It's Not HBO, it's TV.

MITCH! is an improvisational comedy team compromised of myself, Katie Moen, and Jim Moen. It is so named because the Moen patriarch Terry, who has met and spoken with me many times, and is well-aware of my name, greeted me one evening with an enthusiastic:

"Hey Mitch! (Short pause) You're not Mitch."


And then he walked away.

And the name of an improv group was born. Just as the group was picking up steam and gaining Go-Go fandom, I went crazy and moved to Los Angeles.

Upon my return, we had hoped to bring MITCH! back to life, but conflicting schedules, past-deadline Go-Go lotteries, and Jim Moen falling in love with a team of sled dogs and following them across Alaska in the hopes that eventually society will one day accept their inter species and interracial polygamist relationship have all suffocated MITCH! with a pillow.

That left myself, and the hotter yet less feminine Moen (Before you leap to Katie's honor, reread that and realize which Moen I'm really taking a shot at) with three MITCH! slots to fill in August, but no MITCH! to present.

Go-Go has served up some pretty incredible improv sets in the last couple of years, and there's been no shortage of improvisors daring to branch out and try something new, ala Police Cop Detective PI, Staredown (The Quentin Tarantino improvised movie) as well as pre-existing heavyweights finding new ways to reinvent themselves.

I've always been spotty with improv.

No, no -- it's true.

::ALL OF MINNEAPOLIS AND CERTAIN SECTIONS OF LOS ANGELES. Uh...., we didn't say anything.::

I'm too self-aware, too concerned with being "the funny guy," too desperate to be liked, too willing to put an entire box of DOTS in my mouth and try to carry on a conversation (On second though, that bit's pretty solid) As a result, I've never felt like I truly fit in to the improv community. (This was my own thinking. Nobody in the improv community ever made me feel unwelcome. Well, nobody but Butch.)

So, with these open slots, I wanted to aim a little higher than a buncha' scenes until they turned the lights off, or trying to take off Jim Moen's pants. I wanted to make my own contribution that could stand proudly among the quality sets that frequently pack Go-Go from Sunday to Sunday.

So that's when I called up several improvisers I was keen to work with, as well as not being showcased themselves nearly as much as they should be, and told them about a little idea I had:

An improvised sitcom. Not just sitcom, specifically late eighties, very early nineties. Think ABC in its Full House, Perfect Strangers, Growing Pains, Family Matters, Who's the Boss*, and to a lesser extent Just the Ten of Us, hey day.

The group was to be named 7:22, so named because a book on sitcom writing had an entire chapter devoted to writing towards the "22 Minute Moral." And I added the seven, because we're in central/standard time.

With the rag-tag group of improvisers assembled, we set out do the simplest of tasks; create an entirely new improv structure from the ground-up, without a common group knowledge, or even rough plan of what we wanted in the end.

The wind was set out of our sails a bit when research revealed that there's a group in Chicago that already does an improvised sitcom, or at least did perform that structure back in 1996, but Chicago Improv is to Minneapolis Improv as The Simpsons is to every other animated sitcom of the last twenty years. They did everything first.

The Chicago group sent along some literature that aided in building our foundation. Rehearsals of varying success and attendance followed, members of the group were born and perished before there was even officially a group to speak of, and rehearsal sitcoms contained everything from an affirmative action prom with guest speaker Morgan Freeman, to two-men in drag trying to lead a girl scout meeting, meanwhile, one the men's wife and daughter stole his basketball tickets and went to the game instead of them.

Eventually, all the days before August 10th were crossed out, and our debut had arrived. A form still hadn't been found, a tone hadn't been reached, and a set had yet to reach completion. We had thought it best to hold off the debut of 7:22, and appearing for one night only as Here's A Buncha' Scenes Until the Lights Go Out.

But, one of the IO mantra's is that if you're going to fail, fail huge. And if there's anything I can do, by God, I can do that!

So, 7:22 took to the stage, and who knows why, but it worked. It was possibly one of the best sets I've ever played (One of the best sets I've ever played. In all-time improv history, it's probably only in the top five.......thousand).

Perhaps it was the right combination of nerves, lack of expectations, actual ability, and the two-giant Red Bulls I drank, the second I had to sneak in like some sorta' addict. (Even the Super America guy paused before he rang it up. "You're sure you wanna' do this son? This is a big drink." I slam my money on the counter: "I'm a big guy.") (Also, never drink two giant Red Bulls, which are equal to four regular Red Bulls. Lights begin to have trails, and you'll see more dragons than you ever thought possible.)

Our sitcom of the evening was called Bowl of Feathers, and I'm pretty sure it was about an excitable (Four Red Bull excitable) college professor who attempts to keep his sanity when his entire family, compromised of his over-bearing mother, her greasy new boyfriend, his inconsequential sister, and his possibly wise, possibly insane grandfather, are forced to share his tiny one bedroom apartment.

There was laughter, applause, and for the first time in my history as an improviser, I was unaware of the audience for the entire set. I played, I joked, I stuck to my guns, I probably still talked too much, but nothing short of a direct hit is going to take care of that.

In the end, we launched a new group. One that performed solidly, but has room for improvement. Which means more than getting the laugh, because it means there's a future for 7:22.

The direct future is our last two Go-Go dates of the summer - Aug. 17th and 24th. 8:00pm. One dollar. Come on by, and check it out.

We'll maybe even let Laura talk in this next one. Maybe.

*A lot of people seem to think it's boy-crazy Mona, but in truth, Danny Pintauro . Don't believe me? Go back and watch it again, and sense how much Danza's voice trembles when says "Jon-A-Ton"