Posts Tagged ‘IMprov prose’

Something Wonderful –> Adding To A Meme: Revolutionary IMprov Prose

June 16, 2015

Something wonderful is about to happen ... and
A friend posted this meme on her Facebook. I told her “I don’t think that goes far enough.”
Here’s what I think:

“Always believe something wonderful is about to happen … again.
Always see that something wonderful is happening.
Always be grateful for the wonderful that has happened.”


I Want A Woman Who’ll Weep For Me: Romantic Improv Prose

January 5, 2014

A modern Prophet of God once started an interview with a very important man by looking at his wife and asking her: “Is he a good husband? Does he treat you well?”

What I want is a woman who will stand next to me at the judgment bar in front of the Savior. Like His Prophet did, Jesus will look at her and ask:
“Was he a good husband?”
“Did he treat you well?”
“Is he worthy to enter into the Celestial Kingdom?”

Then, most importantly, the Savior will ask her:
“Is this the man who you want to spend the rest of eternity with, based on how he’s treated you on earth?”

To which she will drop to her knees, look up at Him in all sincerity, and say, with a smile and through tears of joy, hope and gratitude:

“Yes. Yes! YES!! Please, dear Lord, YES!! Let him be mine forever
and ever
and ever!”

What To Do All Alone At Christmas Time: Revolutionary IMprov Prose

November 26, 2012

A single friend asked: “What do you do all alone to get in the Christmas spirit?” Drawing on my past experiences, here’s what I suggested (many of the suggestions are Seattle, WA-based, since that’s where she lives).
Here’s the video link!
Find someone with a ragtop. Have them put the top down on a crisp, cold evening… hopefully with snow (you could go to Leavenworth) (or drive down Bellevue Way right after the Toy Soldiers/Drummer concerts at BelSquare every night). Lean the passenger seat back and look up at the lights as you drive through ________ (name of location with lots of lights).Back of the Convertible Like A Snow Princess at Temple Square Have your Ella, MoTab, Frank Sinatra, Beach Boys or whatever Christmas CD playing LOUD. Wear a Santa hat and white gloves. Wave at people as you pass by. Watch them smile and wave back. If you are really brave, (and don’t mind a potential ticket), sit on the top of the back seat, like you were a Winterfest Princess.
And if you can’t find a friend with a ragtop, head down here to Utah. We’ll drive circles around Temple Square. It always works.
Just before Santa comes (late Christmas Eve), find a friend, go in their ragtop and park on a busy corner. Play your music really loud and sing. Remember: “The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loudly for all to hear!” -Elf. People will join you.
Then, as Christmas Eve turns to Christmas Day, go to the front of your favorite church or place of worship and repeat/read the Christmas story from Luke. “It came to pass, in those days, a decree went out … ”
And end it at “And Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.”

Mutual Respect: Real Salt Lake vs. Seattle Sounder Improv Prose

November 8, 2012

The field lights at the nearly empty Rio Tinto Stadium went out, darkening the entire field except for the glare of TV lights at the center circle.
RSL goalie Nick Rimando was giving one last interview as he walked slowly back to the locker room. His heroics in the first game, including several world-class saves AND playing with a broken nose, and several fantastic saves in game 2 of the loser-out MLS playoff game, hadn’t quite been enough. His MLS season was over.Seattle Sounders ECS fans cheer after the end of the Western Conference semi-finals at Rio Tinto Stadium in Utah, showing their respect for RSL goalie Nick Rimando.
Slowly, a low rumble pierced the dark. Coming from the northeast upper deck of the RioT Stadium –the visiting fan section– it gathered strength and purpose.
“Nick Rimando [Clap, Clap, ClapClapClap!]”
“Nick Rimando [Clap, Clap, ClapClapClap!]”
It continued, getting louder and louder, until the interview was finished: Seattle Sounders’ fans acknowledging a fantastic performance by the USA National Team goalie.
“Nick Rimando [Clap, Clap, ClapClapClap!]”
Rimando turned, walked slowly back across the field, looked up at the cheering fans, raised both his hands above his head, and applauded their cheer.

Life Is Like The Chocolate You Eat: Revolutionary IMprov Prose

December 5, 2011

Written in the Basque coastal region of Biarritz, France, and San Sebastian, Spain

There are people who are
more practical and planned
than I am.
There are people who show up
when it’s convenient
for everyone.

I show up, sometimes,
when it’s convenient
for noone,
hoping that something wonderful
will happen.

And it usually does
for me.

My pattern is,
because something wonderful happens,
even if it’s not planned,
I keep going to the well.

I keep putting myself
into positions of wonder and amazing …
and I never get disapointed.

But it’s not
everyone’s pattern.
People are wonderful.
My time with them is wonderful
no matter what time it is.

