Category Archives: Uncategorized

I was walking back to work a couple of days ago, when I saw a Winnebago type RV driving towards me. In the big window behind the driver, in the area where I imagine the dinner table and the semi-circled upholstered bench was, I saw a teenage girl. She was looking out the window. Just an everyday kind of girl, but what drew my attention to her was the smothering suffocation of boredom that was contained in her look. If her sadness would have allowed it, we’d have made eye contact. As it was, she simply dirged past me, shackled to her misery, in her motorized prison.

How sad did she look? Well, if she was placed in amongst any random train-car, sardine-packed with WWII occupation-enslaved Jews on thier way to the death-camp, she’d stick out as ‘the sad-looking one’. How sad did she look? She looked like it was her third time watching Nancy Beck’s latest show. It was as if she had Matthew’s death-scene (where Marilla sings “I Can’t Find The Words”) in Anne of Green Gables on permanent replay loop in her mind. That’s how sad she looked.

She looked so sad that I immediately thought, after the RV drove past, that if I had only three wishes, I’d waste one of them just so I could make time go back fifteen seconds, so that when she drove past me again, I’d wave at her, and hopefully instill some small glimmer of kindness in her life. Even if it only boost her spirits for a moment, and only if the boost was miniscule, it’d be worth it. For humanity. That’s how sad she looked.

Then I thought: she’s likely on vacation, in her parent’s lovely big RV which means she’s probably in a family that’s economically stable, most likely pouting because she’s not in Cavendish and her parents are gonna force her go on an afternoon walking tour full of Charlottetown history, while I’m trudging back to work on a sunny 27 degree day on PEI, while my car rusts out. My car’s in such a sorry state that the stereo can’t even play cassettes, and the back-end is making noises like an elephant squealing at a mouse.

My final decision was not to use one of my three wishes on her. I decided instead that she can take her sullen sorry ass and give it a kick.

Well, seven months of casual preparing, followed by a month of pretty intense preparation all culminated in our opening night last night. I’m not sure of the number, but it looked like the house of 130 seats was about 3/4 full. Of course, the usual post-premiere audience-member thing to do is give accolades and props, whether deserved or not, but everyone seemed genuinely thrilled, excited and encouraging.

There were great big laughs where we thought there’d be big laughs, big laughs at moments that we hoped would get laughs, and only a few times when the laughter wasn’t as big as we thought it’d be for certain lines/moments. I’ve been to shows, and in shows, where the auidience laughter is generated as polite encouragement. I shudder at that type of laughter. Fortunately, the laughter for our show was, generally, at such a height and pitch that it was obvious that it was real and honest. Only a couple of times did I think the audience was laughing to support the material, rather than laughing at it.

From the performance side, it was a really good show, especially for a first night. No major mistakes (I froze and then blanked at a moment near the end of the show. Dammit.), and only a few technical hiccups. A great job by everyone involved.

So, good on us.

I find weeks go quicker when I have a TV Program To Look Forward To.

Since the end of this season’s (fantastic) The Sopranos, I’ve only had one TVPTLFT. That being Sunday night’s Six Feet Under. I’m sad to say that so far, this season hasn’t been satiating my year-long hunger of anticipation for it.

Now, though, I have a new TBPTLFT: The Amazing Race 5. Yes, it’s back, on Tuesday nights. I’ve been waiting for awhile for this, my favourite “reality” tv show. After one episode in, it’s like being re-acquainted with an old friend. Phil is exactly the same smirking bemused host. The contestants are another batch of typical flustered contestants.

Here’s to The Amazing Race remaining a TVPTLFT.

It’s 4:10 in the pm of the day. Our show opens tonight. I was interviewed, along with Graham, this am on CBC Island Morning. It went pretty well. I didn’t get lost in a thought, which is always a fear of mine when I’m speaking live in front of people, so I’d have to call it a success.

Just now, the butterflies have begun fluttering around in my stomach. I expect they’ll be there until sometime after I perform the one sketch that I’m personally most worried about. Our rehearsals have been going pretty good the last few days, dress rehearsal went really well (which some say is not a good thing, however I don’t believe in that crap). Some of the stuff (especially a couple of the videos) are kick-ass shit-stainingly funny. I’ve never been so confident in the material before a show’s opened, as I am with (most) of this stuff. Same with the rest of the cast. This of course, has us worried that we’re overconfident.

All that’s left is to wait for the crowd and see what they think.

Complete details tomorrow about whether the show’s da bomb or a bomb.

This topic was brought up a while ago at a lunch. People were skeptical as to the validity of my claim. It’s not a wild claim, certainly not an interesting one, nor one worth making up. Yet since the skepticism exists, I do now feel compelled to somehow validate it here by making it public.

Usually, I have a pretty “regular” morning routine. Most days, I could, if need be, reserve the bathroom for the same precise 10 minute period when I’d most need it. Sometimes, however, in the rush of morning activity, I forget to “go to the bathroom”. I leave the house having not watered or weeded. (I’m trying hard not to type “pee” or “poop”).

That’s sometimes. Most times, on these ‘sometimes’ days, I’ll take care of bladder & bowel business at work. Occasionally, though, on these ‘sometimes’ days, I neglect to “expunge my internal records” and my day will carry on as usual. At the end of these occasional sometimes days (does that sound like a tampon line?), I will come home, eat supper, and then, an hour or two later, realise that I have a rather full Recycle Bin and will then go about permanently deleting the contents.

Yes, this topic was brought up at a lunch.

I am not proud.

So, there’s a story in today’s Guardian, in the sports section, that wonders why the so-called Battle of Canada doesn’t draw more rivalry from the players or loyalty/interest from fans.

