Dull Drums of Summer

It’s the dull drums of summer. The sun beats down. The CAT engine beats a steady rhythm. I get home at night completely ...beat! It’s been almost three weeks since I last did stand-up, and I can’t see that changing for a while. Too many hours working on road resurfacing, and the nights I have made it out have been just too late. So, I’ve fallen into a dull routine, work ...sleep, repeat as necessary.

"Crooked Trees"

My bride and I have gotten away for one weekend to Red Berry Lake, and saw, not just Saskatchewan’s ‘Crooked Trees,’ but, its’ biggest tree as well. I was excited for my dog, Claymore; I figured that he’d get local bragging rights if he’d pissed on Saskatchewan’s biggest tree, that it might increase his stature in the eyes of Kinley’s local dogs. I got him primed like an industrial pump and let him at it! Poor fellow; his self-esteem wouldn’t stretch to that calibre! Instead he sought out a sapling to christen.

"Squirt won't Squirt!"

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.

Van Dyke

Kind of an interesting night in Beily’s yesterday. I had gotten my material together, all new and untried, and was, for want of a better word, ‘ready’ for public consumption. I was going to talk about my Van, my daughter, how I love both, and how both relationships were jeopardized by two decisions my daughter made: her decision to experiment with a Sapphic lifestyle and her decision to attempt to, ‘Jack My Ride!’


Good numbers at Beily’s last night, but, an oddly quiet crowd. I was introduced after a performance by, Finn McCoul, the Irish Slam poet, who, by the way, didn’t receive much in the way of appreciation. Quiet crowd! They listened politely, but were niggardly in any meaningfully overt display of humorous appreciation. It was a fairly long, and fairly quiet set! I could hold their attention, but, failed to draw them in, or rather, in military parlance, “I failed to engage.’

I can’t blame the audience; it’s never their fault. I can shoulder partial responsibility by acknowledging that, none but a fool would do all new material in a set. But, I was not the only one doing new material, and the one fellow who did his ‘A’ list, while receiving positive audience response, did, to my mind get a muted reaction from the crowd. The two other fellows who did new material, to my ear, also received an attentive, though lethargic response. As for my own presentation, ...the roar of applause was most noticeable by its’ absence.

Beyond that, I didn’t get on stage ‘til almost 11:00, was home by 12:05, and managed to tuck myself in before 1:00. Tired tonight, and, refusing to sit down tomorrow, so this entry is short. If I achieved anything last night, it is a puzzling 39th performance; that is good, but, I will be thinking about it for a while.

Barbed Wit, Wickedly Wired!

At last, the weary wind up to a wickedly wired work week! We somehow managed to blow up our 35 year old antique asphalt truck on Wednesday, and I got assigned to the fencing crew ‘til our ‘antique’ is restored and road ready. My comrade in corral construction is Greg, a buggy operator whose ‘buggy’ is in for de-bugging. I’ve known Greg for some time, but never had the opportunity to spend hours working with him; as it turned out I enjoyed the time with his irrepressibly erudite self.


Our mission was to tear down a couple miles of barbed wire fence; this task is trickier than it first might appear. Half of our fence had ceased to be a fence years ago, the posts rotted, the wire buried under tears of accumulated dead grass. It would be best to simply bulldoze the mess into a hole and bury it, but, the farmer wants all the material saved; this is usually a ploy to get a new fence built on the RM cuff; it’s his material, we can’t throw it away if he wants it saved, but, he’ll find his refurbished fence fantasy foiled by the fact that we took pictures before we began de-construction. So, he will get his pile of rotten posts, and rotted barbed wire in four foot chunks, but, protests will be futile.

Bitch of a job, but, ...we road workers are true sons of Ditches! Frustrating too, as you wrestle with rusted wire only to have it rend every few wretched feet. Greg tells me that I’d arrived for the ‘candy-assed’ end of the operation; the previous day he’d been assigned as life guard for floating moose! This particular moose had been floating for two weeks, and he and his ‘pen-pal’ assistant were able to discern its’ whereabouts about a mile before they caught sight of it! Randy, with a backhoe, had been sent to render assistance in coaxing the reluctant Alces alces upon the bed of a pickup truck. Randy is one of those Sasquatchewanians I’ve mentioned before, of Ukrainian extraction; a big rough and tumble lad, whose description of his personally preparing a wedding feast of perogies and cabbage rolls for his bride and guests, I found endearing.

