Mostly true stuff…

I invite you to my daughter’s show tonight at Kino Kafe. It’s on Cambie Street near 18th, alongside the Canada Line construction debacle. Set amongst a myriad of bankrupt clothing stores and boarded-up ethnic restaurants. Look for the despondent shop-owners perched curbside, head in their hands.

Step over these derelicts and make your way into Kino. (Do not give them money, it will only encourage them). Kino is dark. That’s because it’s dirty. Have these people never seen a broom? Do not use the cutlery. Avoid ‘Edward’.

My daughter will be there. Tell her to eat more starches. Tell her the red sweater makes her complexion ruddy. Tell her to return my ’Full Monty’ video. Tell her to call me (but, not during Coronation Street).

Tonight, you will hear jokes about her sheltered upbringing and her Catholic religion. She is going to Hell. Tell her I said that.

The show begins at 9:15 p.m. There is a fee by donation at the end of the evening.

Sneak out just before the headliner.

Yours truly,

Ivana Dotter

Colin Ford works for Long & McQuade Music, but it’s the heart he puts into his work with street youth that tells his story with beauty and clarity. Years ago, when Colin worked at the Hastings store, homeless kids would wander in to try out the guitars. Obviously, they weren’t there to buy. But, something about them touched Colin who was surprised and inspired by the chords he heard. He realized these kids needed a place to channel their creative energy.

And so, a music program was born. One night a week, homeless youth head down for a free guitar lesson. The music keeps them coming back, but, also gives Youth Service Counsellors a chance to help them in other aspects of their lives.

This past spring, thanks to a donation by CKNW, Ford bought a few guitars and recording gear, and launched ‘Recording 101′, a six-week course introducing the basics of music producing.

Through music, the youths escape hardship in their lives and feel good about themselves. And, when a kid feels good, it helps guide him/her towards positive change.

Colin has worked with professional musicians in the music industry, but says some of these kids are the most creative he’s ever heard.

Family Services of Greater Vancouver runs the program. It’s one of many services they offer to help those ’stuck’ in life. 

They’ve hired me as part of their team. I start tomorrow.

I’m honoured.

And, humbled.

Kev,

Say it isn’t so. Your hobbling off the court in Tuesday’s game against Golden State. Well, it’s enough to make a fan convert to synchronized swimming, ya know?

You see, we’re waiting for you Kevin. Right here.  Tonight at Vancouver’s GM Place. Oh sure, we have our homeboy Steve Nash (well, technically he’s Victoria’s homeboy, but, what’s a body of water…really)? But, Kevin, you were the icing on this evening’s sweet Nash-Fest. A respite us Vancouverites desperately needed, what with Canucks fans wanting to set the team’s odometer back after Wednesday’s breakdown in Motor City.

Now, you’re injured and out for tonight’s pre-season match-up between the Sonics and Suns. We Vancouverites are morose. And really Kev, can you blame us? Last year’s National Player of the Year, second overall choice in the NBA draft – YOU – gracing our little bog! We drooled puddles at the very thought (check our streets).

We of the beleaguered Vancouver Grizzlies, the recipients of one ‘Big Country’ foisted upon our innocent town in the ’90’s. A hulking, lumbering mountain of white flesh. A collection of small islands, rather than one big country (that is, united in spirit, just not connected…physically). “The ball’s at THIS end of the court. Now, it’s at THIS end. Keep up will ya?” 

A country boy whose hometown folk still point at planes in the sky.

Okay, okay…so, Big Country’s lack of speed was later found to be the result of his shoelaces tied together, a crazy ol’ prank tendered by teammate Blue Edwards who, when not impregnating fast and easy fans, took it upon himself to indulge in highly sophisticated hazing rituals. Unfortunately, for the Grizzlies and Big Country, ’Operation Shoelace’  would remain undetected for three seasons.

So, Kev…we’ll miss you. We really will. But, we have our boy, Steve, to indulge us. AS LONG as he remains injury free.

(Note to Steve: PLEASE take care of yourself. Hint: Avoid car rides with Eddie Griffin).

