Loose Moose Shenanigans this weekend!

You know, it’s funny. We’re mid moving house right now, I’m up to my ears in boxes and cleaning products and yet, the thought of performing both tonight and tomorrow night at the Moose – far from being exhausting – is the only thing keeping me hangin’ in there!

I’m so excited, our team has a secret theme tonight – I tried my costume on last week and could not stop laughing just wearing it. I’ll try to post some pics after the event. It’s the Grand Final tonight, our team made it in by a nose – whatever happens I’m sure that my personal state at having sniffed way too much Ajax will go a long way to contributing to a delirious night of improv.

Oh yeah, so if you are in Calgary, here’s the deets:

TONIGHT (Friday – Black, Purple, Rainbow, whatever)
Loose Moose Theatresports Grand Final
8pm
Tix: $12 adult, $10 concession
Loose Moose Theatre @ Crossroads Market
www.loosemoosetheatre.com

TOMORROW (Saturday – back to normal non-color specific days)
Gorilla Theatre
8pm
Tix: $12 adult, $10 concession
Loose Moose Theatre @ Crossroads Market
www.loosemoosetheatre.com

Losing it

Master Four: Why is Ella in time out?

Me: Because she lost her temper.

Master Four: Oh.

A beat.

Master Four: Where did she put it?

Musical Improv site (or: ‘The best compliment I’ve ever been bestowed’)

Wow, wow, wow.

My undoubted sensai and musical improv guru Michael Pollock has just posted this warm fuzzy blurb about one of my improvised songs on MusicalImprov.com – to say it made my innards glow with goo is a massive, massive understatement. So very, very cool…agh!

When I say Michael Pollock wrote the book on musical improv, I’m speaking literally. He’s written several books on the subject and I don’t believe I’m stretching to say he’s regarded as one of the USA’s leading experts on the subject. I had the incredibly life-time high of working with Michael in a musical improv intensive at Second City Las Vegas back in 2006, at the end of which we performed a showcase where this very song of which he writes was born.

Then, as if all this wasn’t mind-blowingly awesome enough, just before my departure back to Oz, Michael gave me what I believe is one of the most magical moments of my life – in gifting me with an ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT of his latest book: How to Write Funny Lyrics: The Comedy Songwriting Manual. I almost died.  “Oh relax!” he said, as if he went round handing these out on the strip every other day. But I couldn’t.

Even when I think about that moment now I feel drunk.

And as a 7-odd-months preggie lady, I can’t even begin to describe how pleasant that is.

Goshdarnit, I think my Christmas spirit has returned!

Tonight marked our first official Christmasy thing – well, for Miss Five and I at least, sadly Papa Bear and Mister Four have been struck very ill this past coupla days. And you know what? I know it’s as cheesy as poutine (which, might I add, I’ve vowed never to try: fries are heaven. You don’t mess with heaven. That is all) but the thing is, all the hot chocolating, carolling, horse-carriage riding, even damnwell reindeer patting – and I’m not kidding, those things were REAL!!! – well, a little piece of my heart melted tonight.

Which was a good thing. Cos this is Canada. And it’s freaking cold out there.

We are living in a material world. And my son is a material…nutbag.

So we do this thing in our household where every birthday, Christmas or donation-of-hand-me-downs-from-friends that comes around, I rally up the pint-sized troops to clear out their own collection. Whereupon, we motor on down to our local charity bin, dump the lot, Mummy feels a lot better about moving in the clutter-free direction and toasts a champagne to her awesomeness.

Miss Six is a dream at this, so completely un-materialistic in fact, that her specific instructions to me this week were exactly this: “I pretty much don’t want anything of mine. Except my babies.” So, while my daughter had no qualms donating nine tenths of her entire toy stash, Mister Four spent the entire mission thumping fists, burning flags and singing various national anthems in protest. THIS: after donating a grand total of three – yes, that’s right, three toys. And they were crappy.

Aye me. Capitalism sure hits them young.

Wii Wii Wii, all the way home

A few pics for your viewing pleasure/nausea/whatever from the Loose Moose kids show. My kids are already in full frantic fan mode, obsessively reciting lines of dialogue, songs and rubbing in my face that their favourite character is not moi.

Ah me, the trials and tribulations of showbiz.

Hey, hey, hey! It’s Pete Wentz, Superdad!

I just had to chuckle at Jessica Simpson’s dad’s recent proclamations, as he awaits the birth of grand-celeb-spawn number 1:

“Pete is the king of details, so he wants to make sure the baby’s room is just right – the right colors, the right sheets, the right look.”

Fair enough. If I was a cashed up glamster I’d probably be the king of details too. This was not the source of my mirth, however.

That, was this little gem: “He’s a great parent.”

Uh…earth to Mister Simps-dude. She hasn’t popped it out yet. As awesome as your son-in-law may or may not be, the fact is that he’s at this point, the co-creator of a foetus. That is all. Choosing colors? Sheets? Looks? That’s all grand and all, but if that’s all there was to it, then slap me on Queer Eye and hand me the Mama of the Year award. Twice.

No, what I wanna see before we jump to such grandiose judgements is more of the “Is that a funky new streak in Pete’s hair? Oh no, that’s just projectile vomit…” variety. Or pumpkin soupy poo squirming its way down spandex. Or an exercise in picking out colored bed-sheets while little Mister/Miss Wentz-Simpson throws him/herself to the ground in a fit so dramatic that the little tike:

a) doesn’t even remember why they’re tantruming; and/or

b) gets so worked up that they wet themselves. Everywhere.

Deal with that shit graciously. In public. Then, I’ll give you some Myspace kudos, boy.

Why, God, why?

Why is it that my best friend Frankie’s baby bump is bigger than mine, even though we’re due on the exact same day?

Ah. Probably cos I’m carrying half of our foetus in my ass.

Jawsome.

You know you’re turning North American when…

…your six-year-old reacts to your request to clean up her room with “Sheesh!”

Bill Cosby: Live

It might have been the hormones, it might have been the back-ache that a day-long drive as an ever-more-heavy preggie woman can induce, it might have been the – in the words of ‘The Castle’ – vibe of the thing. Whatever the case, the fact is this: as Doctor Bill Cosby casually sauntered onto the stage with not so much as a voiceover introduction, I almost wept.

I’m not kidding.

Clocking in at just under two hours of stand-up (or sit-down, as is his very relaxed style), it really was an amazing thing to be privy to. I am so completely stoked that I made the effort to get there – and managed to score a bit of memorabilia in the form of a show poster to boot. That’s one for the pool room. Or the front door, for that matter.