Because I enjoyed the Jim Gaffigan special so much, today I am watching clips of him on YouTube ... which has caused me to find a glitch in his observational humor:



I don't use mayonaise - and many other condiments - and I do get questioned about it. All the time.

And YES - I would prefer you go outside.

I used to have a huge crush on Neil Patrick Harris when he was starring in "Doogie Howser, M.D." ... but lately, I've been thinking that it is not going to work out between us.



However, I am still a huge fan ...

Check out Doctor Horrible's Sing-Along Blog!!!

Here's one of my favorite scenes:

I was up in the middle of the night, and happened to catch this on the Comedy Network. My favorite part was:

It doesn't matter if you're religious or not. Does anything make you feel more uncomfortable than some stranger going, "I'd like to talk to you about Jesus"?

I also enjoyed his observations on holidays.



It made me think of the time I went to the Jewish Folkfest pavillion, and asked the volunteer there why Christmas and Hanukkah are celebrated at the same time of year: they were celebrating Passover when Jesus was crucified, but Hanukkah is an eight-day Jewish holiday commemorating the rededication of the Second Temple in Jerusalem at the time of the Maccabean Revolt of the 2nd century BCE, and has nothing to do with the Christmas story.

(Pretty cool, eh? Yeah, I know stuff ... which always confuses the volunteers at the Jewish pavilion immensely.)

His theory was that Christians deliberately placed Christmas at a time of year that would compete with Hanukkah in order to lure Jewish people to convert to Christianity. I was with him up to this point, as I have heard the same thing about the pagan solstice celebrations: no one is exactly sure when Jesus' real birthday actually was.

However, he followed this with the comment, "I've never heard of anything more ridiculous ... worshipping a tree".

"Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree! How lovely are thy branches! Here is another brightly wrapped offering for thee!"

The local radio station is having a "Hits of the 90s" weekend, and in the car last night, I had a blast-from-the-past when they played, "Invisible Man" by 98°.



I was a huge 98° fan. I had no use for the New Kids on the Block at age 12. The Backstreet Boys formed when I was 16: however, I didn't even notice until I was 18! Even then, their music, and the albums of similar boy bands, was more about the "band" than the "boys". I was never one of those girls ... that kind of behavior was just stupid.

That is, until Nick, Jeff, Drew and Justin came along: in that order.

Sigh ...

I bought all of their albums, including their Christmas album and their crappy come back album. I dragged my friend Shallen, who was not a fan, to their concert at the Broadway Theatre. Every day for the two weeks prior to the concert, I sent her a picture of the group with a countdown of how many days until we saw them. The concert was rush seating, and I am ashamed to admit that it is the only time I ever cut in line for anything in my life, just to get closer to the men that I loved. I am not ashamed to admit that, at the age of 21, I screamed like a little girl the entire time.

However, I realized last night that the reason this song, and the other songs by 98°like "Was It Something I Didn't Say", "The Hardest Thing" and "Because of You", melt girl's hearts like butter is because these are four guys you wish you could be with, looking directly into the camera, singing about how special you are and how much it tortures them that they will never be good enough to be with you.

Every time a 98° "Wayback Track" plays, James Dean spins in his grave.

If this ...



... is "the invisible man", who the hell is your boyfriend?!?!

Realistically, these words ...

I wish you'd look at me that way
Your beautiful eyes looking deep into mine
Telling me more than any words could say
But you don't even know I'm alive

... would more likely be uttered by this guy.


How eager are you to "tell all your friends that his kisses taste sweet like wine"?

That's the video that Dustin Diamond should have been in!

Of course, the 98° video that Dustin Diamond, also known as Screech from "Saved By the Bell", was in was "I Do (Cherish You)". I recently told Mark's soon-to-be-sister-in-law Lindsay that I have always liked that song, but I would not be able to make it my wedding song, because I would be thinking of Nick Lachey the whole time!



PS: If Nick is reading this, I totally didn't mean that stuff above ... you know how it is; the fans expect it. FYI: I'm still single: e-mail me!

I recently heard about a new video game called "ReMISSION". The main character, Roxie, battles cancer and related illnesses such as infection with her chemo blaster and medicine rockets, and in the process, helps young cancer patients deal with and understand their disease. Playing "ReMISSION" has been shown to increase compliance with treatments because patients have a better understanding of their purpose. The game can be purchased or downloaded in English, French or Spanish from the "ReMISSION" website, where there is also an online community for cancer patients and survivors.

Apparently, HopeLab is working on other games to deal with obesity, autism, major depressive disorder and sickle cell anemia.

I stopped at a drug store to pick up a sympathy card on my way to work last week. As I came around the corner of the card aisle, I encountered two little girls, who were approximately five and seven years old. At the sight of me, they both froze, wide-eyed, like deer in some headlights, likely unsure if I was there to chase them away.

