Mostly true stuff…

Facebook, the popular, social networking site, has announced plans to offer service

in German

(as long as users refrain from mentioning the war)

and French

(as long as users refrain from mentioning the war

…any war)

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Woolworths in Britain pulled furniture stock from retail stores this week after shoppers complained about its new line of ‘Lolita’ bedroom furniture for little girls. A Woolsworth rep apologized, saying staff were unaware of Vladimir Nabokov’s tawdry tale of forbidden lust, but, expects lost sales to be quickly absorbed by the store’s, soon-to-be released, little boys’ wrestling line of Chris Benoit pyjamas.

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Singer, Josh Groban, has announced he’s putting out a greatest hits album. Apparently, none of the songs will be his.

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Canada is expected to have a strong showing at the Beijing Olympics this summer with a number of medal contenders in the Rhythmic Gymnastics category.

(You know…when I first heard the phrase ‘rhythmic gymnastics’, I had a completely different image).

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Earlier this month, Senator Ted Kennedy threw his support behind Barack Obama for the Democratic nomination. This is the same Ted Kennedy who drove off the Dike Bridge in 1969, swam to shore and left his passenger, Mary Jo Kopechine, to drown.

Now, if you’re Barack – would you want an endorsement from a fat, drunk, white guy who left his car passenger to die?

And, if you’re Ted Kennedy, wouldn’t it have been a whole lot easier if you just offered Hillary a ride home?

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My nine-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.

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Kind of brings a tear to the eye,

doesn’t it?

Aww, yeah. That’s right, baby. Boy, tonight we’re gonna make jokes. You know how I know, baby? ‘Cause it’s Wednesday. And, Wednesday night is the night that we make jokes. Tuesday night is the night that we go and visit your mother. But, Wednesday night is the night that we make jokes. ‘Cause everything is just right, conditions are perfect. You lean in close and say something silly. Something ridiculous. Something immature. I know what you’re trying to say, baby. You’re trying to say: “Oh yeah, it’s business time. It’s business time.”

With apologies to Flight of the Conchords…

Colleen gets down to business:

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Monday, Feb. 25th, Myles of Beans Comedy, 7010 Kingsway, Burnaby, 8:00 p.m.

Saturday, March 1st, Corporate Comedy Gig, Dania Society, Annual Dinner, Burnaby, 8:15 p.m.

Thursday, March 13th, Corporate Comedy Gig, Canadian Diabetes Association Gala, North Vancouver, 7:00 p.m.

Friday, March 28th, AJ’s Bar, Combat Comedy Night, 3650 Decatur Blvd, Las Vegas, Nevada, 11:00 p.m.

Saturday, March 29th, Corporate Comedy Gig, Dunbar Memorial Centre, Silent Auction and Dinner, Vancouver, 8:30 Thursday, April 3rd, Ceili’s Irish Pub, ‘So You Think You’re Funny?’, 670 Smithe St., Vancouver, 8:00 p.m.

May 3rd, Corporate Comedy Gig, Lynn Valley PPP, Annual Dinner, North Vancouver, 8:00 p.m.

Thursday, May 22nd, East Village Lounge, 186 East 2nd Street, New York, 8:30 p.m.

Friday, May 23rd, New York Comedy Club, 241 East 24th Street, New York, 11:00 p.m.

You tell me you want some more?

Well, I’m not surprised.

But, I’m quite sleepy.

So…

business hours

are over.

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I had the honour of being invited to Brent Butt’s show at the River Rock Casino last week. And, oh, I’m sweet on the Everest-like ascent of the theatre’s seating. From my spot in the wheelchair-only balcony, I can drop pennies onto audience members below (along with a Peach Cider, one high-heeled shoe, and, a wheelchair (okay, the chair was an accident. How the Hell am I to know which one’s the brake?).

In between antics, I listen to jokes. But (gasp), what’s this? Flying on West Jet? Differences between provinces? The perils of a prostate exam?

“Hack,” I whisper into my comedy pal’s ear. I dangle rubber spider over ledge. “If I hear one more account of the dreaded rectal exam, I’m going to perform my very own, signature procedure on said comedian.”

(Hack, of course, being derived from the British word hack-neyed, meaning overused and, thus, cheapened or trite).

After the show, learned comedy pal slides token into slot machine. Wins $575,000. Retorts: “Not hack.” Quarters pour onto shoes. “There are no hack premises, Colleen, only hack jokes. A premise such as airlines isn’t in and of itself, hack. But if you were to do, say, a bit on how flight attendants wake you up for the food, then, maybe, hack. But, it would still be doable if the joke was really funny and offered a fresh take.”

Learned comedy pal pauses, inhales, continues: “The difference between men and women isn’t ipso facto hack, but rehashing the same differences everyone else has done is. When Brent talks about the scrawny pilot who had trouble with the bathroom door, that’s original in a subject that everyone’s familiar with. If you wrote something about the Air Canada pilot who recently had a nervous breakdown while flying, it’s not hack just because it’s set in an airplane. It’s the interpretation that counts.”

 I tilt head. Respond intelligently: “Hmmm.” Continue combing Amy Winehouse wig.

I know this, of course. I possess a few supposed hack premises (Costco) and, these are the bits that receive the most laughs. The lines are fresh. The images, quirky.

We continue to discuss, discourse, digress, disembowel slot machine while role-playing various Oceans Eleven characters.

It’s the interpretation that counts. Right. To interpret is to represent artistically, adapt. Which is why Shakespeare is forever lovingly staged, Swan Lake embraced yearly, and tunes like ‘Cry me a River’ are stamped with the heartprints of musicians the world over. 

The sunset has certainly been done before.

Cheap? Trite?

I judged too quickly.

Brent, what was that, again, about your prostate?

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