We are trucking along nicely with our sketch show at Second City. Here's the perfunctory MySpace page I slapped together for our show, which is now officially called "Brazilian Wax Museum." (An early prototype of our show poster is at left.)
Yesterday we writers sat in the dark at the back of Donny's Skybox, eating M&M's and giggling appreciatively as our director and actors worked on the choreography for our opening song, which is a ridiculous exploration of totally misinformed assertions about South America and its various cultures and traditions. (I know it sounds rip-roaringly hilarious, no? Of course, deconstructing comedy takes all the fun right out, so be happy knowing that you'll be able to see video clips of the show at some point in the near future, and you can see the funny as nature intended.)
Yesterday we also realized that every one of the Lisas in our group (two are actors, one is a writer) are all Lisa Maries, which opens up a lot of questions about the judgment of the parents involved. Yes, we get it folks, Elvis was great, but there are so many ways to go with honoring him with your baby daughter's name. How about Priscilla? Gladys? Yes, Gladys. That's what they should have gone with. The world needs more Gladyses. Gladys'. Wait, how do you pluralize Gladys? Gladysses? Whatever.