Mostly true stuff…

Last night was a big evening for me, comedy wise. It was my turn to compete in Yuk Yuk’s Comedy Showdown 3.

The line up was formidable with only ONE comic moving onto the semi-finals. I drew the last spot. Darcy Michaels, the bullet. People love Darcy. He’s personable, full of gab – like you’re having a beer and dissing the usual targets. But, whoa, following Darcy was Ian Boothby and then Charlie Demers. Both of these comics – smart, political, issue-savvy. Adam Pateman, a recent Comedy NOW hopeful, contrasted in style with folksy impressions (he’s the only comic I know who does an imitation of a dollar store toy).

Next, was Torben Rolfsen who produces some of the most topical and refreshing writing around (I’m just saying this ’cause he’s probably reading this post…actually, I mashed the guy to the ground last night). No, he really is amazingly prolific. Oh, and bonus day for Torben as two of his jokes also enjoyed print status in the Vancouver Sun’s sports section. Actually, you can catch his stuff every Tuesday in the paper. Touchdown Torben!

Rounding out the show: Anthony Ascue, DJ Roy, Blue, and me. Anthony’s somewhat new on the scene, and you can’t help but love his regular Joe style. He’s personable and self-deprecating and has a great comfort level behind the mic. Anthony appeals to everyone ON and OFF the stage (I adore his Price is Right bit). Blue – well, Hell – that guy was just back from Maple Ridge AGAIN. Heard his material before – but, this time he added layers, lots of ‘em. The result: A lot more laugh hits. The crowd loved him.

MC Pete Johanssen had the crowd rocking by the time I stepped on stage.

Then, something happened. Speed. Red Bull. Smart Popcorn. I don’t know. But, I suddenly had an exhuberance I’ve not felt before. I’d written a new piece on the Democractic nomination, and risked trying it for the very first time. When the crowd roared – I felt a surge of validation and confidence.  Bang. Bang. Bang. It wasn’t so much the jokes. It was me. Something inside was driven to nail it last night. It was truly the best set I’ve ever had in my life.

I’d been feeling low about my comedy lately, and, I’d had a few uninspired sets in the past few months. I stopped asking for stage time. No energy. No motivation. An undertow of apathy pulling me down. So much so, that I seriously considered quitting the craft.

All that changed last night.

Thanks to those who convinced me not to throw in the towel, and to the friends who came to cheer me on last night (and, those who sent good luck messages). Nice to know there are people who believe in you.

Even if you don’t win.

Congrats Charlie.

You were stellar.

Arabesque

Motion distilled
in pure symmetry of bodily lines

A breath between two dancers, each pirouette, a pause…

 

Ah, screw it.

Here’s the real reason guys take ballet…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yl6bVko0-bQ

 

Is it just me?

Or does Ringo Starr sound like somebody’s “I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts” note-challenged, alcohol-imbued uncle after a night at the Legion?

Cyberspace has become the new romantic backdrop. Forget walks in the forest, romantic cafes, reading aloud to one another. Forget crawling through windows, late night picnics, movies in bed, the incandescence of a late night streetlamp. Rather than wander the cobblestones and canals, we sit alone at our desks typing. Typing flirtation and excitement.

Yes, some of the most famous courtships evolved through letters. But, today’s version of truncated missives tapped into a keyboard or telephone pad pales beside a moonlit messenger on horseback delivering an inked sonnet.

We haven’t upheld the tradition of les belles lettres. We’ve only made it more efficient. So efficient that we can construct love and dismantle it in as many heartbeats. Our drive-thru culture has made us fickle and consumptive. Our hearts abbreviate. Our love is emoticonized. In pressing the ’send’ button, we reroute the courses of our lives; as if they were unruly and needed to be damned rather than experienced in their messy, risky fullness.

Ever taste an exclamation mark?

 

 

Today – Flipping through a women’s magazine, I stumble upon an ad extolling the virtues of a new, form-fitting brassiere. A blonde, clad in this life-transforming bra, looks towards the heavens. 

Tag line: “Everything you ever wanted in life.”

Oh really?

