C.I.A. Improv at City Theater

Get your laughs watching strangers trip over the Old Port sidewalks if you must, but laughter is best when it's guilt-free and pure. And good, pure laughs are dealt out in good score by Biddeford's C.I.A.

Wipe that image of suited government men out of your mind - this C.I.A. is Comedy Improv Alliance. They started up last year based out of Biddeford's City Theater. And thanks to new sponsorship by Blow Bros./B.B.I. Waste Industries (no joke) they've got several shows planned for the upcoming year.

Lucky for us Portland folk, Biddeford is just an easy 60-cent toll away.

The City Theater is a well-kept classic amongst the aged mills of downtown - the old-school signage makes it easy to find off Main Street.

After paying $10 at the door, my friend and I opted for front-row seats (despite that nagging apprehension that sitting so close would make us easy targets for the "audience participation" referenced in the calendar listing).

While waiting for the improv festivities to begin, we were both handed three colored slips of paper and a pencil. One each slip, audience members were asked to supply skit fodder - specifically: a memory from a past family holiday, a sentence from a recently overheard conversation and something that - if you heard it in reference to another person - might make you think negatively about him/her.

The slips were collected and a few moments later the show began. C.I.A. "misdirector" Steve Burnette briefly welcomed everyone for coming out and introduced the night's seven players.

And then they were off. The first "game" was The Dating Game - and the audience was asked to give the each of the three contestants an unusual habit and a mood. The result: a hyper-giddy woman with Tourettes, an angry woman with excessive gas and a paranoid woman who repeated everything. And it was hilarious.

The players adopted their personas instantaneously - the gaseous woman cringing in apparent discomfort every few moments and waving her hand behind her to disperse the fumes. The curse words came flying - followed by crazed giggles - from the woman with Tourettes and Miss Paranoid's eyes darted with the fervor of an over-caffeinated conspiracy theorist.

The bachelor asked questions - though I can't recall a single one of them. The antics of the bachelorettes was too distractingly entertaining.

After the laughter and applause from that game died down, one of the players did what all comedy audiences fear most: She asked for a volunteer. My breathe stopped. I looked around (please don't pick me!), fiddled with my camera (not me, not me, not me), watched the walls (good lord, people, someone volunteer!).

Thankfully someone did. A high school-aged guy walked up on stage and took a seat. He was asked a stream of questions about his day (he woke up, got dressed, skipped breakfast, went to school, played cards at lunch...you get the idea). And much to his chagrin - after he recounted his routine in enough depth - the players began acting out a day in his life.

And again, it was hilarious. Funny-on-the-fly is impressive enough - but it's cool to watch the players feel their way through a scene without any preparation or discussion.

Later there was a game in which players acted out the fond (or not so fond) holiday memories the audience had written down. In another, players had to fold the sentences of conversation we had given them into a scene (which, thanks to the suggestions of the audience, centered around a police raid at a gay bar).

Volunteers were requested again to be the "buzzers" for a game of Jeopardy - and three much braver people than I raised their hands. A sincere "thank you" to them - and to courageous audience members throughout the state - for making it possible for the rest of us cowards to hide in our seats.

The whole show was a riot - too many one-liners to recount. Let it suffice it to say that I laughed nearly without pause for over an hour and a half - quite a bargain for 10 bucks.

But the best line of the night, by far: "Apple cranberry juice - works well both as a chaser and a lubricant."

I'm a fan of comedy in all its forms, but there's something tangibly electric about improv - that on-the-fly energy you don't get with stand up. You're not just waiting for the punchline - you're involved, you're wondering where it's all going to go, you're trying to come up with the joke first. But you can't - not like these guys can. That's when you realize that good improv is a talent.

Check C.I.A. out for yourself - you'll see what I mean.

Beer Pong at CJ's Place

Yes, I said beer pong.

The game championed by college students across the country has taken a step toward legitimacy. Toward recognition. Maybe even, one day, the Olympics (or not).

Beer pong is no longer restricted to the dingy garages and brightly lit backyards of off-campus houses. CJ's Place (on Forest Ave. in Portland) has opened its arms and floorspace to the game - albeit in a slightly reduced form (water is used in the cups instead of beer, and you don't drink the water).

CJ's began the Tuesday event a few months ago without a lot of fanfare. When I first got wind of the goings on I couldn't help but disbelieve. Beer pong? In a bar? That just isn't right.

Or maybe it's oh-so-right.

I had to see for myself - there were too many questions. Is it a tournament? Are players really drinking cheap, flat beer (that's been touched by God-knows-who) from classic red Solo cups? Do the authorities know about this?

We finally rallied some people together last Tuesday and headed over just after 9:00 p.m. John "Terps" Everett (coworker and Bar Guider) had chatted with the daytime manager beforehand and was told there were four tables set up for the purpose of beer ponging - and that playing was first come, first serve. No high-stakes tournaments here. And while CJ's is packed wall to wall on Friday and Saturday nights - according to the manager - he wasn't sure what the Tuesday night crowd looked like.