As I began to browse, they resumed doing the same. The younger girl was wordlessly opening each of the the musical cards, then gently placing them back of the shelf and choosing another, despite her sister's whispered protests of "No ... stop ..." and "That's loud ...".

Meanwhile, the older girl was busy at the other rack, where she would chose a card, read it aloud with great fanfare:

"Happy Birthday to cool and classy auntie!"

She would then hold the card out to show her younger sister the picture. They would both give a wordless nod of approval, then move on through the racks.

However, as I continued to shop, the irony quickly became overwhelming. I do not think that the musical card browser intended to open her cards in sync with mine, but it seemed to turn out that way, with sometimes hilarious results.

As you grieve the loss of your mother ...

Celebrate good times, come on!!! Let's celebrate ...

... please know that our thoughts are with you.

I could barely keep from laughing out loud.

As I left, I couldn't resist asking the older one, "Are you two looking for a particular card, or just looking?"

"We're just looking," she said matter-of-factly, seeming quite pleased to be acknowledged, not reprimanded.

I told her I used to like to do the same at her age.

My most recent practicum student from the College of Nursing was recently doing a presentation on birth control options to the residents of our group home. She had gone through the female hormonal methods and was instructing us on the female barrier methods when the subject of female sterilization came up. One of the girls angrily commented, "Why don't they have a surgery for guys?".

Just as the nursing student was about to explain that there is such a surgery, and she was going to discuss male contraceptive methods after she had covered all of the female ones, another resident piped up, "They do! It's called, 'snipping the penis'".

I had to smile a bit at this, thinking she had probably heard about someone 'getting snipped', but I couldn't help thinking of a doctor explaining the procedure to a man by using this term and getting a pretty lukewarm reception.

She followed her intial comment by adding, "They just cut a piece off of the end of it". We realized that she was referring to circumcision, not a vasectomy. The student and I corrected her, and I sternly added to the whole group that any boy who tells you that a circumcision will prevent you from getting pregnant is a damn liar.

Still, I got a huge laugh out of this, as visions of Lorena Bobbitt danced in my head. I imagined someone laying their penis on a paper cutter, and the doctor saying, "How many children do you and your wife want to have? Three? Okay ... well, this should be more than enough ...".

As my one friend commented, "If that was the way it was done, there'd sure be a lot fewer Jewish people running around!"



PS: I don't know what this picture actually refers to, but I couldn't resist using it.

Although I couldn't pronounce "Die Roten Punkte" to save my life, it was a favorite of the clients and the staff I took there and I noticed that it was the top seller of the Fringe. I had to agree it had good music and a lot of laughs.



I didn't see the orginal Die Roten Punkte last year, but apparently Astrid, the band's drummer, has been "on vacation" since then (ie: at rehab). Otto, lead guitar and her brother, has her drinking energy drinks which Astrid comments are "not as fun as my old drinks" ... until she spikes them behind the curtain, that is. (Ironically, our group was headed to an NA meeting following our Fringe outing.) I also particularly enjoyed the results of the family counselling that Astrid and Otto have undergone to counteract "harassment in the workplace", forcing them to use "I" statements with each other.

ROCK BANG!!!

Die Roten Punkte - SUPER MUSIKANT
Tobias & Bartholomew
Broadway Theatre
5 stars out of 5

If you're only going to see one Fringe show, make it SUPER MUSIKANT.

The comedic rock cabaret is one of the best shows I've ever seen at the Saskatoon festival.

"German" brother and sister duo Otto and Astrid Rot are at it again, offering another 60 minutes of non-stop entertainment, silliness and laughs. Oh, and they're pretty good musicians, too; they really do rock on those mini drums and guitar.

Die Roten Punkte translates into "The Red Dots," while Super Musikant means "Super Musician." And super they are. Clad in black and red, and sporting white painted faces and bright red lips, the rock stars pumped up Saturday's large crowd by yelling, "Make some noise, Saskatoon." The duo then launched into a song about a Rock 'n' Roll Monster, before showcasing other delightful ditties, including Astrid's Drinking Song, which forced enthusiastic audience members out of their seats.

One of the highlights of the show is the synchronized dance number, where Astrid and Otto show the audience how to be a robot and a lion. Funny dance moves always make me laugh, and Astrid and Otto's are great.

Following last year's highly successful show, buzz is swirling around SUPER MUSIKANT - and rightfully so. Broadway Theatre was nearly filled on Saturday afternoon, and it was one of the largest crowds I've seen at a Fringe play.

The bottom line: Go see this show. You won't be disappointed. It's a hilarious parody of "real" punk rock acts, and you'll snicker at the parallels to The White Stripes.

And like any good rock concert, you can even buy a T-shirt at the end.

© The StarPhoenix (Saskatoon) 2008

Teaching the Fringe is the first show I have ever seen by Keir Cutler. Apparently, it is different from all of the Fringe shows he has done in the past, in that this show is autobiographical: a response to a three page criticism he received from a Fringe regular in Winnipeg.