The other day
I ate chocolate crepes
for dinner.
That was after
I’d had chocolate pastries
for lunch.

Along with hot chocolate for lunch
and dinner,
I had chocolate
during the evening.

The next day I had
another chocolate pastry.
For lunch I ate
at a tapas bar
in Spain.
I had a chocolate.
Then, that evening,
I had a chocolate pastry,
Spanish hot chocolate (VERY thick and rich!),
and some chocolate-covered orange slices
that were wonderful.
THEN later on that evening
I had ANOTHER French hot chocolate.

Today I had
two more cups of hot chocolates,
a chocolate pudding dish,
AND a chocolate WARM dessert
with ice cream.

If there was a pastry shop,
or a cafe’,
still open,
I would probably go out
and get another chocolate

You are the chocolate
in my life.
I keep returning
to the feast.

Upon Being Told Of Feelings: Romantic IMprov Prose

March 10, 2011

She: (after telling her feelings): Did you hear that Japan had a tidal wave…and a earthquake at 8.8??
Me: I know how they feel.

Nothing Silly About It: Revolutionary IMprov Prose

March 10, 2011

A friend said “Thank you for being so kind about my silly poem.” I responded:
The only silly poems
are the ones we are ashamed of,
so we hold them
and they grow
and fester
and give us ulcers.

And that’s silly.

What Your Bedroom Needs: Romantic IMprov Prose

October 13, 2010

I go through reams and reams of paper, in my mind, about your statement: “This is my bedroom, my sanctuary, my refuge. The only thing it needs is a Man.” I come up with this prose argument:

“No, you don’t need ‘a Man’ for your bedroom. You need a gentleman who fits the decor.

You need someone gently warm, like your glowing fireplace, who can remove your coolness and pain with the caress of his hand or his calming, tender embrace.

You need someone who, even when the lights are up, is dark and mysterious, someone who has edges and soulful mysteries yet to be discovered.

You need someone who, like the scented candles you’ve lined up, knows how to show and illuminate your soul with a soft and tender light, knows how to move through your space with romance and tranquility and a scent that moves you.

You need someone who, like your blankets and deep, rich comforter, knows how to wrap you and hold you and keep you safe and warm and secure and protected without smothering you.

You need someone who, like your wall hangings and tapestry, is moved and inspired by classic beauty, who reflects that classic vision himself, and who enjoys the dream of travel to distant places, yet knows that a gentle countryside and nature close to home are just as peaceful and tranquil as a Tuscan countryside.

You need someone who, like the music surrounding you, even in the dark, knows how to soothe, inspire, uplift and energize you, depending on the mood you set.

You need someone who, like the plants in your room, understands, appreciates and lives with and in and through and because of nature and her beauties.

You need someone who, like the photos of your children, adores and embraces family, someone who is not only an example and a leader, but a friend to younger people.

You need someone who, like the deep, rich, well-worn leather books, can share with you wisdom, knowledge and understanding without saying a word.

You need someone who, when the candles go out, when the music drifts away and the final notes hang in the still air, when the glowing embers fade away with their last bit of heat, can wrap you like the night, be there with and by you in the soft darkness, and listen to you as you pour out your mind, your heart, your soul.

You want someone who you can hold hands with while you’re sitting on the edge of your bed,

someone who will rub your feet, forehead, back, calves when you’re tired, not with the firm, oafish crush of a strong, untrained hand, but with the firm yet gentle caress of hands practiced in touching beauty in all her forms,

someone who is not afraid of holding you in the dark as you drift off to sleep,

someone who is not afraid to awaken next to you in the morning and, holding you close and whispering in your ear, tell you that, even in the early morning, no makeup, bed-head, and all, you are beautiful and he is overjoyed and inspired just to be with you.

That is who your bedroom needs.

Vocabularist: Revolutionary IMprov Prose

August 23, 2010

I keep inventing words (which, I guess, makes me a “vocabulist”), but forgetting to write them down. Usually these happen in instant message conversations, so I figured I should start capturing them.
Vocabularist: A person who uses words, either in speech or writing, very precisely. Someone who has a large vocabulary and makes certain their words are exactly what they mean to say. Someone who examines, questions or verifies the words another uses, to make certain the intended meaning is understood.
“How were you over the weekend at your retreat? Did you have fun?”
“Fun? It was necessary.”
“You are such a vocabularist.”

Out of His League: Revolutionary IMprov Prose

August 4, 2010

“He is playing out of his league: A self-professed looser who wears his desperation like a cheap cologne, and his intensity like an old sharkskin suit with matching gold Wayne Newton commemorative medallion nestled in the V formed by a shirt with one too many buttons unbuttoned, resting on the top of a bulging gut that could double as a martini holder.”