Having seen it first hand, I can tell you: It looked like two guys at a table - and three or four more regulars hanging out at the bar (likely oblivious to this whole 'beer pong' nonsense).

There was no crowd.

I was surprised. It may be CJ's on a Tuesday, but beer pong has a pretty faithful following that I thought for sure would turn out. At least a handful anyway.

No matter, we had brought our own crowd of 10 and intended on playing, regardless of who else was or was not in attendance. And here we ran into roadblock No. 1. There was only one table - which was already occupied by the aforementioned duo.

We milled around for a few minutes, thinking perhaps we were early and the festivities hadn't really taken off yet. But impatience took over and I asked the bartender if there was another table she could bring out. There was. She did.

Now for roadblock No. 2.

It sometimes seems like red Solo cups are in never-ending supply. After how many college parties, how many shotgun weddings, how many family reunions, I can't ever recall a time when we ran out of Solo cups. How could you - they're like 99 cents for 2,000.

But as the bartender hauled out the second table (thanks kind lady) she likewise informed us that the Solo cup stash had run dry (um, what?).

Beer pong without Solo cups? Es imposible! After some mild hemming and hawing on our part, someone jetted off to buy some cups.

I should note that - despite being called 'beer pong' (or Beirut, if you prefer) - no beer was used in the making of this event. The cups are actually filled with water (yes, yes, blasphemy) but $1.50 Budweiser and PBR drafts should keep cheap beer drinkers happy.

There was zero organization regarding the game - to the chagrin of the more serious players among us who insisted on maintaining the highest level of formality.

Eventually some scrap paper was scrounged up to use as a sign-up sheet and the "we'll play winners" started flying.

Any talent for the game that I once possessed back at EIU was long, long gone. I scored one cup the first game - one. But maybe my grandmother was right, and beer pong IS just like riding a bike: it's a skill you'll always retain. Game two I was back in the swing of things (as in, didn't win but could at least compete).

Aside from the table and cup glitches and the slow start to the night, we all agreed it was a good time. The event would be greatly improved if a) there were enough cups for four tables. b) There were four tables c) Someone at the bar took charge and organized teams/brackets. The competition factor could really entice the regulars.

Pub Quiz at Ri-Ra

Tuesdays have been historically...blah. The agony of the work week is in full force and that trusty savior Hump Day is still hours and hours away. Happy hour might be a good way to break up the monotony but it just seems wrong on a Tuesday (so some people say).

If only there were some nighttime occupation you could participate in that would both stimulate your noggin and enable you to unashamedly support your local watering hole on a Tuesday.

Trivia junkies around Portland have already discovered Tuesday night pub trivia at Ri-Ra. That became obvious at about 7:50 p.m. last Tuesday when the half-empty bar suddenly flooded with people.

I had arrived early with a few friends and managed to stake out some stools and a bit of counter top - which turned out to be very lucky when space soon thereafter became a commodity.

The chitchat in the room was heavy while a bartender hoisted the pub quiz boards onto the wall in preparation. I grabbed a quiz notepad and pencils (two, just in case) and my cohorts and I brainstormed a team name: Squeaky Silent Ks.

It's pub trivia, I thought. How hard can it be? I'm an avid reader. I watch Discovery Channel (when I have access to a cable TV) and MPBN (when I don't). My recall of useless information is, in my humble opinion, up there with the best of them. Yeah, I was confident we'd do OK.

Soon after 8:00 p.m., the first 10-question round began. The aforementioned bartender read the first question aloud. I'm wishing now that I had written it down so I could include it here. Let it suffice to say that, at the time, the question sounded something like this: "Name the triplolectic of the flubberstaff who was the first grabnagit to slipnit."

Uh... [insert sound of confidence being crushed here]

We had a team of five - all literate, educated folks - and we could do nothing but stare questionioningly at each other. "Do you know it?" "No, do you?" "I have no idea." "Wait. What was the question again?"

Nine more questions came - most we wrote down answers for, most of those we knew were wrong.

At the end of the round we brought our answer sheet up to be checked (and laughed at) and tallied up by the pub quiz operators.

Team names were written on the board with first-round scores. We looked on with baited breath. Please, please, please don't let us be profoundly dumber than all the other teams.

And there was our team name - next to one of the lowest scores on the board: 3 out of 10 points. Yikes. On a brighter note, there was one team that scored even lower. Three cheers for not being the absolute worst.

Round two went a little better. Shockingly the round we really scored with was the picture round, during which we needed to identify 10 car logos. My gear head brother would have been proud: 9 out 10.

If teams were tied for points at the end of a round, a tie-breaker question was read.

Lucky for us, we never had to deal with that pressure.

And despite being trivia deficient, the lively atmosphere kept spirits up. A friendly team nearby even took pity and helped us with a couple of answers. So we weren't trivia champs. Big deal. Word on the street is, "that Celtics team always wins" anyway.

Way to go Celtics. For the rest of us, it's still a great excuse to have a drink, enjoy good company and do something a little different on a Tuesday.