As a woman who I do volunteer work with put it, "Just his expression on it's own is worth the money".

I have to agree. Keir would read a line of the letter at a time, then look up in wide-eyed disbelief to the crowd. I am now unable to use the word "however" without the urge to utter it in a sinister tone.

Keir also admitted what most people already subconsciously knew: Fringe actors perform out of a need for attention they, for some reason, did not receive in the past. I often enjoy looking for the "aha" moment in Fringe plays, most of which are autobiographical, at least to some degree, where they talk about their mother running off with the milkman when they were six or some other "secret pain".

Keir's mother had twins when he was two.

However ... I think I will come back in the future to sample more of Keir's work. I don't know what his younger siblings are doing now, but I doubt that they could still be more entertaining than he is.

Teaching the Fringe
Doctor Keir Co.
Off Broadway Arts Centre
4 stars out of 5

Keir Cutler's rejected inner two-year-old desperately needs attention. That's why he acts. And that's why the veteran Fringe performer - who usually receives rave reviews - based his latest play on a less-than-glowing letter from an audience member. Cutler, you see, is sensitive.

From the moment he took the stage it was evident from a chorus of laughter that the audience was familiar with Cutler's work. Having played a crazed priest and a pathetic English teacher in the past, this is the Montreal-based actor's first autobiographical show. The self-described "nut magnet" has established himself as a Fringe circuit favourite for his superb timing, sense of humour and ability to seamlessly tie a serious message into the comedy.

The writer of the letter - a Fringe "expert" who has been to hundreds of shows - is greatly offended by Cutler's Teaching As You Like It, in which his pitiful teacher character falls for a student. She claims it encourages, even teaches, sexual predators how to get to children. The audience reacted with a mixture of laughter and shock as he dissected the three-page criticism.

While it helps to have seen the scorned play in question, Teaching the Fringe can stand on its own. Cutler may have been hurt by the woman's cruel comments - and crueler actions - but he should probably thank her. Without that wildly misguided interpretation of his work, this new play wouldn't exist and his delicate actor's ego wouldn't receive the well-deserved praise it needs.

Culter's crisp, clever sense keeps people coming back every year. If you're not yet a Cutler convert, there's no time to waste.

© The StarPhoenix (Saskatoon) 2008

Blasphemy! was the second last show of the Fringe, and the last one I saw. One of the main reasons that I picked this show was for the title. Some of my past choices have been Scruplousity and Sacrilicious!, but just like with this play, I liked the title more than the work.

Don't get me wrong: there were things that made me laugh:

• I, too, feel that the CBC has "jumped the shark": but hands off "Little Mosque". That is funny and groundbreaking ... racist bastard!
• I enjoyed the lesson in talking with my hands, and plan to do so often now that I have been instructed in how to do it properly. Up until now, I was just doing a lot of wild gesturing, but now I have focus and direction. I did not enjoy the introduction to this section, where he promised to "Wop it up a bit": even though he is Italian and I am not ... racist bastard!!
• The Lucky Charms leprechan skit - hilarious! However, I refuse to believe that Tony the Tiger's wife "shags like a $2 whore" ... racist bastard!!!

The other thing that attracted me to this play was his love of comic books. Even better, Anthony Trombetta appears to have a love of onomatopoeia in comic books, and included my favorite, a tradmark of your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman:

THWIPP!!!

Anthony closes the show with a letter he wrote to Jesus. This was a bit of a letdown ... even though Jesus writes back and they make a date to go to the fair.

Meh.

Blasphemy!
Jump the Shark Productions
3.5 stars out of 5

Jesus loves Tony, this I know, for the Fringe show told me so.

Actually, it's Anthony Trombetta's wife Erica who loves him. She's just playing Jesus in the 45-minute stand-up/sketch comedy show known as Blasphemy! A twisted and oh-so Canadian look into Trombetta's head.

Spending the past 10 years living in the Yukon has certainly had an affect on the comedian, who touches on the tough questions of Mansbridge vs. Robertson, how to become a Rapture co-coordinator and, the classic, do Care Bear stares hurt? Fortunately, spending all of his 33-years in either "middle-of-nowhere" Ont. or Whitehorse has given Trombetta a hilarious and skewed look on life. Who said living inside your head was bad?

The comic book enthusiast (read: self-professed geek), injects short character comedy sketches between teaching the audience how to speak Italian and reciting letters to Jesus. The result is a solid Fringe comedy that allows the audience to get loose and enjoy. Laugh at what you think is funny, says Trombetta, I won't be offended.

Aside from a laugh-cramp inducing performance, the ticket price is worth it just to encounter the most pleasant Son of God since Ted Neely.

© The StarPhoenix (Saskatoon) 2008

Giant Invisible Robot from the 2006 Fringe (see my review here) was one of my all time favorites, so I had high hopes for Trashcan Duet, also written by Jayson McDonald.

