Owen, Sound Off.

Like the Maple Leaf's season, my two adventure week is complete.

Some highlights of my second adventure.. in Owen Sound Ontario.

I became the resident expert of the town, as I was the only one who had ever been there. This was a useful fact once my fellows started to realize that i knew what I was talking about, but unfortunately came to late in the adventure to truly be useful.

Owen Sound-abouts are obsessed with solar panels! I suspect they have an effective salesman in the parts.

In the wide world of westerns, which western is the best? This hamlet's Best Western is probably the best.

The weather in Toronto during these days was 12-18 Celsius. Owen sound was between 4-13... Did not pack warmly enough.

Fish men fight salmon on the waters. The season opened over the weekend. Boats are loud.

Hockey is like the national sport of the city. They even had their own team. On Saturday, we watched them on tv in Erie, PA. on Sunday, we spotted the Erie, PA team in our hotel... the Kids had dyed their hair blond.

There's a lot of young adults living in Owen Sound. The average age of everybody we interacted with was about 25. This is baffling because there doesn't seem to be any major university in the area. Young people means that this is not a crappy place to live.

The city is charming. It reminded me of Cedar Falls, if Cedar Falls was on the bank of one of the great lakes.

So this adventure was by and large less adventurous than the previous. This is because we mostly moved in crew fashion, and that I'm not allowed to speak online about the reason I was in the area.

In two days, there will be a day trip to my favorite little Ontario Town, St. Catherines. perhaps we can have better stories then.

Until then... I have a show to make!

On the Road Again

Adventure #2 is upon me!

While things are happening, I found myself reflecting… in the past five years, I have visited every major city in Canada excluding Halifax… and visited all the provinces except the Arctic - Hold on. I totally forgot about the Maritimes. Never mind about the provinces. Still… In a short amount of time, I’ve seen a lot of this huge country.

Why? Theatre.

Me, my wife and my car have traveled up and down these Canadian roads (I’d like to say Canadian tires but they’re still American) performing here, exploring there. We’ll do a show in Morinville, AB, a Stilting Workshop in Owen Sound, ON and take part of a dance residency in Fredericton, NB.  Yes, we spend 75% of our life in the city of Toronto… but that other 25%? That’s all art.

Actually, this year is looking to be roughly 40% outside Toronto. Most of it is due to the summer Theatre Festivals. Giant fair-like affairs where we peddle our wares… and by that I mean convince people to pay to watch us dance. How well does it pay? Really, it all depends on how good you are at convincing people. Last summer, we did well enough to equal what we would have made if we stayed in Toronto. Fingers crossed for this year.

What I find most interesting about going places in Canada is that you start to meet and understand what It is to be Canadian. What does that mean? Well it’s complicated. I might try to blog about it later, but suffice it to say that the better you are able to appeal to the local culture, the better you are able to convince those same people to watch you dance… so because of art, I’m understanding the places I find myself.

Take-aways are coming soon… I’m sorry if this one got a bit self congratulatory.

Highlights from the Highlands

Hi Friends, It’s adventure week for me!

Up first an early-morning flight to Edmonton, to perform a problematic puppet show. Here are some highlights:

Westjet is amazing. They’re an airline that actually seems to care about its customer service. In the wake of the United fiasco, it’s even more refreshing. Also, free snacks. If you like gingersnaps at all, request the cookies.

Edmonton’s airport is leagues above most I’ve flown through. Plush seating, lots of dining options and plenty of non-beige color let me enjoy visiting it.

Rental cars will accept temporary driver’s licences! Hooray!

Stopping by a circus gym to see old friends. Had I been wiser, I would have researched and joined their daytime open gym. As it was, the look on their faces was more than worth it. Can’t wait to see them again this summer!

The quest for pants: due to Adventure #2 (starting today) I need black pants. I spent most of the afternoon and evening searching for a pair. Side quests are what makes adventures worth wile, and usually provide all the nostalgic stories, later. This quest resulted in not only a pair of good adventure slacks, but also a cheap pair of clown pants. Long-legged skinny jeans with a dropped crotch pulled up high enough so the crotch is no longer dropped? Comedy gold. (also a clearance item)

Visiting a local landmark, in this case the West Edmonton Mall. The West Edmonton Edmonton Mall. In the central ice arena, children were taking Ice skating lessons. Ain’t nothing cuter than an cluster of clumsy kiddies on ice.

