Sandino raised me. Not in a paternal way, not as in they were my coaches and taught me the basics. If anything, I’d compare Sandino to my improv older brother. We both started at around the same time (they were formed in March or April of 2010, I moved out here on April 26th, 2010) so during my most formative time, 101-now, I was able to see them hit it off. I was able to see what improv was capable of being if we just committed to the basics. Committed to keeping it simple. Committed to treating every idea, initiation, suggestion and move as if it were the most brilliant of things.

Sandino taught me that if you go out there, show the world how excited and happy you are to be playing together and doing this cool thing, than you’d be able to do really cool things. The telephone harold, the vaudville harold, the venn diagram, the groundhogs day. Treating every suggestion as if it were the most esteemed of gifts. Nothing was bad, everything was held to the highest of standards. Their audience was filled with poets and geniuses in their eyes, just like Del wanted. 

Last night was their last show and I wasn’t allowed in. It sucks. It’s like knowing that your older brother is about to fall to cancer or a car crash or something else and you’re unable to do anything to stop it. It’s as if you’re prevented from entering the hospital room during the last few hours. 

I’m still really, really mad about it. 

I have no idea what their suggestion was, what they did, how it went over. I have no clue if it was the entire cast of Sandinites or if it was just the newer incarnation of them. I’m absolutely in the dark until I talk to Fesh later about it, he’ll probably be in tears about it.

The only thing I know is that if I had made it in, I was going to suggest Cliffhanger.