It was not as good as I'd hoped.

I was curious about the motivation of both of the characters, but I didn't really come to know them or to care about them: especially Stella, who was so intent on pushing Billy away that the rest of us didn't really get to know her either.

Another thing I wish they had explored more was Billy's legal problems, or at least the root of them. He delivered some great defenses in front of the imaginary judge about how he has no time for jail or money for fines because "my mother is probably ill" and about he was sure the guy who owned the Muffler and Shock Shop had needed to "muffle his shock" at the sight of ... what, we are not really sure.

I also nearly had a heart attack at one point in the performance, because I had sent the residents of the group home I run to see this play the day before I saw it. I usually scout the Fringe carefully and ask the performers if they think their play is suitable for teens ... who have their own highly successful drug and prostitution businesses ... but I hadn't had a chance to ask around about this one, and had deemed it "safe" based on it predecessor.

About halfway through, the female lead turns to the male lead and says:

"Why don't you kiss me? ... *kiss* ... Why don't you take off your pants?"

Oh my God ... what sort of a play is this?

"Take those off, too .... you're not going to need them".

OH ... MY ... GOD. Steal his pants and run away. Steal his pants and run away. Steal his pants and ...

"Psych!" *steals his pants and runs away laughing*

*huge sigh of relief*

Of course, if the scene had gone the way the male lead likely predicted, it's not as if my clients would be ... strangers ... to that type of a situation: or above shouting out useful tips and techniques to the female lead.

Trash Can Duet
Black Sheep Theatre
Victoria School Attic
4 stars out of 5

Boy meets girl. Boy likes girl. Girl utterly rejects boy. Boy obsessively chases girl to the point of stalking.

Girl - well, telling what the girl does next would ruin the ending.

And this is a show that should not be wrecked for potential audiences.

Trash Can Duet is the story of an courtship reminiscent of Archie and Veronica, Sam and Diane and the Taming of the Shrew - just with more profanity. The "hard to get" angle is tried and true, but this Fringe performance gives it a fresh and edgy twist.

The storyline centres on Stella, the snarly beat poet, and Billy, the loser prone to legal problems. They meet in a coffee shop, where they begin a series of exchanges that are unsuccessful for Billy, but highly entertaining for the crowd.

These are well-drawn characters getting themselves in a mess most of us find familiar. And it is all performed with engaging simplicity and acumen.

Watching Stella verbally smack Billy around is a pleasure. The chemistry between actors Michael Showler and Adrienne McGrath creates a fantastic tension. Showler takes a guy who could simply be a pitiful loser and makes the crowd root for his success.

Bursts of poetry from McGrath's character are a highlight. The poems are sharp, fun and useful in showing Stella is more than a bitter, coffee-swilling tease.

The Fringe guidebook refers to this as a comic drama, which is somewhat misleading. Consider it heavy on the comic. But Trash Can Duet should be considered, period, by festival-goers this year.

© The StarPhoenix (Saskatoon) 2008

We Is Blunderstruck got a great review both from the newspaper and from Natasha and Gordie, but I was pretty disappointed.

I have to say, I've been to funnier funerals ... and shorter ones.

(My pastor is a real laugh riot, so that sounds like more of a condemnation than it really is. He usually opens up a funeral service by saying, "I know what you're all thinking, and the answer is, 'about 45 minutes'". This was 60.)

Blunderstruck had it's moments - one of them being when the urn gets kicked over during the end of a rock version of "Amazing Grace" - but they were separated with a lot of awkward fumbling that went beyond the comical and made you actually wonder, "When is this going to be over?".

We Is Blunderstruck
Press Play Players
Broadway Theatre
4.5 stars out of 5

Saskatoon's Press Play Players are back with a show that delivers more blunder and improved struck.

We Is Blunderstruck is essentially the same show that stormed the 2006 Fringe. More shtick has been added to make it an hour long.

That begins with the band, Blunderstruck, an inept bunch of rockers, weaving their way through the audience.

They're there for the funeral of band friend and fan, Mel. The amusing interaction and awkward sharing of condolences quickly sets the tone for the show.

As the funeral is about to start, the band learns that Father Ed is unable to attend. This results in Blunderstruck (Pitstop Pete, Doorstop Dave and Truckstop Trevor) being forced to conduct the funeral. As the saying goes, hilarity ensues.

It all begins with processional bells that instead become AC/DC's Hell's Bells.

The Blunderstruck members definitely are not choirboys and so we watch the most irreverent, sidesplitting memorial unfold. There's a rocking version of Amazing Grace, a reading of a 'pah-salm' and an amazing tribute in Latin from Truckstop Trevor (because his mom is Latin).

At each point in the ceremony, just when you think it can't get funnier or more flippant, the Blunderstruck boys find a way to crank up even more laughs.

The tunes are equally enjoyable. As clownish as they are, these three guys can really rock. They end the funeral in fine foot-stomping, hand-clapping fashion.

