People are standing, spread out. Some sit on wooden benches. Everyone seems to be in their own world, staring in front of them, playing a game on their phone. Some people are wearing head phones, that produce parts of music. All those different songs create a new sound in which some songs sometimes are better heard then others.
Then, a loud sound. Two lights that come closer. The sound of doors opening. The mass moves. All the different positions move to one and the same place, they mingle with others, passing characters in a life.
Speed takes over and gives a rhythm to the people. Together, they move to the left, to the right. Little movements, perfectly coordinated, at the same time. Every one holds on, some sit, others lean to doors or poles. But they share the rhythm. It seems uncontrolled, sudden.
Every one keeps staring. In front of them, or down, in books or phones. They try not to touch and move away when people get to close. But sometimes, with or without purpose, they touch. A foot touches a leg, a hand touches a back. Small signs of solidarity, of being part of a group. Confirmations of each others existence. Sometimes, looks cross. One nods, sometimes smiles.
When the doors open, the ritual repeats itself. Old passengers leave the group, new ones arrive and blend in with the rhythm of the speed.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Bike Lane War
Buying a bike, a couple of weeks ago, was accompanied by a lot of good advice of fellow bikers about cycling without a helmet and the urgency of good locks - which I answered with cynical looks. Don't tell a girl from Amsterdam about locks (although I must admit, my laziness has led to the use of a single lock without any problems so far), and especially don't tell them to wear a helmet. I'd rather be found dead. Over and over again, people told me I couldn't compare New York with that lovely little town called Amsterdam. No, here in the city of crime and lunatics, cycling is a life threatening experience that has to be taken seriously, just as one should do with safety and theft.
So far, I enjoy my helmet-less bike rides a lot. The craziness is far less crazy then I suspected, although I do pay a little more attention while paddle from Ave to Ave. But a wilderness? No. On the contrary: nothing beats feeling the wind in your hair while crossing the Brooklyn Bridge from Brooklyn to Manhattan (be aware of the tourists!), or getting a coffee in Williamsburg without taking the train to get there.
While doing the last thing, I recently discovered a hidden history that was totally new to me.
To get to the hipster part of Williamsburg, where the nice cafe and restaurants are, I have to cycle from Bed-Stuy through the neighbourhood of the Hassidic Jews. Men with high black hats and ringlets, women with wigs, head scarfs, long skirts and similar jackets and children with the same ringlets and clothes from the eighteenth century. They're everywhere. On one of my walks, I felt out of place. I realized that my short skirt was ruining the streetscape, so I could imagine - with a little effort - that this not only made them ignore me completely while passing me, but that it also made them cross the street before encountering me at all. Cycling through that neighbourhood made me realize that their behavior was a hazard for my own safety, because their urgency of ignoring me led to dangerous situations in which they quickly tried to cross the street or run over me and my bike. I literally was their blind spot, as an outsider of their community.
I got very frustrated about religion, tolerance, superiority and more of the like. While rambling about this to a friend, she told me about the bike lane war that happened in 2009.
New York creates more and more bike lanes and bike routes, among which the Bedford bike lane, that crosses through Brooklyn and that safely brought me to the Williamsburg Bridge, cafes and yoga. The Hassidic community took it upon themselves to complain about this bike lane because of the dangers for safety and religion. The first because of their children that had to cross the lanes after departing the school busses, the latter because the dress code of the hipsters was conflicting their religious rules of not looking at uncovered skin. The Department of Transportation decided to remove the bike lane, but forgot about the hipsters, who repainted the lane in the night themselves and organized a Freedom Ride to enforce their dissatisfaction. A heavy snow storm prevented a topless bike ride through the neighbourhood, but could't stop the hipsters from cycling around with plastic breasts over their winter coats.
The result? A better and safe bike lane a few blocks away and a busy, often used and visible bike lane on Bedford. You would suspect that in a city like New York, the city of immigrants, different people choose to live together. If it's not possible here, then how can we have hope for all those other places of intolerance in this world?
So far, I enjoy my helmet-less bike rides a lot. The craziness is far less crazy then I suspected, although I do pay a little more attention while paddle from Ave to Ave. But a wilderness? No. On the contrary: nothing beats feeling the wind in your hair while crossing the Brooklyn Bridge from Brooklyn to Manhattan (be aware of the tourists!), or getting a coffee in Williamsburg without taking the train to get there.
While doing the last thing, I recently discovered a hidden history that was totally new to me.
