Where's the Pantaloons!

Got home from work to find a message from the Master, to the effect that, no other comics could appear at Beily’s, unless they brought something that they truly loved, and burned it in front of him! Sounded a little bombastic to me, but, I sent him back a note saying that I would bring a joint!

I arrived at Beily’s at 10:00 pm, and was astonished to find the show in progress with the Master enthralling a crowd that was smaller than normal, due, I believe, to our wretched weather. I took a seat with the Crown Prince, and asked him by what miracle had the show managed to start at the appointed time? Having just arrived himself, our Prince could not explain this conundrum. The Master was Emcee’ing the event, and our Jester was the Headline act; what a pair of panatloons! “Pantaloon”, is an old term which means, among other things, a comic or jester! The term is appropriate for this pair, and, between you and I, I like getting into their act, and am not interested in getting into their pants!

The Master did not know that the Prince and I were there, and was commencing what I assume he felt was a two man show. This might explain his Facebook message; I know a few comics, myself included, were MIA last week, and ...even more this week! After about half an hour our Jester informed him that the two of us were indeed there. Ten minutes later, in mid-sentence, the Master stopped, said, “Fuck it! ...I’m not finishing this joke! Next up, from Kinley, SK, James Mackay,” and I was off to the races.

It was an interesting race, but, not necessarily an exciting one; for myself or the audience. I’d mentioned before that I found the audience response at Beily’s somewhat ...muted; not just in regards to myself, but, to comics in general. So, an experiment was in order; for my evening’s set I simply repeated the material I’d done at Vangelli’s last week. It had went over quite well before a small but enthusiastic crowd; I’d received a PAR score of 34, which breaks down to 20 seconds of laughter each minute of a eight and a half minute set.

Last night, before a larger audience, and despite being better prepared, (you’ll have to take my word for the latter opinion; the Master’s abrupt introduction caused me to mess up with my voice recorder), I could not hold the audience! I got laughs, and they came at the proper places, but they were scattered throughout the room. When everything goes well, and the comic does his job, the audience response should be as a single entity; this did not happen last night, and I could see conversations breaking out throughout the room as my act unfolded!

There is never a ‘bad’ audience, especially not when they actually pay money with the intention of watching a comedy show. By comparing the two performances I can only conclude that the problem lies, not entirely, with myself nor my material; there must be some other element involve, and, for the life of me, I can’t quite put my finger on it. Oh well, it gives me something to work on. But, it is puzzling! I don’t find it devastating to work without the desired recognition, and completed my entire act, but, as I told my Bride, I would find it hard on my sense of self esteem had I not went and performed last night.

My modest contribution to the evening complete, I dragged my ancient Shadow back to the humble Hamlet of Kinley. I was glad that I’d went, and must puzzle over these circumstances to see if I can come to terms with them. I really don’t care for, ‘flying by the seat of my pantaloons,’ especially not after ...the ass is out of them!

"No Pantaloons!"

24 Carat Fool!

Well, 40 down and the big 60 to go! I hadn’t been to Vangelli’s for more than a month, and, believe me, it was good to be back. A small but mighty crowd of about 40, but they were looking for a good time, and showed their appreciation when they found it! The Jester was there in fine form and he surprised me in announcing that himself, the Master and young Shandy had taken it upon themselves to to become, temporarily, wage slaves. The three of them signed on with a contractor working on flood damage to the north of ToonTown. Now that’s no joking matter!

The show didn’t commence ‘til after 10:30, and I was pleased to be allowed to go first. The audience was more than kind, and, what made it even better was the presence of Jody Peters, who kept himself busy scribbling notes at the back of the crowd. Not daunted by the prospect of ‘multi-tasking’, Jody made his presence known by roaring with laughter when he heard something that tickled him. It was good to hear!

