O what a rogue and peasant slave am I…

Last night, my inner thespian got loose and terrorized a room full of people. For the first time in five years, I stood up in front of people — albeit five people — and performed a monologue.

And I enjoyed it.

too much sake at a karaoke clubI’m almost ashamed to admit that, at the end of long years of theatrical training and studies at the University of British Columbia, I have done nothing — absolutely nothing — in front of an audience. That is, unless you count that incident where I drank too much sake at a karaoke club and tried to demonstrate my abilities as a lounge singer. I really hope that doesn’t count.

Not only have I not been on stage, but I also haven’t hung a light, raised a flat, or built a riser. I haven’t been backstage or on a catwalk, and the closest thing to a fly gallery I’ve seen was at a sushi stand in the West End.

I have been extremely negligent. While I’ve never claimed (or demonstrated) any strong acting abilities, it used to be the focus of my life, second only to beer.

So there I was, doing a monologue for the first time since graduation. The audience was a group called Ready or Not that meets weekly to be all artsy and stuff. You know — actors, musicians, writers, et cetera — all being wacky and trying out new material on real, live people. It’s a wonderful idea. I think everyone should try it.

Call up a few friends. Find a song. Pick up that guitar. Choose a monologue. Scratch out some words on paper. Have fun and share some of that repressed creativity.


Our hard-workin’ boys in blue

Reading an article on the Canada.com website, I discover that Vancouver police are working hard improving their undercover tactics. Their mission this time: to infiltrate local pubs and bars and count how many drinks you order.

I may be blowing their cover here, but you can recognize them as the ones taking notes on coasters and ordering round after round of Evian shots with their soft drinks.

Happy hour at the cube farm

Fridays at the office. At every company I’ve worked for, Fridays are always marked by some kind of social event, including one or more of: beer, movies, games, snacks, or on particularly wacky Fridays, a company meeting. I appreciate their effort in organizing these events, of course. And the intent is to make their employees happy, because a happy employee is a productive employee. Great! Please keep it up! But not on Friday!

For crying out loud! At the end of a long work week, I for one want to leave at 5:00 sharp and return to my real life. Oh, I like my co-workers — they’re great people. But I see them every single freakin’ day, all day.

I’ve got my own ideas about how to make Fridays a little better. What if they passed around Irish coffees in the morning? That would help things along until noon, at least. Then free lunch at the pub (the one without the rats), which would take at least three hours. Then, around 3:00, the final hours would slip by with the help of the recreational drugs.

Well maybe not that last one. But you get the idea. Make Friday something to look forward to, and employees would give their all from Monday to Thursday. It’s called building loyalty.

I suppose, however, that we should just be content that we still have a job, and that we didn’t arrive on Friday to find that our security card no longer lets us into the building. Rumour has it that in corporate culture, generally Friday is the preferred day to give someone their walking papers. They’re less likely to go postal, I suppose.

So. It’s Friday, I’m still employed, and it’s happy hour in the employee lounge. At 5:00, I shall have to say thank you, but I’m off to catch the bus.

The end is nigh

According to an article on the BBC website, we may all get splattered by a really big asteroid on February 1, 2019. Don’t panic just yet — the calculations are “uncertain” and the asteroid may miss us by “several tens of millions of kilometres”. All the same, I might take a little trip over to the next planet that day.

More self-aborbant material

I’ve been told that writing a blog is proof that I’m self-absorbed. I can’t remember who said that, but it certainly made me think.

Could it be true? I asked myself this question again and again, and even meditated on a photograph of myself for at least an hour longer than usual.

It must be true. Anyone who writes a weblog is completely egotistical. After all, how many blogs and personal journals are written about someone other than the author?

Furthermore, to write about anything is unforgivable. It’s arrogance to believe that one’s words are of enough value to be published.

And so, to the kind person who helped me understand the truth, thank you. Your point has been well-taken. From this point forward, I will remain completely silent on all subjects. And I strongly encourage all journalists, essayists, novelists, and especially autobiographers to do the same.