To get to the hipster part of Williamsburg, where the nice cafe and restaurants are, I have to cycle from Bed-Stuy through the neighbourhood of the Hassidic Jews. Men with high black hats and ringlets, women with wigs, head scarfs, long skirts and similar jackets and children with the same ringlets and clothes from the eighteenth century. They're everywhere. On one of my walks, I felt out of place. I realized that my short skirt was ruining the streetscape, so I could imagine - with a little effort - that this not only made them ignore me completely while passing me, but that it also made them cross the street before encountering me at all. Cycling through that neighbourhood made me realize that their behavior was a hazard for my own safety, because their urgency of ignoring me led to dangerous situations in which they quickly tried to cross the street or run over me and my bike. I literally was their blind spot, as an outsider of their community.
I got very frustrated about religion, tolerance, superiority and more of the like. While rambling about this to a friend, she told me about the bike lane war that happened in 2009.
New York creates more and more bike lanes and bike routes, among which the Bedford bike lane, that crosses through Brooklyn and that safely brought me to the Williamsburg Bridge, cafes and yoga. The Hassidic community took it upon themselves to complain about this bike lane because of the dangers for safety and religion. The first because of their children that had to cross the lanes after departing the school busses, the latter because the dress code of the hipsters was conflicting their religious rules of not looking at uncovered skin. The Department of Transportation decided to remove the bike lane, but forgot about the hipsters, who repainted the lane in the night themselves and organized a Freedom Ride to enforce their dissatisfaction. A heavy snow storm prevented a topless bike ride through the neighbourhood, but could't stop the hipsters from cycling around with plastic breasts over their winter coats.
The result? A better and safe bike lane a few blocks away and a busy, often used and visible bike lane on Bedford. You would suspect that in a city like New York, the city of immigrants, different people choose to live together. If it's not possible here, then how can we have hope for all those other places of intolerance in this world?
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Socks
Socks
There is a world of socks. Socks with a story and a character. They live in a world in which one sock is incomparable to the other. Because no sock is the same.
This world of socks is similar to our world. There is music, there is television, and of course, they are on Facebook and Myspace. And this sock world has a god. Whose name is Marty Allen. And who creates characters of ordinary socks. After which he films them, and composes music for them. And he sells their pictures, in frames that he bought in China. That have a description of the sock puppets personality. Portraits that will tell you a lot about the sock in the front.
Talking to Marty, at his stall on Union Square, is a challenge. He's a fast talker. Really fast. And he uses the words sock puppets several times per sentence. Anyway, these socks are his live. And they make his living.
It might have been the charm and energy of their creator or their great appearance, either way, I walked away with one of the portraits. Carefully wrapped in bubble wrap, because Marty wouldn't let me take them without it. He wanted to take care of them before they left his house.
My sock-portrait-adoption-friend chose Lillith Lollybottom, who gazed at him in a sensual and slightly drunk way. I had to chose between Plim and Zimmy Zambini. Plim looked cool, like a rock star, with hair that was blown to one side in a very nonchalant way. Zimmy on the other hand looked like she just saw a ghost, or maybe just herself in a mirror. Her hair stood straight up, her mouth was still open after a loud and scary scream. It felt like I had to save her.
Marty assured me: Zimmy is Plim and Ploms smart sister. Together, they are The Fabulous Flying Zambinis: a very famous acrobat family, whose parents were crushed by an elephant when the children were still small. The other circus artist took care of them and now they take care of each other. Zimmy is the virtuous sibling but as a tender soul.
The choice then was easily made. Plim could take care of himself. I choose Zimmy.
There is a world of socks. Socks with a story and a character. They live in a world in which one sock is incomparable to the other. Because no sock is the same.
This world of socks is similar to our world. There is music, there is television, and of course, they are on Facebook and Myspace. And this sock world has a god. Whose name is Marty Allen. And who creates characters of ordinary socks. After which he films them, and composes music for them. And he sells their pictures, in frames that he bought in China. That have a description of the sock puppets personality. Portraits that will tell you a lot about the sock in the front.
Talking to Marty, at his stall on Union Square, is a challenge. He's a fast talker. Really fast. And he uses the words sock puppets several times per sentence. Anyway, these socks are his live. And they make his living.
It might have been the charm and energy of their creator or their great appearance, either way, I walked away with one of the portraits. Carefully wrapped in bubble wrap, because Marty wouldn't let me take them without it. He wanted to take care of them before they left his house.