Hmmm?

Let’s see: The Blue Jays and the Expos are both at the bottom of their respective divisions. The Expos are owned by MLB, that is, by the rest of the teams (that statement so deserves a “Huh?”) ever since they were supposed to be moved and/or dissolved a couple of years ago. When the Expos last had a “legitimate” owner, he purposefully tried to ruin the club, practically begging (by his actions) Expos fans to stay away. Fortunately for him, they listened. The two teams play in separate leagues, and inter-league play is generally seen as No Big Deal by anyone.

Those are just some of the reasons why there’s not so much interest in the Battle of Canada. But I think the main reason why there was such a lack of interest in the Toronto Blue Jays vs. Montreal Expos games this weekend was:

THEY WERE PLAYED IN FRIGGIN’ PUERTO RICO!!

Morons. I so hate baseball.

Well, we’ve spent a furious last couple of weeks getting ready for the premiere of Sketch 22 (starting this Thursday and Friday, and running those days until August 27, at the ARTS Guild, Charlottetown), and are now “very fine tuning” the show. Having spent a number of months with this stuff, we are at the stage now where we question if the stuff we’ve written was ever funny, and must trust in our remembrances of the initial readings of the various skecthes, and at how hard we’ve laughed at the stuff at various stages in the rehearsal process.

Of course, it being all new material, we are nervous as to how it will be received. We’ve performed 3 of the 22 sketches at two different functions, and they were very well enjoyed, so that is encouraging.

Two more rehearsals, and then we see if we’re as funny and smart and clever as we think we are.

I could be discontent and chase the rainbows end
I might win much more but lose all that is mine
I could be a lot but I know I’m not
I’m content just with the riches that you bring
I might shoot to win and commit the sin
Of wanting more than I’ve already got
I could runaway but I’d rather stay
In the warmth of your smile lighting up my day
(the one that makes me say)

‘Cause you’re the best thing that ever happened to me or my world
You’re the best thing that ever happened – so don’t go away

I might be a king and steal my peoples things
But I don’t go for that power crazy way
All that I could rule but I don’t check for fools
All that I need is to be left to live my way
(listen what I say)

‘Cause you’re the best thing that ever happened to me or my world
You’re the best thing that ever happened – so don’t go away

I could chase around for nothing to be found
But why look for something that is never there
I may get it wrong sometimes but I’ll come back in style
For I realise your love means more than anything
(the song you make me sing)

Happy Anniversary to my wife. I love you more today than ever before.

(Happy Canada Day to everyone else. I love you all about the same as before.)

My wife is a sensitive soul. In all the right ways. While I do possess compassion, I keep it tamped down, swallowed deep into the pit of my stomach. It only sporadically shows itself, as a gag-reflex, like coughed up mucus and phlegm that I then spit on the ground when nobody’s looking. My wife has no problem expressing her love of and concern for all things at any time in any circumstance.

Lately, our house has fallen prey to middle-of-the-night power outages. Mysterious events that cause digital clocks to blink 12:00, and us to wake in the morning in a panic, unsure of how late we are for work. After the latest time this happened, my wife called Maritime Electric and explained the shenanigans. The tech replied that there was no clear reason why it was happening, and assumed that the latest outage was the result of a crow getting fried by an electrical wire (how she knew this, I know not. I remain dubious, and puzzled since the outages haven’t returned since the phone-call).

When my son was quite young, he noticed a crow that always seemed to be perched on the highest limb of the tallest tree around our home. While I assumed that it was different crows, he was quite emphatic that it was, in fact, one crow. He named the crow Doogle.

Lately, my wife has taken to tossing, onto the lawn, old bread and such, with the accompanying yell “Here Doogle!”. I assume the neighbourhood thinks her crazy, probably thinking she’s tossing food to some imaginary lost son. I merely swallow, silently, and recognize that Doogle (or the Doogles, as I still believe) has found a second friend.

So, when she heard that the outages might be caused by crisping crows, my wife, momentarily, became a bit despondent and sullen at the thought of this poor crow losing its life in such a shocking way. “I hope it wasn’t Doogle”, she said, quite seriously, to nobody in particular.

I, I’m ashamed to say, laughed at her. Fortunately for me, she also shows compassion to me.

I think, perhaps, the greatest gig that a tv commercial copy writer could get would be to hook up with the production company that does the Five Alive ads.

They’re the ads that look like they’re on mushrooms. 3 or 4 mini-whacked-out clips, totally disassociated from each other and from reality, in 30 seconds.

For instance, here might be a typical 30 second tv ad for Five Alive (these don’t exist, but if the prod. comp. wants them, hire me and you got ’em):

scene one (8 seconds): an animated beetle wearing an ascot, suspenders and a monocle, in a psychedelic garden, gets its groove on, on a petal of a flower. A Five Alive can falls down from the sky (a la the big foot at the beginning of the Monty Python tv series shows) and squashes the beetle. Beetle tickles the can which laughs and runs away. Music: frenetic German dance beat.
cut to:
scene two (12 seconds): in a room which somehow looks like the entire world, two pretty women, each with twelve arms, and an armadillo on each of their heads, take turns spitting words at each other. The words float out of the mouth of each woman, but float up into the sky, where a huge orange juicer awaits. The words gets juiced and the juice pours into a can of Five Alive. Music: Tuvian throat singing.
cut to:
scene three (10 seconds): in claymation, a box of pens turns into an airplane turns into a medic alert bracelet turns into a belly dancer turns into a lava lamp turns into a midget with a can of Five Alive as one of her legs. Music: the Russian national anthem, played backwards.

Seriously, those are some whigged out commercials.