Hockey. After 11 years, Edmonton is finally back in the NHL playoffs. The city was bananas for their team. Signs of the “Orange Crush” were everywhere. As there was a game that night, I sat in my hotel room and turned it on. Bad Idea. Over the course of this adventure I witnessed Nine goals scored against any hockey team I was rooting for, and 2 scored for. Please note that this time period only resulting in watching about 4 periods of hockey. Sorry Edmonton and Toronto. I promise, like the cubbies in the World series last fall, I will actively not watch so that you might win. I’d really like a Canadian Stanley cup this year. *Update* RIP Calgary.

Dining. Do you ever know when you’ve entered a restaurant and made a terrible mistake? Such was the case during this trip. I idly wondered if the meal would make me sick when i realized that I was the only one in the place with a half hour to close. It totally did! Woo! Adventure!

I don’t yet have the liberty to discuss the problematic nature of the puppet show. Le’t just say that it hasn’t aged well, and choices are made to emphasize this. Due to this, I also am reluctant to say where I performed… except to say that it was awesome. The space itself was amazing, and the people who ran the venue were top-notch. We bonded immediately. The show? The show was great. The kids reacted viscerally to every piece, laughing at the funny parts and losing their minds at the creepy bits. I actually wrapped up one section early because I could hear a child weeping in the audience. When It was question time, the children asked really in depth questions. I love it when it happens.!

Finally, I found out the difference between an Airport Limo and an Airport Taxi is $10. Service was equally good. Cars were no different. Travel times were equal. So now you know.

Alright friends and neighbors. Adventure #2 begins in 2 hours. I gotta go pack!

Until then…. Keep your stick on the ice.

Sympathy for the Cactus

Have you ever fought a cactus?

They’re easy things to hate, all prickly spines and weird green flesh. They’ll sting you hard, but only if you’re dumb enough to let it.

It’s not the cacti’s fault. The outside world is scary to is, and it values its flesh. So, spines. If you understand the cacti’s view of the world, you probably won’t get stung, and you’ll probably love it a little more. You’ll appreciate how hardy it is, how little water it consumes, you’ll even find it beautiful, in its harsh green light.

Problem is, eventually the cactus will want a hug. It will want a hug, but will immediately suspect that any person willing to hug is, is probably planning on eating it.  Hugs almost always lead to pain.

In an eat or be eaten world, it’s hard to be a cactus.

In a world where vulnerability is a valued trait, it’s even harder to be a cactus.

Hello.

This is the end of a time, but it also the beginning.

The world did not end yesterday.

Or it did, to some. Not me, but some.

I can not promise that I will write more, because life has shown that I might not.

But I’m feeling like i’m in fertile soil for this writing practice.

I don’t know if the flower has pushed the soil, but it’s growing.

Find me on the other side?

See you there.

The Easter Bomby

When I was a child, I knew how the world would end: Nuclear War.

Then the nineties happened. The USSR crumbled. The Bush era came and went, Twice. Zombies became just as much a threat to humanity as atom bombs, and equally as fanciful.

Over the last five years, however... Things have changed. The threats of my childhood have started to once again take shape. In part I believe as the threat of mushroom war became more distant, people started to take it less seriously, and the structures we put in place to prevent it have crumbled away.

Today was the day. Today I woke up and kept checking the weather channel's earthquake readers for any rumblings out of the Korean Peninsula. I ideally wondered if all my plans that I have made for the summer would be for nothing.

Nothing out of Korea. All is quiet in Toronto.

It's a beautiful day. I should treat it as if it's my last, even though it's not.

Tomorrow is Easter.

Hope it's a good one!

Playing with my food

Today, The refrigerator is pretending to be a clock. This is an improvement, usually it tries to be an arcade game.

Have you ever tried to play your refrigerator like an arcade game? It's tough!

First, you don't know where is an appropriate place to put quarters.
Second, unless you have an impressive selection of word magnets, the games aren't that satisfying.
Finally, trying to tilt your refrigerator to improve your score only results in bruised cucumbers.

Still, there are games one can play...

For the last couple of years there has been a debate on who is the Expert... of Sports! This debate is decided by the yearly March Madness tourney. For the last couple of years, our bracket has sat on the fridge held up in front of a large magnet that gives us the 2015 Blue Jays schedule.