My sock-portrait-adoption-friend chose Lillith Lollybottom, who gazed at him in a sensual and slightly drunk way. I had to chose between Plim and Zimmy Zambini. Plim looked cool, like a rock star, with hair that was blown to one side in a very nonchalant way. Zimmy on the other hand looked like she just saw a ghost, or maybe just herself in a mirror. Her hair stood straight up, her mouth was still open after a loud and scary scream. It felt like I had to save her.
Marty assured me: Zimmy is Plim and Ploms smart sister. Together, they are The Fabulous Flying Zambinis: a very famous acrobat family, whose parents were crushed by an elephant when the children were still small. The other circus artist took care of them and now they take care of each other. Zimmy is the virtuous sibling but as a tender soul.
The choice then was easily made. Plim could take care of himself. I choose Zimmy.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Sketchbook
Once a year, thousands of empty notebooks travel the world. Where people are waiting impatiently until their new blank treasure arrives, so they can start poring their hart and soul in it. You could compare it to a diary. But where diaries, once they are filled with all the tears, sorrow and joy of previous times, are stored on a shelve or in a box, these notebooks are returned to sender. Their temporary owners fill them with writings, drawings, unique little art works and all the others things they want to share, and then return them to the Art Library in Brooklyn.
The Sketchbook Project is a collection of worlds. Of words, drawings, fabric, paint, stickers. Of sweet little angles who present beautiful sayings and one eyed monsters that stare at you in a cold way from the dark pages that produce them. Some notebooks burst with information and need to be tied together with rope and rubber bands, others are missing pages, leaving holes that create new forms.
Above all, it's a collection of love. Besides their different content and the different lives of their creators, all of them have put their love, time and energy in creating a unique little book. They have thought about it and have taken the effort to wrap their little world and send it back to Brooklyn.
And because of all those people, thousands of little books are traveling America. Standing next to each other, brotherly, waiting for other, unknown, people to select them from the shelves and explore them. Little books that move or impress their audience. Make people laugh, or fall quiet for a moment. To tell the story of their creators to strangers.
The Sketchbook Project is a collection of worlds. Of words, drawings, fabric, paint, stickers. Of sweet little angles who present beautiful sayings and one eyed monsters that stare at you in a cold way from the dark pages that produce them. Some notebooks burst with information and need to be tied together with rope and rubber bands, others are missing pages, leaving holes that create new forms.
Above all, it's a collection of love. Besides their different content and the different lives of their creators, all of them have put their love, time and energy in creating a unique little book. They have thought about it and have taken the effort to wrap their little world and send it back to Brooklyn.
And because of all those people, thousands of little books are traveling America. Standing next to each other, brotherly, waiting for other, unknown, people to select them from the shelves and explore them. Little books that move or impress their audience. Make people laugh, or fall quiet for a moment. To tell the story of their creators to strangers.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Imagination
Maybe all relationships are fake, because thy only exist in our imagination. Don't we all have our own concepts of friendship, love and hate? What is the value of friendship if both parties have different perspectives on the issue? And - even worse - what is the value of love for that matter? Two people, pretending to share something, but in the end, only trying to fit the other person in their own concept of love?
These all seem like cynical thoughts, but they only arose after seeing two special films that touch on these issues. A dilemma that can be overwhelming. Because the whole concept of perspective is so personal. We all agree on what is 'green', but do I define the same colour as 'green' as you do? Or is your concept of 'green' similar to my concept of 'red'? I can get lost in thoughts like these. So it's nice to watch a film that deals with them for you.
In Les amours imaginaires , two friends, Marie and Francis, are looking for true love. Both think the young and pretty Niko, who slowly grows to be their Adonis can give it to them but Niko is an undecisiive and slightly arrogant boy who chooses no one and lives in his own imaginary world. He claims to love both, but chooses neither and leaves them broken. Both Marie and Francis think they have a chance with him, both have hope and imagine themselves with him, and forgetting about their own friendship while becoming rivals. It would have been a sad and tearful story if it wasn't filmed as beautiful as it is. Francis looking like a new James Dean, who nervously combs his hair. Marie wearing enviously beautiful vintage dresses and lace gloves, smoking cigarettes to a pastel background. Close up of body parts, details, looks, that show so many feelings at the same time.
In Certified Copy, a man and a woman meet at his lecture about real and fake art. Their conversation about when someone or something is real, first seems to built up to a beautiful romance, but slowly develops at a meta level about the reality of the film. instead of talking about real and fake, their relationship changes and uses the audience in a game about the same concepts. All expectations an audience can have about their relationship, but also about the relationship between the film and the audience are being tested. First, you think you go along in the game that they start playing, but at a certain point, you wonder if what first seemed reality might have been a game to start with.