How about healthful bodies, a ceasefire in Iraq, a day without text messaging, a kiss to the collarbone, the ability to deal with sudden and unexpected loss, the ecstatic buzz from Queens of the Stone Age’s ‘I Wanna Make it Wit Chu’, a place to gaze at 1,000 year-old trees, less effort on developing robots, more effort on developing souls, candlelight, the devaluation of consumerism, new ideas that push/pull, being inwardly-mobile, outwardly bounteous, the eradication of sectarian violence (and consultants), the pursuit of a true Aryan Nation (kidding) and limbs that encircle (not kidding), an ozone-layer sewing kit, hard-cover books, wherewithal, researching dragons, shelter, water, friends who help you move, killer punchlines. 

But, that’s just me.

 

 

The other day, I was nonsensically musing:

If I was going to pack it all in, say goodbye to the world,

I’d go big.

I’d go dramatic.

I’d go exactly like the poet, Sylvia Plath, who killed herself by sticking her head in her kitchen oven.

Then, I realized…

Damn.

 

I don’t cook.

 

Sometimes my crazed desire for music exceeds my obsessive addiction to comedy.

The battle for psyche domination is smackdown raw.

Tonight – music reigns…

…with the Fraser Macpherson Trio at the Cellar Jazz Club. The (late) Fraser is the father of Guy Macpherson, comedy writer for the Georgia Straight. If the Comedy Couch message board hosted Hollywood Squares, Guy would hold fort in the middle square. (This last fact has nothing to do with anything).

Well, hell – I like a place with a blue smoky haze, little tables, dim lighting, and the palpable rhythm of malcontent (isn’t this what jazz is)? Ah, whatever. Tonight gives me a chance to push the boundaries of my musical affliction. I ain’t no jazz expert. But, my body tells me I need to get some educatin’ real fast.

Drop by.

Details www.cellarjazz.com

He’s bought himself one of those black pens. The kind that glide effortlessly over glossy photos.

…made reservations at The Ivy for lunch,

and, Spago’s for dinner.

…Signed himself up for a seminar on Scientology’s mission: “Infiltrate. Ingratiate. Impregnate.”

And, a Kabbalah retreat entitled: “The Thin Red Line: Does This Bracelet Make Me Look Fat?”

He’s watched the film ‘Mulholland Drive’ eleven-teen times.

Is obsessively muttering ‘entourage’ - his new, hot yoga mantra.

And is, generally, feeling pretty cool these days.

Comedian, Dr. Russ Kennedy’s pilot TV show, ‘Dying to Know’ just got the green light from A & E. That means a full-on television series (take THAT you other schmirky, limpified TV pilots that couldn’t get off the ground). THIS dude’s causing turbulence. Which means…whoa…that my pal will be playing a lead role in a major network series. LEAD, baby. LEAD. As in David Duchovny…Zach Braff…Sanford (or Son)…Sponge Bob…

Shooting starts in March with Russ splitting his time between Vancouver and L.A.

It couldn’t happen to a better guy. Someone who cherishes the gift of friendship.

Go kill ‘em.

Then, heal ‘em

I see an action figure in the works.

 

“It’s your 10th birthday next week, Spencer. That means you get to choose what the family has for dinner that night. So…..kiddo, what’ll it be?”

Spencer: “Slurpees. From 7-11. The Mega Gulp size.  And, hot dogs with ketchup. For dessert – I’d like pumpkin pie.”

“No birthday cake?”

Spencer: “No, Mom. Uncool. And, can we listen to the Nick Swardson CD while we eat dinner? Especially the stuff about how he’s gonna play tricks on people at his funeral. During dessert…maybe Steven Wright – his early stuff…or Demetri – the part about squirrels being chased by cars…or, how about Brian Regan’s bit on making crank calls. I’m still deciding.”

“What would you like for a present?”

Spencer: “A giant scythe.”

   

I’m obviously doing something right.

    

Headlines I’ve regretably used in my early days as newsletter editor for BC Rail:

Fallen off the rails? Let our Employee Assistance Program help!

BC Rail – Your train of thought.

BC Rail – On track for the future!

Caboose too big? Join our lunch-hour fitness class! 

Rail-less in Seattle.

The Little Company that Could.

I Think. I Can. I Think. I Can. (My take on HR Director’s prediliction for canning employees).

HR Director headline retracted! See management’s official response (ho ho ho)!

End of the line for BC Rail’s newsletter edi….