Archive for February, 2007

Girls, Girls, Girls

Seems every comedy joint is embracing velvet, these days. The Sylvia Hotel is no exception. Velvet chairs AND Comedy AND Martinis AND a mini pink tablet that passes for a stage, or (as one wonderful comic puts it) a birth control pill.

Thursday, March 1st, the Sylvia Hotel explodes estrogenically with a powerhouse of female talent (and a few guys too): Erica Sigurdson, Victoria Pattison, Carol MacDonald (after a 4-month hiatus), Jennie Apps, Jillian Thomas, Shawn Stewart, Darcy Michaels….and moi.

Try the Sylvia’s latest bar goodie: The Russell Peters Beer. Show starts at 8:00 p.m. at 1154 Guilford & Beach (English Bay). Admission: $5.00. Best deal in town.

The guy comics say they’re dropping by to cheer us on (or, steal our panty-liner jokes).

Robbery Etiquette 101

This week, the paper reported that a pink, spandex-clad woman approached a bank teller in North Vancouver, motioned the presence of a gun, and presented a note reading: ‘Put the money in the bag.’ The entire scene took place while the robber chatted on her cell phone.

Some people are so rude.

Red Velvet

Last night, at the Jupiter Lounge, MC Byron Bertram introduced me with two simple words:

“She’s beautiful.”

Well, gosh – thanks Mr. B for that verbal rose. Somewhat ironic, as I’m anything but. An emotional rash, previously masked with a smile, is no longer content being sequestered. It has decided to speak out. The result: A mountainous range of red bumps across my chin, mouth, and cheeks. All under the shadow of an anarchist cold sore that glistens most prominently under a comedy stage spotlight. Colleen’s present-day life story as narrated by the dermis.

Pills and ointments have failed. There is no elixir. Because, you see, it’s not really about skin.

The body has betrayed me. My secret revealed.

Beauty, indeed. 

Comics are from Mars…

There’s a hot comedy show this week. For once, I’m in it. Drop by the Jupiter Lounge this Thursday, Feb. 22nd where the post apocalyptic merges with lounge lizard retro. Exposed pipes. Velvet curtains. And, some very funny people:

Byron Bertram
Ivan Decker
Victoria Pattison
Joel Walmsley
Sharon Mahoney
Colleen Brow (somewhat nervous about trying two new pieces).

And…(flute intro)…your headliner – the formidable Lachlan Patterson. I have six girlfriends coming. They are coming to see Lachlan. If I cancelled my set, they wouldn’t even notice, such is their swooning (if you like that sort of thing…yawn).

The show (or as Byron Bertram calls it) ‘Straight from Uranus Comedy Cabaret’ (why Byron, why?)…starts at 8:30 p.m., at 1216 Bute.

I’ll be the girl hiding behind the red curtain.

Little Miss Cinephile

Lately, I’ve been disappearing to the aisle seat, row 12 on the left-hand side of various darkened theatres to view Oscar-nominated flicks. Nothing excites a cinephile more than a crop of movies ripe for the devouring. Little Miss Sunshine, The Queen, Babel, Last King of Scotland, Little Children – got ‘em. Tomorrow: The Departed (I’m giddy). Still to pluck: Letters from Iwo Jima, Volver, Blood Diamond. 

Helen Mirren and Forest Whitaker deserve to win for lead roles. For supporting female, I enjoyed Babel’s Adriana Barraza and Rinko Kikuchi, who learned sign language for Babel (extra homework often snags it). But, come on people, whether it’s these two actors or Jennifer Hudson who’s African American …root for an actor because you love the art of filmmaking: Because you love the purity of a brilliant performance: Not simply because the actors are from your origin country.

Music: The Babel rhythms struck me on a primitive level (especially the music in Morocco). I’m rambling now, like Ebert on a rush of IV administered buttery topping…but, I’d love for Alejandro or Scorcese to win for Director…and The Departed for best picture (oh I know The Departed will rivet me).  All this…and ELLEN. Comedy AND Movies. Peel me a grape. I’m in for the long haul. 

Post Oscars, I’m off to my next cinematic fruit: ‘Breaking and Entering’. Row 12 awaits.