Yours truly,

Sleepless for Seattle

 

 

What’s a writer/comic/dancer doing teaching art? I don’t know. But, thanks to my dear friend (who happens to be a gifted artist) I’m doing it alongside her every Wednesday. Dabbling in oils. Elbow deep in cadmium and ruby hues. We’re showing kids how to express themselves on canvas. This week, we told the story of post impressionist painter, Vincent Van Gogh.

“You mean…he cut off his ear?!” That’s right class.  

“He went crazy too?” Yes, he did. Now, let’s pick up our brushes and….

“He was friends with prosi-toots?” Okay, okay…maybe I’ve shared a BIT too much about our friend, Vincent. And, by the way, it’s pronounced PROSTITUTES. Here, I’ll spell it on the board. Another name would be HOOKER. That’s much easier for you kids to say. Egads. Never mind. Give me that eraser. Quick. Damn, I mean darn. Ack. OKAY, OKAY, so he was friends with them…but, hey…JESUS was friends with prostitutes…and bad people… and HE’S not so terrible now, is he?

“Teacher, what IS a prosi-toot?” Oh, um, someone who…ah…go ask your mother. No, WAIT! Don’t ask your mother. Don’t TELL your mother. Don’t TELL your mother I told you not to TELL your mother. And, uh, same goes for your dad, okay? Got it? Good. It’s our little secret. Bloody ‘ell…I mean, Golly Gee. Okay, moving on…everyone start blending your crimson and black oils….

“Why did you say Jesus was bad?”

Class dismissed.

 

 

Love

 

is a moving target.

 

 

It was a black and blustery night,

(okay…dark and stormy).

I saunter into a quirky place on the Drive. Red walls. Red bar. Red chairs. Black light. Ten comics on the bill. I’m the only woman. A guy named DJ is the host, the man running the scene. The crowd starts arriving and, hey… they all seem to know him. They’re his friends, here to support the show. Hug. Hug. Kiss. Kiss. Nice. As the sole female, I’m strategically placed fifth in the line-up (femininity safely nestled between equal parts testosterone). I go on after the comic talking about his genitals, but, before the other comic talking about his genitals.

I start my new stuff off the top. There’s an applause break from one comedian at the back. A Sally Fields moment. There’s nothing more delicious than scoring with a first-time joke – especially with your peers.

I play my set out – dark and dry. I’ve been leaning towards this style lately. A crop of one-liners. Bang. Bang. Pop. Sizzle. But, I carve pauses throughout the set, snagging handfuls of air, marinating a joke in each. I like the cadence. The crowd does too.

I celebrate with a cider afterwards and ask a comic friend who DJ’s crowd is. He tells me they’re from the porn industry. Say what? “Yeah, Colleen, they all have sex…with each other…on film.” (Oh, thank you for clearing that up. What with the cloistered upbringing and all, I did not know of this thing you call ’porn’).

Post show goes like this:

Female porn star: “You were great! Love the Writers’ Festival bit. I’m a big reader and all…”

Me: “Oh…thank you. What do you read?”

Female Porn Star: “Books. You should do one of our parties.”

Me: “Do?”

Female Porn Star: “Yeah…like your jokes and stuff. We’ll call you.”

 

Some comics do Vegas. Others do colleges. Does this mean I’m on the porn circuit? 
 
 

 

Tonight….a wake of sorts. A funny bone brain jam. A symphony of a thousand synapses. A Comic’s Comic’s party.

At Stages we gather. To admit defeat. To the all powerful Keno board, the big screen TV, the generic aspirations of hotel chains who worship the urbane, and the steadfast desire of Chinese eatery patrons to enjoy a meal unencumbered by frivolity or laughter.

Comedy club eulogies are not to be missed. Tonight’s stage will be graced by many:

Kevin Foxx, Simon King, Torben Rolfsen, Sean Proudlove, Carter Horie, Jeffrey Yu, Stephen O’Keefe, Blue, and more.

The final punchline: The Holiday Inn’s iconic slide into inoffensive beige.

Who’s laughing now?

 

 

I, for one,

feel most comfortable in parenthesis.

Nestled between ‘muted’ and ‘implied’.

Bookends without borders.

An afterthought.

Or forethought.

Strategically placed.

Worthy.

Yet, tenaciously humble.

Cocooned. Enveloped. Hugged.

 

Question mark begone.