acmespaceship

Here, my beloved son, is where your parents toiled mightily in the century now past. In these last few weeks before the blossom of your independent life unfolds, it is necessary for you to be a pilgrim here to understand who we are and what we did.

For this is a place of dreams, of tears, of hopes and the dashing of hopes. A place of laughter and those awkward silent pauses where you were hoping laughter would be. A place where you must not neglect, my son, to get the parking ticket validated. And I swear to you, as God is my witness, you do not want to order the cheese basket.

On these very streetlamps did your parents paste show flyers. In yon tavern did they schmooze for hours. And on these boards did they attend classes, asking only for an occupation and an opening line. Where they built with their own labor 4-person scenes without asking a question or using a first-person pronoun, every line starting with a sequential letter of the alphabet. Ending with a musical production number about dry cleaning.

It is because of this place that you can walk up to your mother when she is sleeping and whisper in her ear, "Make a soap opera!" and she will awaken screaming in the night.

Do not get your father started.

This is a place where you ask for "a common household object" and you will be given "The Planet Mars!" Where every time you request an emotion, and I mean every single time, you will hear "lust!" Or when you ask for an "authority relationship" you will hear "Insect: Foot."

Without the inspiration of this place, would your father have started Moebius Theatre? Would your mother have ever met him? Would you exist? Without watching all those Moebius rehearsals as a small child, would you have the drive to perform that carried you through all those piano lessons and school play tech weeks? Would you be an incoming accounting major?

In yon tavern you received your first improv lesson. I was pregnant. My teacher, after whom the theater upstairs is named, leaned over my belly, cupped his hands around his mouth, and hollered: "DON'T DENY!" You didn't listen. Maybe you'll start to listen.

We're at the ETC because, as often happens, the ETC company is doing better work at the moment than the resident company. The ETC players are hungry for recognition and the audience has fewer tourists and suburbanites. You'll see the resCo one of these days. There must be groups from NIU going to The Second City. But first we wanted you to see it with us. And know something. As improbable as it seems, this is one of the places you come from. Where you go is up to you.