The moose was quickly partially ensconced in the back of the truck, with legs protruding over the sides, and long neck hanging off the tail gate, leaving it’s head to bounce along the road! Then, the problems began; the moose had attracted some one point seven five million famished flies! The Air conditioning in the truck would not function in the 28 degree heat! For obvious reasons the windows had been left down, and, within minutes the front of the truck contained just as much stench and flies as the back; roll up the windows, but, too late! Now began a long trek to the gravel pit to bury the malodorous moose!

Just when you think that your day couldn’t get any worse, the unloading began! Three times the backhoe tried to pick the over ripe rancid road kill from its’ pick up bed, but, each time ...failed! The fourth time was sort of a success, however, its’ guts succumbed to pressure, and escaped ...in ascending order! (ed. Note: that’s, “through the ass end!”) In no time the carcass was reintegrated and buried, leaving more than just a whiff of its’ past presence! So, yes, there are worse jobs than standing around all day pulling your rotten wire!

As it turns out, Greg had attended the Great Plains Comedy Festival Gala on the Saturday night, and, in the same week, saw Joe Rogan in Saskatoon. Rogan is a comic, not to mention an official commentator for the UFC. I was sure I’d heard the name before, but I couldn’t put either face or fact to it. When I had time I looked him up, and, yes, I’d read about him in an article on plagiarism in StageTime magazine! Here, from Wiki, is a synopsis:

“On February 10, 2007 at the Comedy Store in Los Angeles, Rogan argued on-stage with Carlos Mencia, accusing him of plagiarizing other comedians' work.[1] According to Rogan's account, he had just finished his act and introduced the next performer, Ari Shaffir, as a comedian who opens for "Carlos Men-steal-ia".[2] Mencia took offense and walked on the stage. Rogan then accused him of stealing jokes and falsely portraying himself as a Mexican American. The Comedy Store later canceled Rogan's shows. The entire incident was filmed as part of filming for Rogan's internet reality show, JoeShow. It was then made available to watch or download at numerous websites, including Rogan's.[2]


According to Rogan, he is currently banned from the Comedy Store for violating the club's request that he not film his internet reality show there.[3] According to Rogan, his agent and publicity firm (who also represents Mencia) demanded that he either apologize to Mencia or else be dropped from the agency. He chose to leave the agency.[4]


Rogan has claimed that Dane Cook performed a bit on an episode of Premium Blend that Rogan had developed on I'm Gonna Be Dead Someday (sketch titled "Tigers Fucking"), and claimed to have performed the routine earlier in clubs with Cook present.[5]


Rogan has also strongly criticized Denis Leary for allegedly plagiarizing Bill Hicks.[6]”

I didn’t make an appearance on any stage this week; I had no new material for Beily’s, and decided to skip Vangelli’s in order to do a little writing. I’ll try to go at least twice this week, which means that this weekend will be devoted to putting together 20 minutes or so of new material. New material is easy, however ... ‘funny’ new material, well ...not so much so!

Claymore:

Cowardly Canine Cur!

Loves Ground Squirrels,

But, ...Prefers 'em Sliced!

They say that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks; Claymore is over three, and, up to now reacted to all other creatures in two predictable ways. If they were smaller than himself, the little fellow wanted, earnestly, to be friends! If they were larger, the little fellow wanted, earnestly, to be elsewhere as quickly as possible! What you might call, ‘A chip off the old coward!’ However, the little fellow has discovered gophers, and this seems to have brought to the fore whatever ‘killer’ instincts he may possess! Now he just has to find his own, ‘stealth’ mode in approaching them; his wild barking, galloping attack is just too easy for the potential, ‘playmates’, to avoid!