So, what is real? I try to trust my own feelings. I can only trust the value I give them myself. Although, even that sometimes changes, looking back at things…
These all seem like cynical thoughts, but they only arose after seeing two special films that touch on these issues. A dilemma that can be overwhelming. Because the whole concept of perspective is so personal. We all agree on what is 'green', but do I define the same colour as 'green' as you do? Or is your concept of 'green' similar to my concept of 'red'? I can get lost in thoughts like these. So it's nice to watch a film that deals with them for you.
In Les amours imaginaires , two friends, Marie and Francis, are looking for true love. Both think the young and pretty Niko, who slowly grows to be their Adonis can give it to them but Niko is an undecisiive and slightly arrogant boy who chooses no one and lives in his own imaginary world. He claims to love both, but chooses neither and leaves them broken. Both Marie and Francis think they have a chance with him, both have hope and imagine themselves with him, and forgetting about their own friendship while becoming rivals. It would have been a sad and tearful story if it wasn't filmed as beautiful as it is. Francis looking like a new James Dean, who nervously combs his hair. Marie wearing enviously beautiful vintage dresses and lace gloves, smoking cigarettes to a pastel background. Close up of body parts, details, looks, that show so many feelings at the same time.
In Certified Copy, a man and a woman meet at his lecture about real and fake art. Their conversation about when someone or something is real, first seems to built up to a beautiful romance, but slowly develops at a meta level about the reality of the film. instead of talking about real and fake, their relationship changes and uses the audience in a game about the same concepts. All expectations an audience can have about their relationship, but also about the relationship between the film and the audience are being tested. First, you think you go along in the game that they start playing, but at a certain point, you wonder if what first seemed reality might have been a game to start with.
So, what is real? I try to trust my own feelings. I can only trust the value I give them myself. Although, even that sometimes changes, looking back at things…
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Teddy
I only need three things to be happy. A stage. A man. An instrument. The intensity of the happiness depends on the intimacy of the stage, the attractiveness of the man and the kind of instrument. I get more exited from a piano or a guitar than from a triangle, but that doesn't mean there won't ever be a really good, hopefully attractive triangle player who can touch me in the core of my heart.
For now, it's mainly piano's and guitars that do the work. I don't think I'm asking for much. Because even in the worse case - a big stage far away with an ugly guy who cannot sing and has an off tone instrument - I can still be moved by the setting.
This night had all the good variables, in terms of the stage, the man and the instrument. And it also was at a special location, namely the RMH, that organizes monthly NS evenings. Evenings on which the stage doesn't hold more but a singer and his (or hers) instrument, and maybe a mic. In this case, the mic wasn't on. It was only there for the musician to stand behind.
Teddy Thompson, the man I'm talking about, was acting incredibly nonchalant. Jeans, a vest, long sleeve t-shirt and a guitar. It seemd like he was jogging through Chelsea, ran pass the museum and decided he could just as well play some tunes there. He started of without saying anything. He appeared a bit unease, standing alone on that stage. But slowly he loosened up and talked about not having a playlist. He repeatedly had to get his iPod out of his pocket to find out the chords of his songs. He explained his relaxedness from just returning from California.
I realized that, even though I know and have listened to his music for years now, I don't know any of his lyrics, but only the melodies. Neither did I know any of the titles of his songs, like other people in the audience that tried to help him pick another song for his playlist. "No, can't do that one without band". "That one is too difficult to sing alone." "I haven't song that in a long time, don't remember the lyrics."
Because it was just him and his guitar, without all the other instruments that normally are in his songs, there was not much left but the lyrics. So for the first time, I heard about his longing, his deceptions. He wants her to leave, misses her, feels rejected, wonders why they're still together. Teddies songs are all about love! And of course, that makes him even more attractive.
One of my favorites:
For now, it's mainly piano's and guitars that do the work. I don't think I'm asking for much. Because even in the worse case - a big stage far away with an ugly guy who cannot sing and has an off tone instrument - I can still be moved by the setting.
This night had all the good variables, in terms of the stage, the man and the instrument. And it also was at a special location, namely the RMH, that organizes monthly NS evenings. Evenings on which the stage doesn't hold more but a singer and his (or hers) instrument, and maybe a mic. In this case, the mic wasn't on. It was only there for the musician to stand behind.
