How Dimension 20 gets ready for a live show

Interviews have been edited and condensed for clarity.

The thing I drive most with when it comes to performance is that your body has to meet your mind, and so both of those things need to be warmed up. So I really like to work out before a show. If I can’t get to a gym, I’ll just go on a long walk, try and get my heart rate up, try and get my body hot, and knowing that there’s something coming.

And then I also like to get my mind right, so that is intense music-listening. Isolation. Space to hit the rhythm I would like from my brain, the patter I’d like to be at going into the show. But then also I think, especially for this kind of work — especially D&D — it’s hanging out with my friends a little bit to get us all together and feeling like we’re on the same page, doing bits, feeling natural and comfortable with the group before we bring the audience into that space with us.

[In terms of music] I like to listen to stuff that is thematically tied to either the energy that I want to emerge onto the stage with, or is just the kind of stuff that gets me going. I think I’ll probably listen to “Hypnotize” by Notorious B.I.G. a thousand times [before Madison Square Garden]. I’ll listen to that song that The Alan Parsons Project did [“Sirius”] that was the Chicago Bulls song — I’ll listen to that about a thousand times. I’ll probably listen to some opera. Things that are epic in scale. Carmina Burana, I’ll probably listen to that a bunch. And just imagine the gates of heaven opening up as I step on the stage of Madison Square Garden. I think that’s what it feels like when 20,000 people get go bananas when you walk out on the stage.

To get ready for a show, I have an old crab’s shell that I think contains the soul of my past uncle. I touch that. I have it on a small altar. I like wearing a really specific black-pepper-scented lotion, and so I always put that on my chest and stomach early in the morning. It’s really important to delay caffeine and see natural light as soon as possible. And if you can, get direct sunlight on your stomach and chest. It’s really important. I usually grind my own coffee beans, and I’ll do that outside in the sun.

I touch the crab shell, I put on the pepper lotion. I like to drive to shows so that I can listen to music, but I try to listen to this thing called “Healing Tones.” And it’s like this specific frequency, and they all have really embarrassing names like “Forgiveness for Yourself” — it’s so hippie, it’s ridiculous. But now I’m just really addicted to the feeling of calm that I get.

I feel like with performing, it’s hard to take a full, deep breath and get the kind of groundedness that you need. With all of our specific style of comedy, we really like playing things as normally as possible, to highlight how crazy someone will go. And that’s what I like to do too, just show up to a show almost as if I had just meditated and I’m ready to just be as top of intelligence and normal as possible, so that Lou can say something completely insane.

I really ignore it. I really ignore the show. I really try not to think about it. I am one of those people that will just turn into an anxious tailspin if I overprepare. And so really underpreparing to the point of deeply underpreparing is my answer. This is bad for me. I’m already starting to spin out.

I do like a little downtime — almost like just in a parallel way. If we were in a space where we could play some games or something… Like, if we were playing Mario Kart. We’ve never done that to prepare for a show, ever. But if we were playing Mario Kart before, I think that would be my ideal version.

The way I prepare for a live show is: I get my laptop computer. I open it up and I open up my campaign notes. I create a set of — [burps] Oh, chicken sandwich! — bullet points of plot-significant — stop laughing! I had a chicken sandwich and I burped a little bit! This is also part of how I prepare. I prepare by having my wonderful and beloved friends laugh at my completely normal behaviors. As I try to stay locked in and do my job, America.

I’ll have a large coffee with half-and-half, and then I will drink that. And then I’ll have another large coffee with half-and-half. I will hear the middle of someone’s funny anecdote, look up, go, “That sounds fun,” see if I can chime in. I can’t.

Back to the bullet points. I will look at my campaign on D&D Beyond. I’ll run over the stat blocks of the various monsters that need to be there. I’ll look at Slack. There’s a problem. Something has to change. Or there will be a tug-of-war: There’s a technical problem; there’s a possible artistic fix. A producer might offer something that will protect my time at the expense of some other technical aspect. And then I’ll go, “Guys, the show’s made up. It’s about gnomes. I’ll make the gnomes different.” And then everyone goes, “Oh my God, he can just make the gnomes different.” And then I make the gnomes different. And then that’s the problem solved.

Fun is overrated, and it’s important to stay strapped in. There is nothing that I take more seriously or more gravely than the enjoyment and frivolity of the audience. And that has to rest on a foundation of extremely stern, brick-by-brick foundation-building. Hey, anyone can say, “Oh, it’s a corn gremlin. What’s the armor class? What’s the hit dice? What’s the attack bonus?” And that is the math of fun. And that’s what I’m doing before the show.