Less fun games include "How Old Is It? and it's sequel "I'm not Cleaning This" By the looks of it, these are games I'm going to lose this week.

Finally, our fridge is always happy to play a game similar to an episode of the TV show "Chopped" Victories of this game include the staple of Peanut Butter and Mayonnaise sandwiches (the onion-less sandwich version of war-frites) and realizing that everything can go on home made pizza.
Losses of this game include the time I tried to cook perogies in my coffee, and that time in Boston where I lost my macaroni's cheese powder packet and tried to improvise...

So... friends. any suggestions of what I can do with a banana?

Any Last Words?

Her last words to me: Eat a banana when i’m gone.

I didn’t know what to think when she said it. Was she being kinky or literal?

What kind of banana, would banana flavoring work? Also for how long? Would I have to eat a banana every time I noticed that she was gone?

My grandma had to modify her diet from eating too much potassium. Would I start messing up my nervous system from banana overload?

Or was this a metaphor? What sort of dark and kinky desires does she have in mind when telling me to eat a banana while she’s gone. If she means what i think she means, I’m not sure i’m okay with this.

Or is the metaphor actually about bananas? Bananas are cheap. Perhaps this is her way of encouraging my spending habits during her week long absence. Banana’s are healthy. Is this a subtle way to tell me not to gorge myself of unfit foods?

WAIT! I know what she meant. We both are clowns. To “Eat it” is to commit a pratfall minus the prat. By telling to, “Eat a banana while she’s gone” I’m being encouraged to improve my physical comedy chops so we can integrate it into our show for the summer.

Well then, this should be appealing! If I have a black eye or missing teeth in the next week, you now know why!

*Update* OK, so after talking with her more, she just has an extra banana that she needs me to eat before it goes bad. Because she won’t be here to make a smoothie. For some reason I feel oddly let down.

Pants!

Deep in the heart of Toronto Winter, our apartment was a sauna, where pants and blankets were always optional.

Now that it’s pushing 60 degrees? it's downright chilly here!  This morning, it’s an hour before dawn and I can already feel the heat of the sun on the windows, and yet I’m clutching my coffee mug in a way that is more needful than taking care of my simple caffeine addiction.

Today, pants are not an option. They are a necessity. You know where pants lead.

They lead to springtime.

Today is a day for pants.

Failure on my part is not necessarily failure on my part

This blog comes form the lap of luxury, and I have to say, this version of luxury has bony knees. 

Friends, I've been thinking about failure lately, as in what makes a success and what makes a failure. There's an external and internal component to it.For example take our president. As a human being, I have yet to see one redeeming character. and yet, he externally believes that he's a winner, because he wins so often. 

On the flip side, I think about other friends of mine. friends who have a stable home life, who aren't swimming in deepening pools of debt, who hold a steady job and still do their art. However, they may live in a small town and refuse to leave. They may Not have yet loft the comfort of home, No one has heard of them. 

I do have a few friends who seem like their outward success match their internal success. but really I can't tell if they are just happy and comfortable in their situation or if I don't know them well enough to know their secret failings. 

Last month, I met a hero of mine, a comic book artist, nominated for the Oscar of the comics industry: the Eisner Award. At the ceremony, he's sitting with huge names in the industry. The people on either side of him have sold 30-70 thousand copies of their nominated works, my hero had sold 750. He was so meek at the table, but as the night wore on, he realized that the other creators were in awe of him.  To be where he was, selling so few books? This guy had to be REALLY GOOD. 

As I prepare for Fringe, a festival that is meaningless if you're outside of art, or if your art is slightly different, and totally meaningful inside the art of Fringe Touring, failure and its myriad of forms take front and center of my mind. Last year, we had a list of indicators of a successful show. It was helpful because it allowed us to put how the show was doing in perspective. Having that perspective was healthy and kept us buoyant through the trauma and drama that is touring a theatre show around the country.

What are some of of these indicators of success?

• Growing audience size
• Increase in per-performance income
• Generally positive feedback leading to useful press quotes
• Finding a way to promote the show that is effective
• having a show that is better at the end of the tour than the beginning. 
• When criticized, not hearing the same issue being brought up

How will Szeretlek and The Philip and Lucinda Dino Show do?

Wait and find out!

A story for you.

Once I went to a haunted house. Not a real haunted house where ghost children poked me in the elbow, like the theatre I visited last night.