Teddy Thompson, the man I'm talking about, was acting incredibly nonchalant. Jeans, a vest, long sleeve t-shirt and a guitar. It seemd like he was jogging through Chelsea, ran pass the museum and decided he could just as well play some tunes there. He started of without saying anything. He appeared a bit unease, standing alone on that stage. But slowly he loosened up and talked about not having a playlist. He repeatedly had to get his iPod out of his pocket to find out the chords of his songs. He explained his relaxedness from just returning from California.
I realized that, even though I know and have listened to his music for years now, I don't know any of his lyrics, but only the melodies. Neither did I know any of the titles of his songs, like other people in the audience that tried to help him pick another song for his playlist. "No, can't do that one without band". "That one is too difficult to sing alone." "I haven't song that in a long time, don't remember the lyrics."
Because it was just him and his guitar, without all the other instruments that normally are in his songs, there was not much left but the lyrics. So for the first time, I heard about his longing, his deceptions. He wants her to leave, misses her, feels rejected, wonders why they're still together. Teddies songs are all about love! And of course, that makes him even more attractive.
One of my favorites:
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Audience
SCRIPT AUDIENCE WARM-UP
Scene 1. Outside in line.
Mini girl with a huge mouth comes by with papers, pen and a blocnote. On her belt hangs a walky-talky that beeps regularly. In a high voice:
HEY guys! So great to see you! How are we doing today? Good? That's Grreat! Thanks for coming! Are you a party of two? Here are you're seating tickets. Have a GRREAT time ya'll!
The girl walks on to the people next in line and repeats with the same exhausting enhousiasme exactly the same words.
Scene 2. Reception room
Mini girl is lifted on a table by a touch bodyguard.
HI EVERYBODY! Welcome at The Colbert Report! Are you all exited to be here? -a hundered and ten people cheer - That is GRREAT! In a minute, you're all going into the studio's for the taping, and of course we need you to be exited! Are You EXITED? - a hundered and ten people cheer again - Grreat! Inside the studio you canNOT eat, drink or use any recording equipment. If you do, one of the security guys can confiscate your equipment and that would be, well, A BUMMER! - a hundered and ten people laugh - So first, you're getting a warm-up by a real STAND-UP Comedian (names a totally unknown name). Isn't that GRREAT? - cheering again - You're going to have So Much Fun! And then, Stephen will come out and TALK to you Guys! OUT OF CHARACTER! How Cool is that! - a hundered and ten people go wild - You'll be able to ask him some questions. BUT you cannot give him something or ask him to sign something for you. And you cannot ask him certain question. Questins concerning everything underneath the waist and above the knees, you better keep to yourself - a hundered and ten people laugh - So, just a Few More Minutes Guys. LET'S HAVE SOME FUN!
Scene 3: entrance of the studio
Guy with earplugs stands on a box and talks to the audience:
HI EVERYBODY! Welcome at The Colbert Report! Are you all exited to be here? -a hundered and ten people cheer - That is GREAT! In a minute, you're all going into the studio's for the taping, and of course we need you to be exited! Are You EXITED? - a hundered and ten people cheer again- So we all need you to be VERY EXITED - more cheering-. That's Great! Stephen is a stand-up comedian, but he needs YOU as an audience to help him. The more you support him and cheer, the BETTER the show will be. And that is what we ALL want, right? A GREAT SHOW! - more cheering - I'm going to let you in in just a minute, and we're going to do that in numerological order. First, people with number one to thirteen please, ONE to THIRTHEEN. - people wait for their numbers and calmly walk into the studio - HAVE A GREAT TIME GUYS!
Scene 4: in de studio
Stand-up comedian during the warm-up
Hey GUYS, we need you to be very EXITED of course, and I KNOW you ARE, but sometimes, we need you to go Apeshit. For example, when I introduce Stephen to you, you really have to go apeshit and stand up and clap and yell for him. That will give him the energy to make it a GREAT SHOW, and that is what YOU came for, RIGHT? - a hundered and ten people laugh and clap - And then, sometimes we just need you to enjoy yourself without going apeshit, but we need you to enjoy yourself LOUD - people laugh and clap - Because Stephen needs to hear you, and the people that whatch the show on tv need to hear you too. So if you're having a GREAT time, show it! And if you are not enjoying yourself, if you like don't have any sence of humour, you can always follow your neighbour - people laugh - you know, when your neighbour laughs, YOU laugh too!
