Colleen’s Late Night Musings, Doubts, Conspiracy Theories

October 22, 2013


Filed under: Uncategorized — Colleen @ 10:03 am

Esteemed French mime, Marcel Marceau, renown for his ˜In the Box” mimicry, was buried in a simple pine coffin this past year, ironically immortalizing the very sketch that brought him fame.

Parisien waiters recognized Marceau’s passing by giving the silent treatment to American tourists (a gesture which initially began in 1934 in anticipation of Mr. Marceau’s death). The initiative was so successful, the French tourism board has decided to extend it to August 10th, 2018.

French Prime Minister Francois Hollande held his own tribute, commenting: “Let’s have a big old game of charades, shall we?!” Ministerial staff were seen to roll their eyes in anticipation of Hollande’s annual, snicker-fueled rendition of Winnie the Pooh.

Upon finally removing Mr. Marceau’s make-up, embalmers were shocked to discover the identify of one Jimmy Hoffa. The Reverends Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson were, reportedly, on their way to Paris (just because).

In honour of Marcel Marceau – two minutes of raucous noise.

October 18, 2013

Shaking. Stirring.

Filed under: Uncategorized — Colleen @ 11:11 pm

I’m thinking of taking on the role of Miss Moneypenny, the fictional character in the James Bond movies and books. She’s the secretary to ‘M’, who happens to be Bond’s boss and the head of the British Secret Service.

I’d call myself Miss Penny Candy and adorn my body with edible bling (candy necklace, earrings to match). I’d carry a concealed licorice whip in my handbag, and one of those trick Juicy Fruit packs that snap clean the finger bones off any unsuspecting gum-taker. Upon command, my Pez dispenser would release a venomous vapour (not unlike that of patchouli) rendering a rival spy unconscious within seconds. Once bound and awake, the prisoner would be subjected to an endless loop of ‘Full House’ (Season 2, Episode 7 ‘Uncle Jesse gets a haircut’) until the enemy’s secret code was divulged (usually within three to six minutes).

Each day, I’d artfully arrange myself upon my desk in a variety of film-noir poses, ensconsed in flickering green and red hues from a neighbouring Quizno’s sign. Taking long, slow draws on my chocolate cigarette, I’d gaze at the ceiling and indulge in my prediliction for uber-spy foreign languages (Urdu, Swahili, Gaelic, Stephen Hawking) while uttering sensual, yet philosophical, gems such as:

“I need somewhere to blot my lipstick. Can I use your lips?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere Agent X. But, don’t stop trying.”

“Nietzsche…..just wasn’t my type.”

I can’t fax, file, unjam the photocopier or make coffee (unless it’s to poison the enemy). Who cares?

“Miss Penny Candy, take a memo.”

Oh….I think not.

Gum, anyone?

August 28, 2013

Where does a girl find a poetry reading in this town?

Filed under: Uncategorized — Colleen @ 10:56 am





The smell of steeped concrete. And, shattered dreams. A life compilation of unfortunate decisions played out in sagging strip motels in hues of dusty rose and foam green, with 1960’s cursive on the marquee: ‘Stay for a night. Stay for a week! Stay for the rest of your sotted and lonely life!” The kind of sad, low-lying cement squats complete with teeny, kidney-shaped pools and long-forgotten, rusted lounge chairs. Where dead bodies are folded into suitcases, messily stuffed behind the ground floor ice machine, or self-propelled from the roof of Honest Arnie’ (Liquor! Cigs! Gaming! Tattoos!).

And, there’s the other Vegas. The glinty. The glittery. Where lions are showcased in glass cases for snapshot happy tourists. Where platinum is the new gold. Money is the new happiness. And, lives, ironically, not that far removed from the mortals at the dusty rose oasis. Oh, there are shows, shows, shows. A dancer could find work within the half-hour. A Vegas slogan: ‘Making the world a better place one dancer at a time.’ (or was that Kierkegaard)?

Appearing (and disappearing) nightly: Magic. Though, sometimes magic gets ugly. Sometimes magic gets competitive. There’s ‘The World’s GREATEST Magic Show’, and, ‘Steve Wyrick – REAL Magic’, and ‘The ONLY Magic Show’, and ‘The Strip’s Best & Only Truly Worthy Magic Show’, and, ‘The BESTEST, MOST IMPORTANTIST, SCREW THE OTHERS, Magic Extravaganza’ (fun for the whole family). Then, there’s Penn & Teller.

Meh. I hate magic.

There’s something called ‘Little Legends’. Celebrity impersonations performed by…midgets. And, another called ’The Lucky Chengs’. Celebrity impersonations performed by…Asian people. To each…his/her bizarre own.

Visit the ‘All You Can Eat Buffet’ that tastes like – chicken. Fetish-inclined? Become an embedded shopper at the outlet mall devoted entirely to shoes.

Meh. I hate shopping.