Mel would have been happy.

© The StarPhoenix (Saskatoon) 2008

Natasha, Gordie, Jerome and Randee went to the Fringe Preview Night last week, and on the way out, Randee remarked to Natasha, "I want to see Nuts! and Balls!".

No, this was not a Freudian slip, although you never know with my penis ... er, my mother ... I mean, Randee.

Balls!, a product of Ten Foot Pole Productions, was written, acted in and directed by Rob Salerno. Adam Goldhamer, who also acted in this play, co-founded a production company called Purple Duck Films.

I read "Duck" wrong initially ... that was a Freudian slip.

Incidentally, the name "Goldhamer" also seemed dirty to me, even though I know it isn't. Once your mind gets on that track, it's hard to get off ...

Oh, man.

"Hard"?

"Get off"?

*sigh*

Anyway ...

Salerno and Goldhamer play Paul and 'Bastian (short for Sebastian), two life-long friends who are both diagnosed with testicular cancer over a period of several years. A woman waiting in the line up for Nuts criticized Balls! due to how statistically unlikely tecticular cancer is to happen to both of them. Testicular cancer strikes about six in 100,000 males in Canada each year.

Obviously, she has never heard of artistic licence ... or seen the prequel, Smoking Under High Tension Wires Behind the Nuclear Plant!.

According to the website, Rob Salerno was inspired to write Balls! due to losing a close friend to testicular cancer as a college student, so the play does have some basis in reality ... making the ending even tougher to take.

I'm not sure if it is because my first choice for a grad escort could not take me due to his own brush with testicular cancer a few months before age 18, the fact my current best friend is a man or because stories of friendship always "get me", but Balls! reduced me to tears. I felt like a bit of a fool being a woman ... at a play about testicular cancer ... by herself ... crying... but Balls! was definitely one of the best shows I saw at this year's Fringe.

Jeers to the jerk who forgot to turn off their cellphone, and interupted the tearful epilogue with a polyphonic version of Scott Joplin's "The Entertainer"!



(Cheers to my mom who was able to identify this piece from my off-key humming over the telephone: although, she referred to it as "The Sting". It turns out that my Great Aunt Mary Ellen had the sheet music and had been quite proud of her ability to play it.)

And as for my would-be grad escort ...



... proof that, as Salerno put it on the t-shirts he was selling after the show:

"A REAL MAN ONLY NEEDS ONE".

Nuts! Ten Commandments From the Psych Ward is comedy and performance poetry by Rob Gee, a Fringe vetern and former psychiatric nurse. This is the first show of Rob Gee's that I have seen, but I would likely return in the future to see him again.

I nearly fell of my chair laughing quite a few times. One of my favorite parts was in one of the final scenes, when Rob angrily ranted a laundry list of things that clients could do in order to get over their struggles and get out of his face ... but ended off with a sweet smile and the wish, "But don't give up: I'm really rooting for you!".

I can relate ... and wish I could get a copy!

I did find Rob's accent a bit hard to understand, especially since he speaks so rapidly at times. For example, he told us to imagine walking through the forest and seeing a "bear" and a "key". I ended up imagining a "bed" and a "king". People who don't enjoy the black humor that medical and mental health workers employ might be a bit shocked by some of the stories, but I loved them. My favorite commandement was, "Thou shalt not kill ... thyself while I'm on duty".

Unfortunately, I saw both of these shows on their last performance in Saskatoon, but I heartily recommend them to anyone from Edmonton or Vancouver, where the Fringe is headed next!

Nuts! Ten Commandments From the Psych Ward
Rob Gee
Victoria School Gym
3.5 stars out of 5

Do you think your job is crazy? Rob Gee has some stories to tell you.

The Fringe favourite returns with an all-new show: Nuts! Ten Commandments From the Psych Ward. Gee gladly recounts his career as a psychiatric nurse.

To help the audience, he smartly divides the play into 10 segments or, as he calls them, his commandments. There are rules such as, "if you're right, don't rub it in," "love thy psyche as thyself," and "do not kill thyself while on duty."

Gee recounts personal details from his career to demonstrate the need for the rules. While the anecdotes may shock and are delivered with some very colourful language, the tales are smart, stoic and increasingly funny.

There are numerous bits worth mentioning, such as how to make yourself more slapable, how telling someone to calm down always has the opposite effect, and how Gee came to heroically consider himself Psych Man.

The show is what audiences have come to expect from the Brit comic and performance poet. His words flow out fast and are punctuated with broad humour.

I did feel that Nuts, being a newer play, required some more polishing. Gee checked his watch a few more times than necessary and also referred to a bit from a previous day's show that was cut. Both of these tended to spoil the illusion of an otherwise good show.
© The StarPhoenix (Saskatoon) 2008

Balls!
Ten Foot Pole productions
Venue: Broadway Theatre
3.5 stars out of 5

You'd be nuts to miss this one. OK, half nuts.