 

Bloody ‘ell

Slice O’ Craig:

“I grew up in Glasgow. It was kind of like Braveheart…in Detroit…in the 1970’s. Lots of polyester and violence. Now that I’ve moved to L.A., I ‘m a wimp. I’m all lactose-intolerant and stuff.”

“The first drug I ever took was at a Deep Purple concert. I got it from my Uncle’s pharmacy. It was chloroform. I was out cold in 40 seconds. I woke up to: ‘Goodnight Glasgow!’ Kids, just say ‘no’ to chloroform.”

“I spent time in rehab for alcoholism. You always know you’re getting better when you can beat the junkies at Jenga.”

“My ex-wife is Jewish. We had a Scottish/Jewish wedding. Unfortunately, the Jewish tradition of dancing around with the bride and groom on your shoulders clashes with the Scottish tradition of wearing nothing under your kilt.”

Self-effacing. Charming. Unpolished. Holy, his energy! Not the manic Robin Williams stuff…no, no, no (thank God). Craig Ferguson has a way of throwing his body into every vowel and consonant. He’s committed to his stories – all while kicking your ass in a bar fight. A raucously entertaining night! (This was a belated Valentine’s outing. I choose comedy over flowers or chocolates or jewelry ANY day. I mean, who needs a material ‘thing’ when you can share an experience like laughing, eh? I don’t get the whole ‘Gimme Gimme’ deal).

Oh, and Craig also said something about french fries on room service trays in hotel hallways tasting great…. then he paused and said…”Hmm, watch the show Monday. I’m getting bored with the usual material.” My curiousity is piqued.

I see that his Late Late Night show got trashed in today’s L.A. Times (thanks Guy AND Torben). Though the critic did seem to suggest that Craig IS better than the hokey format. But, that’s the host’s responsibility too, is it not? Format should reflect the comic/host’s unique style. Ellen’s show IS Ellen. Craig…come on lad. Tell the CBS suits to shut their holes. Nobody’s messing with your ideas (make like you’re at the Cock & Whistle).

A fine lad

Comic Craig Ferguson got his start in the entertainment biz as a drummer for some of the worst punk bands in the UK, most notably, the esteemed ‘Bastards from Hell’. As a comic he worked the European Alt Comedy circuit as ‘Bing Hitler’ (Bing for familiarity, Hitler for shock). Eventually, he landed the Drew Carey show (we’ll let him off, this time). He’s written a book (characters include Socrates, Carl Jung and Tony Randall). He also wrote the film ‘Saving Grace’. All this in between a couple of marriages. This guy lives. Does.

When he first snagged the late show gig, he would open with a scripted monologue/prepared jokes. That’s the way they do things in America, yeah?

But, as the show progressed, he began improvising. A year later, he was using only an outline. One day, he went to the CBS boss and told him he’d be improvising the entire opening monologue, to which the boss smiled and replied, “Yeah…I was waiting for you to bring that up.”

Tonight….
Row 2.
Sold out show.
I’ll be along for the ride.
My friend, Mr. Macpherson, says even the media box is bursting.
I like that.

Capilano Canyon

“If you tell a joke in the forest and nobody laughs,

was it a joke?”

(Steven Wright)

Kundera’s Muse

~
With concentric brush strokes
she paints a revolution of colour
Magnolia yellow, Cobalt blue
the hues that first attached to him
when he entered her picture.
Anchoring himself to her bones
Laying claim.

Kundera’s muse.

She who always feared the ledge
waits jewel-eyed at the train station
willing herself into the clenched pose of one.

She knows all the posters by heart.
~

Hey, my apologies to the guys out there. But, it’s Valentine’s Day. I’m a sensualist. Cut me some slack.
Okay, okay. How about this for a little ManLit:

“Roses are red, let’s go to bed.”

The power of Now

From time to time…comedians will…(wait for it)…discuss things that have nothing to do with comedy. Through the thoughtfulness of one such Friend/Comic/Doctor (who says he has ’spidey sense’), I’ve been gifted with a beauty of a book, ‘The Power of Now’.

Taking thinking to a new altitude; Exploring life’s dichotomies, the book is unforgiving in its singleness of message:

‘We are not our mind.’

This bookworm says ‘wow’….and, highly recommends this delicious textual journey.

 

 

Return top