For whom the stool tolls

The hours leading up to last Saturday's Stool Pigeon show at ColdTowne Theater had me on tenterhooks. I'm accustomed to being onstage, but not without a band of compatriots bearing amplification devices. As showtime approached, I became hyper-aware of every verbal tic and wished I'd given more consideration to debate as an elective in high school.

Fortunately, the evening's improv players really put my mind at ease. Before going out, everyone literally told me they had my back. It was a simple enough acknowledgment, but it made a big difference.

I ran through my three true-life stories quicker than I expected, but I didn't get mired in any narrative cul-de-sacs, which was good. Then the laser-witted Stool Pigeon crew extrapolated all kinds of crazy-funny tangents from some of my favorite embarrassing actualities.

Nearly 25 years after the fact, I can now say it was totally worth it when I stepped in a pile of livestock shit on Ag Day and got it all over the back of my jeans while kneeling down to perform CPR on the Resuscitation Annie doll during health class. Thanks, Stool Pigeon!