Mission objectives: Infiltrate downtown Tacoma and rock the doors off the joint... and, if possible, answer some basic questions about Improv, ourselves, and the nature of man. No small task, but if the Challengers of the Improv-ssible can't do it, who on this great planet possibly could?
We are known internationally, of course, as a crack squad of Government operatives, sworn to secrecy and imbued with an almost superhuman ability to blend into any environment... despite wearing gaudy purple jumpsuits and belt buckles that would make a rodeo star blush. But who are we really? What is our true mission? What is our ultimate destiny? ...And will we ever get paid? We didn't answer any of those questions... especially the "Getting paid" one, but we did discover many IMPROV-SSIBLE truths... and here they are...
1. We can be really tall when we want to be. I'm not sure if it was our liberal expiramentation with human growth hormones, Mr. Forier's stash of illegal "Pym" Particles, or that stool, but there were several times over the weekend when someone (Ryan shown here) was significantly taller than usual. Our powers are growing.
2. Our purple jumpsuits look mostly blue under intense sunlight. We're going to have to ask the boys over in R and D to look into that.
3. Those things are really not very flattering. Ryan looks bloated and pasty in that thing.
4. It is not as easy to lift a manhole cover as they make it look in all those movies.
Other questions arose, as well... Can a man kill just by pointing a finger? Is he really even a man at all? Will Dylan ever cut his hair? Don't they have hygene standards in Top Secret Govt. operations? Why is Lindsay laughing? Why does Ryan look angry and embarrased? Are the answers to the two previous questions related? Why do Sam and Frank look confused? Are Sam and Frank related? What ever happened to Pet Rocks?
Is it possible to have an inappropriate relationship with a stool? This question was answered, and it was a resounding "Yes!" This revelation was the foundation of our weekend of self discovery. All our petty bickering over goals, motivations, methodology, seniority, cashmere versus combed wool... it all seemed so insignificant now. We had furniture, and it was good.
Things are not always what they seem. That hot blonde weighed more than "she" should have. That former president knew nothing of Trickle-Down economics... and his face was on top of his head. We're the Challengers, we see these things. We know.
There were certainly other issues... we still have no idea who we are, where we are going, or how to get there. Our mission and incremental objectives are as vague as ever, but we do have stools, jumpsuits, belts and and iPod chock full of old TV themes, and obscure instrumental goodies. What we lack in intent and substance, we more than make up for in sheer style and image. We are the sign of our own times. We are America. We are the world.
Okay... occasionally we don't really have the jumpsuits, but that's for the fans... it's all about the fans.
At the end of the day... and yet another slow-motion fight scene to the death... can any of us really ask for more than that? To have lived another day? To have fought another battle... in slow motion... to the death? I think not. We are the Challengers of the Improv-ssible. This is what we do.