I did mostly new stuff and was tired and under-prepared, but it all went over well; this in spite of my observation that it was poorly, but politely received by the audience at Beily’s. Nothing to complain about with Vangelli’s regulars! I told them about my first, and, hopefully, last, Golden Shower:

"I have had a golden shower!
I didn’t plan it, so it wasn't sick!
It was spontaneous!
She was fresh from the bath,
...And were frolicking,
On the bed!
She was laughing!
I was laughing!
She was above me!
Suddenly ...just one of us was laughing!
It wasn’t me!
Nothing like a stream,
Of hot, fresh, frothy Urine,
Spattering off your forehead,
To get a man’s full attention!
I’d just been pissed on,
By a girl of just 18...
...Months!
My daughter did it!
To this day I call her
... ‘Old Facefull’
...The little Girl Geyser!
And, to this day,
She laughs about it!"

A Foolish Fix!

"Picked up a few Pearls!"

Just finished Ian Brown’s, “Man Overboard”, published in1993, which investigates the challenge of defining modern masculinity, just as the author faces, with some reluctance, the challenge of becoming a father. Great read entwining the lives of men who pursue their own vision of masculinity through polygamy, porn, surfing, weapons dealing and, yes, even beneath the scalpel in cosmetic surgery. It certainly encapsulates the gender confusion predominate through the 80’s and 90’s.

I came late to the, ‘Brown’, table, only becoming an enthusiast with his collection of essays, “What I meant to say”, published in 2005. This book highlighted not just his own work, but the essays by 25 other top Canadian male writers, on just how they viewed and pursued their own individual concepts of masculinity. An enthralling collection, edited by a father overwhelmed by the continual crisis of raising a child with a severe, rare genetic condition.

More recently I read, “Man on the Moon”, which outlines the life/ordeal of, Walker, Brown’s second child, and only son. It amazed me with a vision of just what a modern couple can endure, and, ultimately, what it cannot.

Walker Brown was born with a genetic mutation so rare that doctors call it an orphan syndrome: perhaps 300 people around the world also live with it. Walker turns twelve in 2008, but he weighs only 54 pounds, is still in diapers, can’t speak and needs to wear special cuffs on his arms so that he can’t continually hit himself. “Sometimes watching him,” Brown writes, “is like looking at the man in the moon – but you know there is actually no man there. But if Walker is so insubstantial, why does he feel so important? What is he trying to show me?”


In a book that owes its beginnings to Brown’s original Globe and Mail series, he sets out to answer that question, a journey that takes him into deeply touching and troubling territory. “All I really want to know is what goes on inside his off-shaped head,” he writes, “But every time I ask, he somehow persuades me to look into my own.”

More recently I read of his third, and ultimately successful, attempt to traverse the Canadian Columbia Ice field on skis at age 56. It’s great to see a Canadian writer who just keeps going and going. This morning I read the first part of his series on, “Eating Canada”, where, for two months he’s travelling across our country sampling local cuisine. Here he commented on a 2008 Niagara region Chardonnay which scored a 17.5 out of a possible 20 points at a London England tasting; “That’s like,” said Brown, “Ron Jeremy saying you’re good in the sack!”

I find it difficult to take seriously a writer who doesn’t, at least occasionally, raise my hackles! I was reassured in my estimation of Ian Brown when he managed that trick neatly in his, “Man Overboard”. He was talking about the North American tendency to give meaning to our existence through our choice of automobiles, and claimed the ultimate, ‘codpiece’ car was, in fact, the modified van.

“But the strangest zone of Manliness in the car business was occupied by van conversion enthusiasts. Van conversion was a mid-Western eccentricity. The men who bought converted vans claimed they needed one for “vacations” – that is, for two weeks of the year. A converted van was an ordinary child-, pet-, wife-, and grocery-friendly van with a fancy door jacked into one side, four to eight swivelling, “captain’s chairs” installed next to coffee tables and multiple drink holders, and every surface upholstered within an inch of sanity, often in shag carpet. A couple of bunks ... all manner of floodlights and pot lights and spotlights and map lights ... a toiler ....gimbaled stoves ...converted vans were yachts on wheels.”

Up to this point I could almost agree with him, but, he went on:

“I had a secret theory that converted vans were the car of choice for former acidheads, after they had kids. Acidheads were total systems guys.”

