Two IRS Employees and a Downtown Pickup, Skyscrapers Overhead, Froot Loops Underfoot

 Two IRS Employees and a Downtown Pickup, Skyscrapers Overhead, Froot Loops Underfoot

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I picked them up downtown—two IRS tax employees in suits, both carrying satchels and luggage that made them look like they were already inside a very structured kind of day. I pulled over near a safe spot by a busy intersection, tall buildings around us, skyscrapers. 

The guy immediately introduced himself, like he was setting the tone, maybe trying to get a sense of who I was and whether I was capable of getting him through downtown.

He told me he was in a slew of meetings (a slew of meetings), and I clocked that phrase right away.

My car had Froot Loops on the floor, which I noticed a second too late. That detail just sat there quietly in my mind while they got in.

They were very composed. Unfazed. That’s the word. Like nothing about traffic, detours, or timing was really going to touch them emotionally, they were just adjusting variables in a system.

I took the “slew of meetings” as a sign he might want to talk, like we were about to have some kind of driver-passenger conversation to pass the time.

But then I realized he wasn’t really talking to me.

He was on the phone with someone else.

On the ride, one of them was on a high-intensity phone call about real estate. It kept circling this pressure point, whether to move forward on a deal or switch to another lawyer who would cost them a $300 conversation just to keep things moving.

At some point, I told them I did improv comedy.

I asked if they liked comedy, like I was trying to justify the pivot in real time. I think they said yes, or at least enough to keep the conversation from dying immediately, and I leaned into it, talking about improv, how it helps me think on my feet, read situations, not freeze up.

They asked where I perform, and I could tell they were halfway curious, halfway just being polite, but I kept going anyway.

And then I made a joke about my own IRS situation, something about how I had recently dealt with it through University of Minnesota tax lawyers. And even as I said it, I had that split-second internal pause like, why did I just say that, especially to IRS employees sitting directly behind me.

It was one of those moments where your mouth is already ahead of your judgment.

We got onto I-94 West, and then there was a detour. I hesitated. I couldn’t immediately find my way back onto the interstate, and suddenly I was the one unsure.

And somehow, they weren’t.

They stayed calm the entire time. Unfazed again. Just adjusting to the delay, measuring everything in minutes rather than emotion.

And then they were the ones guiding me back, this strange reversal where two out-of-state passengers were helping me navigate a city I was supposed to be driving them through.

Two IRS employees in suits, me talking about improv and laughing a little too fast at my own thoughts, all of us trying to get somewhere different but sharing the same moving box of time for twenty minutes.

And underneath all of it, I realized this is what I do, I talk my way through uncertainty. I reach for comedy when I’m not sure how I’m landing. Even when it’s messy or slightly awkward, it’s how I stay in motion

Ride share story #100

 Today I picked up a passenger and we started talking about what counts as high-adrenaline—what people actually do versus what they imagine doing. He mentioned that at his warehouse job, a lot of workers can’t even go up on the high scaffolding, not because they don’t want to work, but because they’re too fearful.

That stuck with me.

So I asked him, what’s the most high-adrenaline thing he would do?

He said, “Roller coasters.”

I laughed inside. Nothing is more funny than seeing adults say they’re fearful of roller coasters, as if that’s the only thing they could come up with at this point in life.

Not skydiving. Not anything extreme. Just roller coasters.

He laughed and said, “I have to be pushed out of a plane to skydive,” like no one really chooses that in a normal moment.

And that opened the door to a story I probably didn’t think through before telling.

I told him about an earlier passenger I’d had—a woman who had been in the army. She told me about people she served with who had to jump out of a helicopter during a mission. One of them… their parachute didn’t open.

She died.

I kind of regretted saying that in that moment, so I said, “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to scare you.”

But he just shrugged it off. Said he wasn’t planning on jumping out of a plane anytime soon anyway.

Then he started talking about his dad.

His dad had been in a war too. He was on an aircraft that went down, and afterward, he had to pull his fellow soldiers out—people with broken legs, broken limbs. Real, physical damage.

And somehow, his dad talked about it like it was just something that happened. Like it was survivable. Like it was… handled.

But then he said something that lingered.

That a lot of the people who came back from war weren’t really okay.

After I dropped him off, the car got quiet again.
That kind of quiet doesn’t last long in this job.

My next passenger got in, and the tone shifted almost immediately. We started talking about school—specifically women trying to get into med school. She was weighing her options, thinking about what it would take, where she could go.

And without really planning to, I found myself giving advice. Talking about alternative paths, even mentioning places like the Cayman Islands, how people find their way into careers through routes that aren’t always the obvious ones.

It was such a different kind of risk.

Not jumping out of planes.
Not pulling people out of wreckage.

Just… choosing a path and hoping it works.

And then there’s this other part of the job that doesn’t really fit into any of that.

Like the gas station.

There’s this weird, almost cinematic moment where you’re just standing there as an Uber driver and suddenly you’re in someone else’s story. One guy hit on me twice—once inside the store and then again outside, like he was really going for it.

Finally he asked, “You got a man?”

And I said to him, “Yeah—he’s really great.”

Which wasn’t true.
But it was easier than explaining anything real.

And it all kind of sits next to each other—the adrenaline, the stories, the choices, the little moments where you decide what to say and who to be.

Sometimes it’s about surviving something big.
Sometimes it’s about choosing a future.
And sometimes it’s just standing in a gas station, answering a question in a way that lets you move on.

The Wizard of Oz at CTC: A Review

The Wizard of Oz, directed by Rick Dildine, is currently playing at the Children’s Theatre Company in Minneapolis on the UnitedHealth Group Stage. Adapted from The Wizard of Oz, the production features music direction by Victor Zupanc and choreography by Christopher Windom. Designed as an all-ages theatrical experience, the show brings a familiar story to a younger audience.

