the comfort of the established format and the bride and groom provide their singular flare.

Marta and Nick picked a beautiful spot, next to water was one of Marta's stipulations, and even though tomorrow has a chance of rain I have confidence the gods of thunder and storm will bestow sunshine on their Norse daughter.

Wedding Weekend

I came back to Rockford last night in preparation for my sister's wedding Saturday. There's a lot of i's to dot and a lot of t's to cross but things are coming together. As the day approaches and people start rolling into town I realize how large my extended family is, aunts and uncles and lots and lots of cousins, Bannens, Brannons, and Nelsons. Some of whom I haven't seen in years, some I may have only seen once or twice, but blood binds and there is shorthand with family however distant.

My goal this weekend is just to be available, to be ready and willing to do whatever is asked of me by my sister, her soon to be husband Nick, or my folks. To be patient, accommodating, and as kind as possible. I'm sure in the next couple days tempers will be short and there will be at least one crisis. People will be tired and there will be countless errands to run. But already I can feel this immense and unwavering outpouring of love.

It's an exciting and momentous time for the Nelson clan, anticipation builds.

Deadwood

"Pain or damage don't end the world, or despair, or fuckin' beatings.
The world ends when you're dead.
Until then, you got more punishment in store.
Stand it like a man- and give some back." -Al Swearengen

The past two weeks I rewatched my favorite TV show Deadwood. From the aesthetic to the acting to the dialogue itself it is an incredible piece of storytelling. Not only is it a great western it's a poignant allegory for civilization.

I've watched the series now a couple times, each time more layers unfold and I can spot more subtlety. Each time I learn something, not in an after-school-special kind of way but in a broad life lesson type of way. Themes of compromise, communication, violence, empowerment, corporatization, contrition, justice, revenge, and many others are explored. The show has taught me a lot about people, individual ambitions and desires and how they meld with society at large. How to soldier on, how to weather adversity, how to negotiate, how to conspire. In an almost antithetical way its characters, despite their deficiencies, work toward the greater good.

It's a fearless show that advocates courage. Despite all the booze and the swearing and the prostitution it's a show about people standing strong against the dark.

Potluck

The Night Shift came over tonight for my first attempt at hosting in the new apartment. We haven't got together outside of a show in a couple years. It was great to have people over, sit in a circle and chat, and snack on various meats, cheese, and fruits. Steph made an incredible sweet potato pie, the first one I've ever had.

We got formed in 2010 and after our first year we stopped rehearsing and followed relatively divergent paths. Some people moved away or stepped down. All of us got involved with other projects which, at times, took justifiable precedent. What's remained constant is our improv and our friendship. The past two years I'd say we've been incredibly consistent in our performance, we've found a loose form and a level of comfort with each other after playing together so long. Craig always takes the suggestion by starting a brief conversation with one of the audience members, we start in a group scene, sometimes we stay in it the whole time sometimes we cut out, around, and back to it using it as a fulcrum. It's fluid and easy, after years and working through all the hang ups each of us has developed and gotten over we've come to a place of true acceptance and delight with each other.

We're not best friends but over the past four years our casual friendship and commitment has cemented into something strong. For our two shows a month, over email chains, and seeing each other out and about, there's a short hand, a connection. All of use have hurdled some big problems, some of us gone through radical personal transformation, but the team, small in scope requiring little commitment, has remained steady. Its bond has come to mean a great deal.

A Brief Interlude Between Spring and Fall

Belated summer
descends
on the latter days of August
muggy, thick, and smothering.

Humidity
close and cloying
presents a lack-luster substitute
to protracted cool.

These dog days
are fleeting
the heat already receding
a portent of the harvest chill.