Now wait just one testosterone pickin’ minute! It’s true I’m a ‘systems’ guy, and that I’m long past having kids, but, really ... ‘former acidhead’ ... that really cuts to the quick! Not only are my feelings hurt, but my sense of ‘tenses’ as well!

Fool's Errands!

Our errand Thursday, for the RM of Capricious Pursuits, was to move a ‘chip-sealer’ from North-west of the city of Saskatoon, to a new position to the South-east. We were informed that the machine was completely overhauled and ready to go; like fools we believed them. The ‘chip sealer’ is a machine 20’ wide, with, for flexibility, two driver’s seats, and two sets of controls. Manning it were Pilot and Co-pilot Daryl and Collin; my role was to follow close behind in a quad-cab truck with a 20’ trailer in tow. Our optimal speed was apx. 15 miles per hour, and we had to cruise through Thursday morning traffic on highway 16 then around circle drive.


I’d like to say this errand was fool proof, but ...I’d be lying to you. About a mile from the shop the air brakes locked due to a faulty valve, but this was nothing that couldn’t be cured through a brief huddle and some simple mechanical administration. Then, on our way again, your somnolent sentinel securing the rear. I’d had a late night Wednesday passed in futile, foolish fashion, and was surprised to find myself wakening flat on my back on the asphalt at the top of Circle Drive, peering into the murky mechanical mysteries of our ‘chip-sealer’! Ahhhh! ....our fan belt and power steering belt had come loose from their moorings; this explained both the excessive steam, as well as the damn’d machines’ stubborn reluctance to change course in mid-traffic stream.

“A wrench, a wrench! ...My kingdom for a wrench!” On Wednesday we’d asked our boss if we might not retrieve our tools from the asphalt truck we’d left at a local shop. “Don’t bother,” we’d been told, “you won’t need them!” Just an update on the truck; when the head gasket blew, we’d asked if we could get it towed to a shop. The response was, “No! Drive it! If it blows up, so much the better!” So we drove it. It did blow up. It is now awaiting parts for a $10,000 dollar overhaul, if, that is, they can find 35 year old parts for it. Anyhow, a quick call to RM headquarters, and a ratchet set was soon sent our way. Got it all apart, and found a little bolt had to be replaced! Another, ‘sit and wait’, on the freeway, then it arrived, and within minutes we were on our way.

Finally, nearing our destination, we were safely travelling on un-trafficked dirt roads, as directed. Then, much to our surprise, we found our path flooded; the thought of burying our cumbersome behemoth in Saskatchewan’s encompassing clay, while tempting, would likely get us in too much trouble to merit the risk! We back tracked, and finally arrived at our appointed destination. Time spent: 7 hours. One new bolt: 50 cents. A completely wasted day: priceless! I forgot to mention that our ‘chip sealer’ kept the trip interesting by occasionally refusing to turn to the left, although it was always willing to turn right! This reluctance is tolerable on a construction site when travelling at two miles per hour; on a freeway surrounded by pissed off people travelling at 110, ...not so much so. When we brought this mechanical malady to the attention of those in authority we were told, “Don’t worry about it, it was doing that three years ago!”

On Wednesday evening I’d attended Vangelli’s at 9:15, and was surprised to find none of my comic comrades in attendance. One of the staff commented that I was the first one there! Outside for a breath of fresh air I was finally pleasantly surprised at the arrival of Jim and Lady Fooks; they too were puzzled at the poor attendance. Finally, at 9:50, with no further friendly faces hoving into view, I decided that my time might be better spent pressing the sheets at the side of my Bride, who can be depended upon to be sleeping where and when she’s supposed to be sleeping there. It’s nice to know that there are some things in life you can depend upon.

I’m not sure what failed to happen on Wednesday evening; perhaps just an unannounced re-arrangement of the schedule. I have taken note of the fact that Beily’s will now be scheduled to start at 10:00. All this means to me either a little less comedy, or, perhaps, a little less sleep; possibly a little of both. In any case, ‘There’s no fool like an uninformed fool!’ That's performance #39, and holding.