There is a moment early in the production that captures its ambition: Dorothy’s house lifts into a swirling, tornado-like projection, a kind of holographic image that carries her into Oz before landing, famously, on the Wicked Witch of the East. It’s visually inventive, and for a brief stretch, it feels like anything might be possible.

That sense of theatrical magic returns whenever Glinda appears. Descending from above on a trapeze-like rig, surrounded by a glowing circle of light, she brings a calm, almost otherworldly presence to the stage.

Elsewhere, the pacing is less certain. The first half lingers on extended sequences with the townspeople, which seem to dilute the momentum. In a show so closely associated with its central trio, the Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Lion, it’s noticeable when those characters take a back seat. For a production aimed at younger audiences, that imbalance can feel especially pronounced, since keeping children engaged requires momentum, and prolonged focus on secondary material can cause that energy to dip.

When those familiar characters do take center stage, the energy lifts. The Cowardly Lion, in particular, draws some of the biggest reactions. His playful bravado, especially in moments where he attempts to prove his toughness, lands as genuinely funny, and the audience of children clearly connects with his goofy confidence.

The Scarecrow, in particular, delivered a strong performance. You could really feel his personality come through, and there were moments where his movement, especially rising from a low, grounded position into standing using a turf-like dance technique to get to his feet, was striking, expressive, and highly effective.

The ensemble work is another highlight. Musical numbers are tightly executed, with choreography that feels synchronized and fluid as townspeople move in and out of scenes. There’s a strong sense of coordination across the stage, and at moments you can feel the audience responding to familiar musical cues and rhythms, which adds to the shared energy in the room.

There were also moments where the production could have pushed further, particularly in its pacing and sense of humor. A slightly more relaxed rhythm in certain scenes might have allowed stronger acting beats to land more clearly, especially if the production leaned into more playful “winks” or acknowledgments to the audience. Given that the staging already includes inventive moments like Glinda’s descent on a trapeze-like rig, there is room for more consistent use of theatrical effects or design choices that might heighten the sense of spectacle even further. At times, the overall visual approach feels relatively minimal. In scenes where Dorothy’s house is referenced, the staging sometimes relies primarily on projections with sparse farm materials in the foreground, which can soften the impact of the iconic image of the house being swept into the sky.

The frequent visual shifts from story moments into projection-heavy staging often feel like resets rather than continuous transitions. Instead of building seamlessly from one environment to the next, the production sometimes appears to restart visually with each scene change. This can also affect how performances land, as attention is repeatedly redirected toward new visual environments before character work has time to fully register.

Not all elements come through as clearly. At times, the sound design feels uneven, with moments where voices don’t fully resonate in the space.

Dorothy anchors the production with a steady presence, though the performance remains somewhat understated.

Ultimately, this is a production that shines in flashes, through visual effects, standout character work, and moments of stagecraft that gesture toward something more immersive. But those highlights are occasionally slowed by pacing choices and uneven technical execution.

The Wizard of Oz continues at the Children’s Theatre Company through June 14, 2026.

Four World Premieres at Luminary Arts Center:a review

 The program at Luminary Arts Center on Saturday, April 19 at 2 p.m. brings together a range of choreographic voices, including works by Shane Larson and Assaf Salhov, performed by the ARENA DANCES company. The afternoon situates itself within a contemporary framework that blends structured composition with moments of improvisational feeling, drawing from multiple musical and cultural influences.

The program unfolds through shifting atmospheres of light, sound, and collective movement, where dancers often emerge from near-darkness before dissolving back into it. Faces disappear, leaving the body, and the surrounding soundscape, to carry the weight of expression. This interplay creates an environment where perception feels slightly altered, as if the audience is being asked to listen as much as to watch.

One of the most striking motifs is a recurring sense of suspension and trust. Dancers launch themselves into one another’s arms, bodies held horizontally in midair before being caught, evoking the instinctive leap of a child seeking safety. The feeling stays with me, as the repeated trust-fall moments suggest dependence and a search for footing within a world that often feels sonically unsettled. The dissonant, radio-like textures in the score heighten this tension, as if clarity is always just out of reach.

In Fishscale, choreographed by Shane Larson, the structure appears to follow a sequence of musical chapters, “Overture,” “10 years,” “Chess,” “Quick departure,” “Where am I gonna land?”, and “Immunity.” These function as compositional sections rather than separate dances, each marking a shift in tone or pacing. The title suggests layering and protection, something textured and overlapping, mirrored in the way movement accumulates and sheds across the work.

The Fold, by Assaf Salhov, draws on a diverse musical landscape, including selections by Béla Bartók and Getatchew Mekurya. At times, the choreography references elements of Ethiopian traditional dance, particularly in moments of quick, rhythmic shoulder isolations and head movements, gestures reminiscent of eskista, known for its intricate upper-body articulation. These sequences carry a grounded vitality, contrasting with passages where performers roll across the stage in continuous, wave-like motion, creating momentum that travels from one body to the next.

A vivid section unfolds under a deep crimson backdrop, accompanied by the sound of children’s voices, curious, questioning, and unguarded. The layering of these voices with fluctuating, tuning-like sounds evokes a sense of discovery, as though the piece briefly inhabits a child’s perceptual world. Elsewhere, dancers gaze upward into an unseen light source, as if responding to a distant opening beyond the stage, something luminous and just out of reach, inviting both wonder and uncertainty.

Throughout the performance, the interplay between individuality and ensemble remains central. Whether in moments of stillness, subtle gesture, or full-bodied propulsion across space, the dancers navigate a shared landscape that feels at once intimate and expansive. The result lingers less as a fixed narrative and more as a series of impressions, textural, emotional, and quietly resonant.