No this was a cheap clapboard affair with air cannons and warped mirrors. It was the kind of haunted house my wife and also my mother can’t stop giggling at.

When I entered the final room, there wasn’t the usual disaffected teenager in a rubber mask. Instead, there was a bug-eyed man in a hat who said, “Are you ready for the haunted part of the house?”

I nodded and the strange man drew back a curtain.

Past the curtain was a shelf. On the shelf was a shell.

“Behold!” The man in the hat ejaculated. He held the shell preciously out to me.

It was a shell. The kind that you find on a beach.

“Listen to it,”

“It’s just a shell,” I said. “I can hear the ocean.”

The weirdo began laughing. Truly this was the scariest part of the haunted house.

“You fool,” he wheezed, “That’s not the ocean you hear. That’s the ghost of the crab of this very shell singing songs to the ocean. THIS,” he grimaced, pointing an eccentric finger at the shell, “This is the haunted house you paid $7 to see!”  With that, he pushed a button.

A door opened, music played.

As I went through the final corridor past displays of various cabinets holding nothing but shells, I realized that the music was AC/DC. However, the words had been changed.

I left the house humming “Highway to Shell”. The best $7 I have ever spent.

Sneaky snake.

Ha!

You sneaky snake, trying to slither its way out of this day un noticed.

Well, I noticed you.

Will anyone else? Not sure.

What's the newest on the docket? tomorrow will find me in Peterborough.

Should be fun. an old reunion with old friends.

I'll tell you all about it... but then we know how I feel about promises!

Gloomy Sunday

The snap-case was blue. It was that kind of year. Broken heart, taxmen at the door and for whatever reason all the home baseball games were rained out. Only the soothing sounds of Billie Holiday over the Victrola did anything to raise it’s spirits.

One day the snap-case went out into the soggy air, and bought a new album. The first in months. Billie Holiday’s Recording session #45, 1941. When the snap-case got home, it put the 78 on the radio.

Like a warm cup of coffee on a starry night, the snap-case founds itself melting from its perpetual glower.

The needle skipped.

When it resumed, a new song creeped across the listening wallet. The words were haunting.

Sunday is gloomy

My hours are slumberless

Dearest the shadows

I live with are numberless

Slowly, color drained out of the sky. Soon, it leaked out of the living room. By the time the song was over, there was only one thing with color in it; and it had never had color before now.

It was the snap-case. It was blue.

Independence: Views from the Farm on the Hill, Part 2

Sheriff Dave smelled a mystery.

There was a stench floating around Independence. It wafted over the great mill, tickled the nostrils of the vultures on the water tower and rumbled the stomach of Sheriff Dave. Most law-abidin’ folks never picked up this scent, as busy as they were with their daily lives. Law enforcing; folk? It made them hungry. This smell. This smell was the smell of mystery.  Sheriff Dave called up the chief and asked permission to investigate. He knew how hungry the Chief could get.

Sheriff Dave patrolled the lonely streets of Independence in his cruiser. He rolled past the old high school, where mysterious entities kept lights on at odd hours. He stopped and looked at the river on Lover’s Lane but noticed no unusual catfish activity. The lawn of the Asylum at the edge of town had was absent of screaming. The ham factory blanketed the neighborhood with the smell of bacon. No new restaurants or churches had sprouted overnight. All was as it should be.

This was one of the few moments of his existence that Sheriff Dave felt doubt. Event though he was going mad with hunger, even though he could still smell the mystery, nothing seemed out of place. He pulled his cruiser into Edna’s diner and wandered in for some eggs and a splash of coffee.

When you do as Sheriff Dave has done, and one day literally step out of a John Wayne movie, every patron in an establishment will turn to look at you when you cross the threshold. It’s why he didn’t frequent the local saloons; that and the fact that the missus wouldn’t approve.

Sheriff Dave ignored the halted jukebox and eyes of the locals as he slid his frame onto a pleather stool next to the till. On cue, the  jukebox continued blasting “Good Vibrations” by the Beach Boys, and farmer talk filled the cafe.

“The usual, Edna.” Sheriff Dave nearly whispered. Soon a fat mug of coffee was in his hands and he could hear the eggs sizzle in the back. Even better, as farmers went up to pay for their hash browns they’d have a brief moment to drop gossip into his ears. By the time he mopped up his final smear of yoke off his plate, Sheriff Dave had a good idea as to the shape of this mystery.

