I believe in Galas

I had the privilege to be invited to attend the fundraising Gala of the Waterloo Arts Festival, and I have to just say how delightful it was to be invited. I don’t often attend such high profile events as the attention I usually draw tends to pull focus from the actual event – usually a fundraiser, compelling me to make a generous contribution to the cause. While this is of little financial impact to myself, the generous nature of my offering often leaves everyone with an awkward embarrassed aftertaste in their mouths, so I try to avoid the whole difficult scene by staying out of the public eye, and just placing a small classified ad in the paper outlining the size of my charitable donation, and also my coming tour dates.

Last Thursday however, I broke my own little rule… braved the swiveling heads, the flashbulbs of the paparazzi, the persuasive touch of lady hospitality… I attended.

Out of pure modesty, I resisted the urge to out bid everyone on each of the silent auctions… instead, I simply stood, drank, flirted and left with a few of the more sophisticated ladies of the night.

I believe in supporting the festivals that will grow to support me. I believe in Hilby the Skinny German Juggleboy. I believe in love. I believe in magic. I believe the children need a futon, bed them well and night will soon be day. I believe in the Waterloo Arts Festival.

I believe in Ladies.

K/W F.C.

I took a break from rehearsing for my coming variety show appearance in K/W (that’s urban rhyming slang for “The Cities of Kitchener and Waterloo”. Apparently they were originally two large cities hundreds of miles apart, who’s mayors developed something of a homosexual romance, and devised a plan to relocate both cities to a third, geographically neutral location, allowing them to retain ready access to mortal (and legal) sins of the flesh , as well as the duly appointed Mayoral “bling bling”.

On my day off, I stopped in to watch the women’s soccer team with whom I have an informal coaching arrangement. I can’t explain this arrangement in any detail for tax and legal reasons. Also, one of their husbands owns a computer and might read this.

It was during this soccer game that I was reminded of the fragility of life. As the referee huffed and puffed around the 5m circle in the centre of the pitch, he missed, misinterpreted, misheard, fabricated, ignored, disbelieved, disregarded, over emphasised or closed his eyes to almost every instance of activity on the field. Indeed, he blew his whistle so often, it was almost as if he were just double checking that he was still breathing. And, with his giant elderly short pants up around his nipples, it’s likely he sported an even higher pitched instrument than that which hang from his neck.

The frustration of both teams was evident, though not to the referee, as they cursed, gestured, disrobed and urinated at him. (or in the case of the latter, on his car).

While I felt for these poor ladies, striving to excel under the ruling thumb of a male fist, I couldn’t help thinking that they would learn from this, the same lesson that the Mayors learned all those years ago.

That a man will see what he wants, and do what he pleases, and even if it’s expensive, uncomfortable or even illegal, you’ll probably always end up with a new city in your back yard and someone’s balls in the back of your net.

Vinyl Burns

Waterloo – Dogs and Poker

After my first engagement of the Canadian season – the Toronto International Circus Festival, I ventured and hour south and reaquainted myself with my good buddies the Silly People. When you’re a traveling man in Canada, or any foreign country where the customs, currency and conversation are
strange and unfamiliar, it’s a good idea to have some local contacts to hook you up with a good game of cards. My contacts put me in touch with Tony, who hosts a Wednesday night card game. $150 buy in, with around 20-25 guys involved.

Having enjoyed 3/4 of last weeks game, and fully planning to enjoy at least as high a proportion again this week, I gladly accepted a request to look after Tony’s dogs Boon and Jin for a few days. What better way to repay the kindness of a man who facilitates the weekly loss of $150?

Day one was just a delight… letting the puppies out of their cage and letting them run around the yard while I watched 2 hours of Poker after Dark (nice to see some of those guys implementing some of my tips – the sign of a true professional, always learning from the masters).

Day two, not so smooth.

I arrived and waded into a warm wet atmosphere of urine and poos… I won’t go into too much detail, but the classic vaudeville routine unfolded as follows…

Let the dogs out of the house.

Haul the shitty pissy doggy duvet downstairs to the laundry sink

Haul the Giant dog box downstairs and into the garden

hose out the dog box

haul the dog box back upstairs

realise that the dog box actually comes apart for ease of hauling and cleaning

haul the shitty pissy doggy duvet into the washing machine and start it up

Washing machine breaks, but only once it’s FULL of (now shitty pissy) water.

Washing machine starts leaking shitty pissy water

dogs run through shitty pissy water

dogs run through the rest of the house.

… ok that’s about enough.

I guess the moral of the story is: Don’t look after someone’s dogs because they’ll piss and shit everywhere.