So, since we cannot be sure that you go apeshit when we need you to, here's Tom the floormanager - audience claps - who will show you when you need to go apeshit. Let's practise one time, Tom can you make the gesture? -Tom counts down, makes a waiving gesture with the script in his hands and a hundered and ten people get up to cheer, clap and yell - THAT is GREAT guys, keep doing that later! So, you're about to meet Stephen OUT OF CHARACHTER! Please tell me you all know it's a CHARACTER! - audience laughs and claps - We are ready to start, are YOU ready? - a hundered and eleven people cheer - Well, than, GIVE IT UP FOOOORRRRR.......STEPHEN COLBERT!!!!!!! -a hundered and ten people go apeshit while The Man walks into the studio.
End of audience warm-up.
Scene 1. Outside in line.
Mini girl with a huge mouth comes by with papers, pen and a blocnote. On her belt hangs a walky-talky that beeps regularly. In a high voice:
HEY guys! So great to see you! How are we doing today? Good? That's Grreat! Thanks for coming! Are you a party of two? Here are you're seating tickets. Have a GRREAT time ya'll!
The girl walks on to the people next in line and repeats with the same exhausting enhousiasme exactly the same words.
Scene 2. Reception room
Mini girl is lifted on a table by a touch bodyguard.
HI EVERYBODY! Welcome at The Colbert Report! Are you all exited to be here? -a hundered and ten people cheer - That is GRREAT! In a minute, you're all going into the studio's for the taping, and of course we need you to be exited! Are You EXITED? - a hundered and ten people cheer again - Grreat! Inside the studio you canNOT eat, drink or use any recording equipment. If you do, one of the security guys can confiscate your equipment and that would be, well, A BUMMER! - a hundered and ten people laugh - So first, you're getting a warm-up by a real STAND-UP Comedian (names a totally unknown name). Isn't that GRREAT? - cheering again - You're going to have So Much Fun! And then, Stephen will come out and TALK to you Guys! OUT OF CHARACTER! How Cool is that! - a hundered and ten people go wild - You'll be able to ask him some questions. BUT you cannot give him something or ask him to sign something for you. And you cannot ask him certain question. Questins concerning everything underneath the waist and above the knees, you better keep to yourself - a hundered and ten people laugh - So, just a Few More Minutes Guys. LET'S HAVE SOME FUN!
Scene 3: entrance of the studio
Guy with earplugs stands on a box and talks to the audience:
HI EVERYBODY! Welcome at The Colbert Report! Are you all exited to be here? -a hundered and ten people cheer - That is GREAT! In a minute, you're all going into the studio's for the taping, and of course we need you to be exited! Are You EXITED? - a hundered and ten people cheer again- So we all need you to be VERY EXITED - more cheering-. That's Great! Stephen is a stand-up comedian, but he needs YOU as an audience to help him. The more you support him and cheer, the BETTER the show will be. And that is what we ALL want, right? A GREAT SHOW! - more cheering - I'm going to let you in in just a minute, and we're going to do that in numerological order. First, people with number one to thirteen please, ONE to THIRTHEEN. - people wait for their numbers and calmly walk into the studio - HAVE A GREAT TIME GUYS!
Scene 4: in de studio
Stand-up comedian during the warm-up
Hey GUYS, we need you to be very EXITED of course, and I KNOW you ARE, but sometimes, we need you to go Apeshit. For example, when I introduce Stephen to you, you really have to go apeshit and stand up and clap and yell for him. That will give him the energy to make it a GREAT SHOW, and that is what YOU came for, RIGHT? - a hundered and ten people laugh and clap - And then, sometimes we just need you to enjoy yourself without going apeshit, but we need you to enjoy yourself LOUD - people laugh and clap - Because Stephen needs to hear you, and the people that whatch the show on tv need to hear you too. So if you're having a GREAT time, show it! And if you are not enjoying yourself, if you like don't have any sence of humour, you can always follow your neighbour - people laugh - you know, when your neighbour laughs, YOU laugh too!
So, since we cannot be sure that you go apeshit when we need you to, here's Tom the floormanager - audience claps - who will show you when you need to go apeshit. Let's practise one time, Tom can you make the gesture? -Tom counts down, makes a waiving gesture with the script in his hands and a hundered and ten people get up to cheer, clap and yell - THAT is GREAT guys, keep doing that later! So, you're about to meet Stephen OUT OF CHARACHTER! Please tell me you all know it's a CHARACTER! - audience laughs and claps - We are ready to start, are YOU ready? - a hundered and eleven people cheer - Well, than, GIVE IT UP FOOOORRRRR.......STEPHEN COLBERT!!!!!!! -a hundered and ten people go apeshit while The Man walks into the studio.
End of audience warm-up.
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