At least, there’s COMEDY, folks. Is this a place where peaked, over-cooked, “what the Hell do I do now?” comedians go to die? Palliative Comic Care for the Rich? We’ve got Roseanne Barr, Seinfeld, Ray Romano, Jay Leno, Bobby Slayton, George Wallace, Louie Anderson, Wayne Brady, Rita Rudner, Wanda Sykes…

And, me.

Tonight. 11:00 p.m., AJ’s Comedy Night in Vegas.

Nowhere near the strip.

I’m poor.

I’m happy.


May 4, 2013

Fumbling towards mediocrity

Filed under: Uncategorized — Colleen @ 9:20 pm

The scene: A CD release/cocktail party…minimalist music studio/house near Commercial Drive. An intimate gathering of 20 or so artists, musicians, writers…including two of my dear friends.  But, wait – Hello?! Is that Sarah McLachlan noshing on a cracker? HOLY, it IS! Now, I’ve never been one for idolatry (okay, I might morph giggly, googly, idiot savantish should I ever meet Steve Nash. But, that’s it. Okay, him and Mother Teresa. She’s dead – so, really it’s just down to Steve, now). Other than that – not a one. But if…IF I had to choose a musician who had imprinted their lifesong on my psyche - my heart and mind in their most malleable of years, it would be Sarah. And, HERE SHE IS. Two feet away from ME! SHE’S wearing a funky, artsy scarf. I’M wearing a funky, artsy scarf. HER hair is wild and natural. MY hair is wild and natural. SHE’S drinking cider. I’M drinking cider. SHE’S wearing shoes. I’M wearing shoes!

My GOD, we are soulmates. 

The band, ‘Uncommon Gold’,  starts to play its title track, ‘Slow Burn’ a haunting Wilco/Radiohead-inspired delicacy. I grab a seat on the floor. Sarah sits alongside me. We listen. We sway. The alcoholic peach nectar marinates my tongue. My throat. My belly. My bones…the mood unleashing a delicious firestorm of ‘zing’. I’m sharing a beloved artform in an intimate setting – with a woman whom I wholly admire.

Later, by the hors d’oevres table - Sarah and I lock eyes. We smile playfully. She pinches my cheek. I mock twist her arm. She tugs at my hair. I pull at her ear. She slaps my back. I slam her into the wall. We fall into one another’s arms in a fit of Best Friend Forever laughter. We devise a secret handshake: Left forefinger curls in, and…what am I doing?! It’s SECRET! We pledge our insular connection by each carrying a red skittle whenever we’re on stage. We get matching ‘Winona Forever’ tattoos on our ankles. She gets one first. I back out…’cause….well…tattoos hurt. No matter!  We’re BFF! We fall into one another’s arms in yet another fit of laughter.

If only.
Because, you see, while I know every word to every song that Sarah has ever written and so beautifully played on piano or guitar – each nuance, each turn of note - the story of her life, her writer’s block, her other creative challenges…

She knows nothing of me.

Do I leap perilously over the Fair Trade cheese platter to describe the sensual tidal wave that washes upon my skin every time I hear ’Ice Cream’? That I listened to ‘Fumbling towards Ecstacy’ 237 times while travelling through Croatia? That tears consistently well up each time I hear ’Song for a Winter’s Night?’

I make a plan. Unfortunately, it ends up something like this…

I say:

“Mmm. Good dip garlic is it.”


I don’t even mumble that.


I say…

nothing. NOTHING.

All night long.


Colleen nails it again. 

The breadth of ’lost moments’ in this life continue to amaze me.


February 21, 2013

A little punk

Filed under: Uncategorized — Colleen @ 3:28 pm

My 15 year-old son’s favourite song is

‘Holiday in Cambodia’ by the Dead Kennedys,

the ear-splitting, 80’s underground punk band renown for its acerbic,

left-wing commentary on social and political issues,

the musical mocking of right-wing ideology,

the vilification of the Reagan administration…

…all while simultaneously exposing the

hypocracy of various far-left liberal elites.


Kind of brings a tear to the eye,

doesn’t it?

February 15, 2013

Music to my ears

Filed under: Uncategorized — Colleen @ 10:20 am

Intelligent commentary. Music that surfs the soul – nestling in faraway places.

Canwest music critics from across the country have each selected their favourite album of the decade. Better yet, they explain why.

From the healing elixir of Patty Griffin’s melancholic vibes to the film noir romanticism of Tom Waits – the chosen discs are lush, dark and brooding.

Surprisingly, many are Canadian: Metric, Broken Social Scene, Arcade Fire. All this alongside such epic American songsters as Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash.

Check out the entertainment section at

Reconfigure your inner revolution.

February 9, 2013


Filed under: Uncategorized — Colleen @ 11:47 pm

Current Gigs:

Headlining – Thursday, February 7th, Kingston Taphouse & Grill, 755 Richards, Vancouver. Showtime – 9:00 p.m.