Magnificent acting propels this play about two lifelong pals with much more in common than they'd like. Balls! weaves together adolescent humour, teary earnestness and brilliant performances to make a sensitive topic come across less like a Public Service Announcement than it might.

That said, it gets a bit preachy at times and tossing out a scrotum joke as a counterbalance only serves to underscore the pushing of the message.

Still, it's an impotent, er . . . important topic that needs to be discussed, even if it makes the men in the audience squirm.

When Paul gets testicular cancer at age 19, he and buddy Bastian embark on an uncomfortable coming-of-age journey that skewers masculinity, competition, spirituality and life's low blows.

"On the plus side," Paul discovers about having to get a testicle removed, "if you ever get kicked in the nads now, it only hurts half as much."

The emotional odyssey takes a poke at masturbation, virginity, the defectiveness of the one-ball man, the pulverizing effects of chemotherapy and radiation and the ultimate bargain with God.

"I asked that he take you instead," Paul tells Bastian.

Rob Salerno (Paul) wrote the play as a memorial to a friend who died in 2004 from testicular cancer.

Salerno and Adam Goldhamer (Bastian) should be proud of their touching testimony, but it could benefit from being a bit shorter. With about 15 minutes - and some excess mo-fo jokes - taken out of the 60-minute show, the pace would be much better. And no one would notice their smaller Balls!

© The StarPhoenix (Saskatoon) 2008

Here is the Star Phoenix review of the same performance of Mr. Fox that I saw!

Mr. Fox
Chipped Paint Productions
The BackStage Stage
3 stars out of 5

Greg Landucci had the audience roaring with laughter on Saturday night as he offered a behind-the-scenes look at life as a rock radio station mascot.
In his one-man show, Landucci plays several characters with ease - including a female co-worker. But he's at his best as the main character, a wannabe on-air personality who tries to break into the radio industry by taking a job as CFOX's Mr. Fox (apparently the coolest mascot in Vancouver).

Landucci asks the question, "What do you think about mascots?" To be honest, I hadn't thought about them much, but now I'll empathize with them as they entertain the masses in hot weather and endure insults from members of the crowd. The show continually emphasizes the human being behind the costume, and you can't help but identify with Landucci's pride, angst and disgust at becoming Mr. Fox.

There's laughs to be had throughout the show, including when Mr. Fox goes bungee jumping, visits a bar, feels sick on a fair ride and has a run-in with a chicken. Landucci wants the crowd to like his protagonist, and his earnestness shines through.

Landucci wrote Mr. Fox, which is directed by Fringe legend TJ Dawe. Landucci is an energetic performer, but his rapid-fire dialogue can be a bit tough to follow, and he stumbled over his lines a little on Saturday.

At 65 minutes, Mr. Fox is also a tad too long - 10 or 15 minutes could be shaved from the show and the audience would still walk away satisfied.

Still, if you're looking for an entertaining, light-hearted play, Mr. Fox may be the Fringe show for you.

© The StarPhoenix (Saskatoon) 2008

When I first read this review, I thought that the "run in with a chicken" referred to someone's rooster-crowing cellphone ringtone that went off unexpectedly: it doesn't.

Right after going to see Mr. Fox, the McDonald's commercial began to air where the kids are all talking about what they want to be and the one kid says he wants to be a mascot. I always think of the play when I see it.

I ran into Greg in the audience of Trashcan Duet, and again greeted him by pretending we are friends with a hearty wave and "Hey, Greg!" which I chose to follow up with a somewhat unexpected, "You scared the hell out of me the other day!".

Because 1) Greg does not really know me and 2) I don't get that, he wasn't sure what I was talking about, so I reminded him of his excessive shaking of me the week before. He asked me, "Did I hurt you?" then said, "Thanks for coming" and went to sit down.

However, the way he said it was how you greet people at a funeral. It made me wonder how bad that venue had been for crowds, because I had been expecting:

"Gee whiz! Thanks for coming to my show!"

or even

"Wassup! Great seeing you!"

but it felt more like

"It means a lot to me, and to my mother, that you could make the trip down."

I hope that both he and Barry have better luck in Edmonton and Vancouver with reviews and venues.

Tonight, Natasha and I hit the Fringe together, and took in Greg's play.

Mr. Fox is absolutely hilarious!

Before the show, I asked Natasha if she thought Greg would don a fox suit or head as part of the performance. It turned out that he didn't use any costuming or any props other than a chair and a portable stereo: he didn't need them.

He probably could have used some Ritalin.

Greg threw himself into the role of Mr. Fox with such enthusiasm that I could have sworn his hands had swollen into giant cartoon mittens. The show opened with him running in from the back to interact with the crowd: the first lucky volunteer being me, who he grabbed by the shoulder and waved at about six inches from my face so violently that I felt like he was shaking me. I pretty much reacted by giggling uncontrolably and curling into the fetal positon.

