Do You Know The Way To Sherman Oaks?

I have reported here previously the news that I shall be moving from my apartment, and have shared my feelings about it and the resulting search for new quarters. That being the case, it's both a coincidence and overkill that my beloved improv class has itself changed to a new practice space. The place we have left deserves description, as do both the new place and the reasons for going from one to the other. The nature of a practice space is such that you are really putting yourself out there as a performer: unlike in an actual performance venue, you're doing things you're not incredibly confident about, and so you absolutely must have a place to do them in which is, as Ashford and Simpson said, solid as a rock. There's more to the list of requirements, but that is paramount.

The old place, which we called "The Barn" for its relative resemblance, had more of the 'more' than it had the security. It was an intimate place of endless character. To be there was to put you in a certain state of mind, wherefrom very potent development of craft came. It was the very antithesis of a sterile, antiseptic place. It was a lived-in one; a used place in the very good sense which applies to a baseball mitt or an Alaskan prospector's sourdough pan. There was a lovely piano, old furniture and shelves of old books. It was kind of like an attic kept up by old people- a simile helped out by the riding mechanism which helped the infirm ascend its staircase. Obviously I'm sentimental about the place. Maybe I'm delusional, but there really was a kind of romantic quality about it, which may have even been because of the discomforts particular to it.

There was a window-mounted air conditioning unit, which was effective to a minimal degree, as well as some fans. Together, they kept us from succumbing from a considerable buildup of heat, but did little to create any kind of comfort. If I had to guess, I'd say they kept the room temperature in the mid-to-high 80s. Some preferred to stay away in the summer months, and I can't say I blamed them. The rest of us dressed light, drank a lot of water and pretended we were at summer camp. These difficult conditions were a part of the experience at the best of times. Eventually, more and more new rules adversely affected us. We began to face edicts about where to walk as we entered and left and how quiet we had to be when we did. The final cut, from the perspective of the students, came when the bathroom was made off-limits. It was not long after that that a change was made.

It's not easy to say much about the new place, which is on the grounds of a Presbyterian church and school, and that should suit us well. The playground there appeals to us more than I would care to admit. This new location is further from me, but closer to others as well as to our preferred post-class hangout spot. We have greater liberty there, and nicer amenities. Most of them we probably will make little use of, but a television, a kitchenette, drinking fountains and a bathroom look to get some use. We'll have to start over in terms of building a narrative of in-jokes and experiences, of building a relationship with the place the way a rider does with his steed. I guess we'll manage, especially if it's only me thinking about this.