Corporate Show – Saturday, February 10th, Aunt Leah’s Society Fundraising Concert. Local musicians – featuring Reid Jamieson!
Sponsored by SHORE 104.3 FM

Thursday, February 21th, Kingston Taphouse & Grille (yes, again), 755 Richards, Vancouver. Showtime – 9:00 p.m.

Every Friday at 8:25 a.m. – Comedy Kick on SHORE 104.3 FM – I scour the comedy clubs, find the best lines and clips of the week.

Any day. Any time. XM Sattelite Radio (Sirius). Heard across the U.S. and Canadian airwaves. Comedy Breaks – My set from the recent Vancouver Comedy Festival. (Haven’t heard it myself, but, a friend called to say he DID). Go figure. I never even knew.

Tap out.


January 10, 2013


Filed under: Uncategorized — Colleen @ 4:01 pm

I’m ready to teach a new art term. My work as a radio broadcaster fills me up, for sure. But, this is a colourful and immature diversion. I love dipping my fingers in crimson, magenta, and sunflower yellow. I also like inhaling the fumes. Which is probably why I’m a sub-standard artist. Luckily, I’m teaching modern art. Besides, I have been compared to Picasso with my paintings of one-eyed, three-breasted men. (His, apparently, were on purpose).

The term begins: Eight weeks of sculpting little boys and girls into aspiring artists. We will explore the Dutch Masters. Navigate Cubism. Discuss advanced art concepts (abject poverty, insanity, sleeping with the gallery owner). This time, having learned my lesson, I will avoid mentioning Van Gogh’s trysts with a prostitute (it did, however, prove advantageous in the CanWest Spelling Bee for the word ‘Gonorrhea’).

I teach these classes in French. While the language sometimes flows smoothly from my lips, most of the time I grasp. Stutter. Regress into my high school lessons. We paint Guy a la Bibliotheque. Sketch Monique a la Discotheque. Sculpt a large Pamplemousse.

I wait for the bell to ring. I’ve yet to meet my young Salvador Dali-ians. Some will return from last term. Others will be new – a blank canvas. But, please – a little prayer to the God of Colour Wheels – that ONE boy from last time. Please, not this term. Give me a rest. His constant tugging at my sleeve. The tantrums. The stomp of his stubborn little feet. The endless, inane questions. Tap on my shoulder. Tap. Tap. Tap. Stomp. I have 25 children to tend to. He blocks my every move.

Bell buzzes. Children stream into the room. There is a shriek. A yelp of delight. Oh! Fantastique! C’est bien! He pushes through the tide of students. Arms outstretched. Mademoiselle Colleen! He propels his body into mine. Arms sling around my neck. “Colleen, je t’aime!”

He is warm. He is soft.

He smells like Fruit Roll-up.

I bite my lip. Then dissolve into a grin.

How the Hell am I supposed to write dark, satirical comedy material with this sort of nonsense going on?

December 19, 2012

Beyond the Mat

Filed under: Uncategorized — Colleen @ 10:30 pm

I am in a Yin Yoga class. ‘Yin’ is Tibetan for ‘nap’. I think. That’s what the people do. They lie on mats. Cocooned in blankets. Eyes closed.  Well, that’s what I saw the first time I popped my head in. I thought: “I can do this.” So, I registered.

The following week. I lie one with the mat. Wilco T-shirt. Tights. Big League Chew.  I am the only one not attired in organic, soy/hemp cotton. I am wearing Adidas. He’s a God. Roman. Latin. I have my own old-school, mystical allure goin’ on. I breathe in. Choke. Swallow gum.

What’s this? Sit up? I was unaware of the upright portion of the class. We stretch and bend ourselves into a variety of poses. I am Keanu in the Matrix. This hurts. There is Dragonfly, Sleeping Swan, Tadpole……Christopher Reeve, Glue Stick, Convicted Felon.

“Breathe,” the teacher urges.The woman beside me lets out big, earthy groans. Frankly, she sounds retarded. And, I don’t like it one bit. I finger my Tibetan prayer beads and fantasize about whipping into her eye sockets. I hear a persistent, rhythmic ‘ping, ‘ping, ping’. Is a Special Needs person playing the Triangle?

“Let peace and tranquility flood in.”We stretch our legs, loosen our hip joints. I glance at the woman in front. ‘Ha, ha, I’m waaay more flexible than she is. She’s like…almost a gimp. I mean, look how far I can move my legs. She sucks. I’m the best. I win.

“STILL the mind.”White cheesies vs orange cheesies. Cancer. La la la. Terrorism. Plastics. Guilt. Sundin. Fruit roll-ups. Gluten. Death Cab for Cutie. Marsha Brady.

After class, I tailgate an elderly driver home. ‘Get OFF the road, you incompetent, Driving Miss Daisy, sight-challenged MORON.’

I want my Big League Chew.

December 17, 2012


Filed under: Uncategorized — Colleen @ 4:01 pm

Well, Jesus WAS Jewish,

and WE believe in Jesus,

so….that DOES kind of make us Jews too.”

(12-year old son’s attempt to cash in on Hannukah)

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