If it hadn't been Greg, I probably would have screamed ... or peed.

Just the minute before that, I noticed that seating was becoming scarce and thought, "I am NOT moving my purse from the seat next to me!". That's karma for you ...

In the last minutes of the play, Greg mentions tearing off his mascot head in an emergency, and actually managed to get a gasp from someone in the crowd: one of the cardinal mascot rules is to NEVER remove your head in public. My only criticism of the performanace was that both Natasha and I mistaked Greg's impression of the female station manager for an effeminate gay man.

Mr. Fox is even better than Dishpig! Don't miss it!!!

Greg's remaining shows are:

Tuesday, August 5th at 2PM
Wednesday, August 6th at 4PM
Thursday, August 7th at 6PM
Friday, August 8th at 8PM

As I drove home from The Fringe, I noticed a bunch of people sitting around in lawn chairs on the lawn of a house on 12th Street, probably drinking, with a lemonade stand.

Adults... with their own lemonade stand. Conformity kept me on the path to my house, sans-lemonade, but full of curiousity:

Do they sell actual lemonade, or "lemonade"?

Would they laugh at me if I stopped the car and asked for lemonade?

Are their kids actually the lemonade sellers, but they've just gone to bed already?

Why didn't I ever think of doing something like this during the Fringe?

If I did, would these people stop their car?

To laugh at me?

What the hell is their problem anyway?

Those cocky bastards ...

This is my third year of blogging about my impressions of the Saskatoon Fringe, and my friend Natasha's third year of "fostering" Fringe performers. This year, her billet is the same person who she had last year: Barry Smith, of Jesus in Montana and this year's American Squatter.

I read the review of Barry's play in today's Star Phoenix, but had already been planning on seeing it because 1) Barry is staying with Natasha and 2) I liked last year's show.

A TRIP FROM SPOTLESS TO FILTHY
Joanne Paulson, The StarPhoenix
Published: Friday, August 01, 2008
American Squatter
Aspen Comedy Works
The Backstage Stage

Rating: 3

Retrospect is much easier when you have albums full of photos and reels full of video memories.

Barry Smith has compiled his into a history of rebellion, starting in the Mississippi Delta, flowing through Southern California, and then on to London, England . . . where the squatting really happened.

The Colorado storyteller's father was a clean freak, so much so that his sons spent every weekend scouring the family home. Eventually, escape came in the form of skateboarding, punk rock, too much LSD -- and finally, a bizarre trip overseas.

Every point in Smith's journey is accompanied by those visual family memories: Babyhood pix, skating videos, dad obsessively cleaning up Christmas wrap. The pictures of squatting with strangers in London are quite, well, disgusting. This trip, as he points out, travels from spotless to filthy, and is accompanied by a mild epiphany to tie it all together.

Smith can tell stories, although you are always hoping to find a wider point. The multi-media presentation saves Smith from having to add blocking. Fortunately, his verbal delivery is interesting, if not riveting.

Self-absorption does achieve critical mass, as Smith points out himself -- but the monologue manages not to replicate the anguish of a too-long-tale told by your airplane seat mate.

© The StarPhoenix (Saskatoon) 2008

Barry gave a good performance again this year, and I'm looking forward to his next multi-media monologue: Barry Smith's Baby Book: A Grown-Up Comedy About Stuff. The one thing that really strikes me about Barry is, for a guy who was perpetually high and transient for many years, he has sure kept some copious records. You'd think things would get lost and forgotten, or the guy just wouldn't bother.

Apparently, I am not the only one:

Often, after a performance of my multi-media comedies "Jesus In Montana" and "American Squatter," people will ask me, "Who saves that stuff?" They're referring to all the old family photos and videos and audio recordings and other miscellaneous items and objects that project on a screen during the show.

At first I didn't understand this question. I mean, doesn't EVERYONE save this stuff? How could you not?

I started saving stuff at an early age. One day I came home from first grade to find that my mother had thinned out my rapidly growing collection of "See Spot Run" papers. She did this by taking them out back and burning them. This was the Mississippi Delta in the early 70s, and that's how people dealt with trash - they took it out back and burned it.

I was devastated. I still am. I vowed on that day to never throw anything away, to spend my life building a grand collection of stuff, thus allowing me to fully know myself. Some men are known by their deeds. I, it seems, prefer to be known by my stuff.

The closest I came to anarchy today was parking my car infront of the "ROAD CLOSED" sign on 19th in front of the theatre ... but even this caused me a large amount of anxiety I would emerge to find a weighty ticket or my car towed. Only the greater fear of ridicule by the Fringe volunteers who assured me everyone was parking every where and my total laziness and cheapness stopped me from parking on the street or in a pay area.

I also ran into Natasha's former "foster performer", Greg Landucci, who was in Saskatoon in 2006 with his play Dishpig, and is back after a year of touring other Fringe festival cities to present Mr. Fox. As long as Greg never runs out of crappy job experiences, he is set for life for material.