It wasn’t an hour later when the police cruiser rolled into the empty spot at the Nickleback Redemption Center, formerly an abandoned gas station. A bell made of pop cans clanked unconvincingly as Sheriff Dave passed the threshold. A pair of haggard eyes stared at him over a grizzled goatee and a cash register. The place stank of stale beer. An old woman on the other side of the counter finished fiddling with her wallet and left the store. Sheriff Dave walked to the counter in the empty, vacant shop.

“Chad,” he read the name off the clerk’s badge, “Chad, we have to talk.”

Chad’s eves wandered from the oversized pistol on Sheriff Dave's hip up to the lawman’s steel blue eyes. There was no radio on to turn off. “I’m sorry, Officer” he morosely muttered.

“That’s just the problem, Chad. that’s what you tell everybody. The whole towns worked up like an anthill from your apologies. Thing is, Chad, no one knows what you’re sorry for.”

“No one’s more sorry than me.” The clerk intoned.

Sheriff Dave’s eyes got a bit more icy. “Try telling me something I didn’t know,” a hint of a drawl entering his soft voice.

Chad, proving he was wiser than he looked, spilled his guts.

An hour later, Sheriff Dave crossed his way out of the building. He looked back at the openly weeping man with the apron and the goatee. “I don’t have a problem with what you’re doing Chad. I’ll let folks know what’s going on so they can get back to their lives. For what it’s worth, I hope you find it.”

The clerk’s red eyes squeezed shut. “If I do, I’ll be out of business.”

The police cruiser rolled out of the parking lot.. The air over Independence had changed. It now had a fresh scent to it tinged with bacon. Sheriff Dave rolled his window down and took a deep breath as he drove past the city limits and into his jurisdiction.

Far above the cruiser the vultures that live on the water tower wheeled in the sunlight.

Bedtime for Bosco

It's bedtime for Bosco.
Zita's all asleep.

My teeth are brushed,
My homework's done.
one of those is a lie.

But. It's bedtime for Bosco.

Tomorrow it will rain.
Tomorrow it will snow
Which one of this is untrue, I think some one will know.

But.

It's bedtime for Bosco

And We're off, like a herd of Turtles

Today is soggy like a bowl of cornflakes.

Apparently my ambition is lactose intolerant.

Yesterday writing a blog was like snake wrestling. Today it’s like worm riding.

Coffee ain’t motivating me.

But you know what? Time is.

Holy cow, there’s a lot to do!

See you soon.

Promises, Promises

Promises are the best kept reality of life.

Most folks I know, live only be the promises of other people who they've never met. They do this by making promises of their own with consequences that they don't understand. I am one of these people. So, I assume are you. It's why I say Most folks. You are Most folks, aren't you?

Those who don't make promises or take promises are only propelled through life on their own gumption... and frankly don't get very far.

Still, when push comes to shove a promise is only as good as the reality that makes it.

And this, my friends is the reason for lawyers and clergy.

... and the reason I'm not promising you a better blog in the future!

Waffles!

A Random Sunday Post

Sunday fun day post. Let me first introduce the host.

Hi there. It's the man named Dan.

For our first guest, Let me introduce Bruce.

Yo, bros.

Hi Bruce, how's to cows?

Eatin' Grass. Makin' Gas.

That's a good thing. Did you hear that bell ring? I know what to do, introducing guest number tw!

Hey. I'm Ray.

So Ray, backstage you told me that you work growing trees.

That's Right Dan. Us Arborists have to do what we can.

Ring a ding a ding! Our third guest is going to do their thing!

Hi, I'm James. These rhymes are getting lame.

Aw, James why go all meta like that. Wait for it folks, next he 'll be taling about Schrodinger's Cat!

I prefer the works of Emmett, Personally. Multiple worlds create such a better Universality.

*Lightning Flash* Thunder Clash!*

And That friends is why we don't go meta in this little game, you'll end up consumed by lightnings flames! Poor James. And That's all the time we have for this show, guest 1, guest 2 any words before we go?

Support Cows not Plows.

Never Resist an Arborist.

And from everybody here in studio B5, I I'm Dan signing off, safe, happy and Alive!

A lesson for today

When One lives the life of a clown, one get's familiar with the phrase, "April Reality"