I plan on seeing Greg's show, too, because 1) Greg stayed with Natasha, 2) Greg once bought me liquor and 3) if Mr. Fox is anything like Dishpig, it will be really funny.

Because Greg once bought me liquor, I greeted him with a warm, "Hey, Greg! How have you been?". Once I told him who I was, we got re-aquainted ... not that we really ever knew each other to begin with.
Good times!

Greg and Barry are both at The Backstage Stage (a.k.a.: The Persephone Theatre). It gave me a chance to check out the new building, but as a Fringe venue, it is apparently pretty crappy, because the performers are so far away from the other plays, the buskers and the crowds.

Barry's remaining shows are:

Saturday, August 2nd at 6PM
Sunday, August 3rd at 2PM
Monday, August 4th at 4PM
Wednesday, August 6th at 8PM
Friday, August 8th at 6 PM
Saturday, August 9th at 2 PM

Greg's remaining shows are:

Saturday, August 2nd at 8PM
Sunday, August 3rd at 12PM
Tuesday, August 5th at 2PM
Wednesday, August 6th at 4PM
Thursday, August 7th at 6PM
Friday, August 8th at 8PM

I was recently the baptism sponsor for both my friend Mark's future sister-in-law, Lindsay, and his very first niece, Ella. I had been helping Lindsay get ready for baptism for a few months, but being Ella's godmother was a last minute, but very exciting, honor for me.

The same weekend Ella and Lindsay were getting baptized, I was also putting on a baby shower for them. In addition to the two baptism cakes - a white cake shaped like a cross and a chocolate cake shaped like a Bible, complete with a Fruit by the Foot bookmark - and the preparations for the shower, which included a fruit tray, a vegetable tray, cheese, crackers, two kinds of dip, three kinds of sausage and a homemade from scratch chocolate chip cheesecake, not to mention decorations, folding chairs, and games with prizes, I was also spending 16 hours a day the five days prior with my clients on a camping trip at Beaver Creek.

If you have ever been on vacation with a teenager, or been a teenager on vacation, you know that:

1. Teenagers never find anything that you find fun to be "fun".
2. If teenagers ever find anything that you find fun to be "fun", they would rather die than admit to you that they are having "fun".
3. Teenager's entire mission on any vacation is to take any "fun" that you are having and crush it beneath the sole of their shoe. Hard.

However, they needn't have worried, because I was having as lousy a time as anyone, trying to referee their disputes, driving people to appointments and summer jobs and worrying about the crushing weight of my own social calender.

"So, why did you even take them?" Mark's mother asked me.

"Well, because it's just so much fun," I told her from between gritted teeth.

In light of all of this, I decided that I needed a new outfit ... possibly two ... because I didn't have enough to do.

I tend to prefer a lot of black, especially when it comes to dressing up. That means that I am usually pretty set for funerals, but somehow, I didn't feel it was appropriate for a double baptism: not only was it the middle of July, but, look at this sweet, sweet face!

Let me tell you: a cause for celebration if I've ever seen one! I always joke that my eyes are like a Siren's song, but I have met my match in Ella: I see babies all day, every day, but there is something about her. I nearly ruined every picture, because I couldn't break her spell long enough to look at the camera!

On my way back to the city after the baby shower in Warman ... soaked to the skin due to loading my car in a downpour ... that I drove faster than so that everyone in Saskatoon probably wondered, "What's up with her?" ... 16 hours away from "splash down" ... totally plauged with doubt that I can be an appropriate role model for such an sweet, perfect, innocent creature as Ella ... I found myself running around Pennington's like a crazy woman, fifteen minutes from closing, grabbing anything that might be my size for a last minute try-on.

They day before, I'd been at Winner's at closing time. When the salesgirl refused to let me try on "just these four shirts" because "we're closed", I began angrily putting them on over my clothes in the midst of the aisle and calling out to random shoppers, "Hey! How does this look?".

Today, I'd planned a little better, and the store was also somewhat more charitable, saying I didn't need to rush. "That's okay," I told them, "I'm just going to buy this white skirt".

However, when I arrived at the till, the salegirl informed me, "Ma'am? Is this the skirt you wanted to buy?".

When I said, "yes", she politely informed me, "Ma'am ... this is not a skirt. This is a halter top".

"A halter top?" I said in disbelief.

She pointed out several manequins sporting my "skirt", and said, "See? It has this built in bra".

"I thought that was a tummy panel!" I said.

She politely said that she had never thought about it that way, but it could be used as a tummy panel, and I could wear it as a skirt if I really wanted to and no one would probably ever know ... except for the fact a bra is meant to accentuate what is inside it, while a tummy panel is meant to do the opposite.

I bought the thing more out of embarassment and desperation then anything, and headed outside ... just as the torrential rainstorm caught up to me.

I did wear my "skirt" the next day: under a sweater.