Movies speak to and resonate with each of us differently.  On the heels of the movie about the drunken, no good, out of work bear named TED being released on DVD, my alignment with the cool TED begins. Right out of left field I was submitted and chosen to speak at a TEDx event in my coastal Canadian home town. Could be that it was more right out of top field being that this is where we’d hang out doing bad things during school hours.   Coincidentally this is where the new theatre stands and where TEDx Powell River happens tomorrow.

Those unfamiliar with TEDx and TED have assumed that i’ll be showing up and doing my act.  That would be like getting an invite to the Met Gala and wearing what you got on right now.   I’ve taken this as an opportunity to be a little braver which is saying a lot because some of the venues i’ve performed in over the last couple of decades have scared the living shit out of me.  My intention is to substantially up my game, get outside of the safety net of only being a public goofball and take a box cutter to the space i’ve been shoved into.

What does that mean?   Not a clue but I find that getting whipped into a deep end once in a while  good for the creative juices.  It turns down the volume on those that disregarded your potential or marginalize your contribution.  Turns it up on your own inner advocacy. That’s a writerly way of saying “I’ll show them!” which I can’t pretend is not a motivating factor for me.  The “them” changes but the purpose never does.  Have always been the kid that spent much time and energy proving something to someone.  Defiance is my driver. More often than not this critical voice is calling from inside the head but this kind of multiple personality disorder conflict has proven very successful in the past so going with it.  Irving Berlin said it best in Annie Get Your Gun. “No You Can’t!  Yes I Can! Yes I Can!”

Although Ted the movie made a lot of sense to me being that i’ve come to know and love many bong toting couch surfers, many of the movies that spoke to and resonated with me were from the eighties.  We’ve all done the “Big Mistake! Huge!” in a store where a clerk treated us poorly.  Although not in a tunnel, i’ve whipped a shoe at a Porsche after a nice dinner.  I can’t count how many times i’ve said “It’s not even leath-ah!” when coming across an overpriced dress.  For me right now it’s riding across alone on the Staten Island Ferry, drinking a beer and pondering life, humming Carly Simon, heading toward something unknown but enjoying the feeling of new-found strength in my backbone.

Asking for the taking.  Trembling.  Shaking. Givener.

As the day of green beer and ancestry manipulation arrives, I am down one soul.  As poetic as it is to have happened on St. Patrick’s Day, my beloved neighbour from down the road, Irish Pete,  has moved on.  Not to heaven, just to Pickering.  I live in one of those rare neighbourhoods where I know my neighbours which is normal for me, being that I grew up in a tiny fishing community, but odd in this large place that I now find myself.  Or so it has been pointed out to me like i’m doing it wrong.

Irish Pete is one of those quintessential immigrants full of piss n’ folklore living a life that will eventually be set to a melody.  A former professional boxer who, when he takes his walk around the block, makes gentle fists that you know could take you down in one swing.  On the occasions that i’ve joined him,  I take the outside because i’d rather absorb a car than an accidental Celtic jab.  His eyes are always just shy of shedding a tear and ever so slightly wonky from years of hits to the head.  He’s almost pretend he’s so real.

In our time together on this street, he lost his sweetheart that he had cared for so tenderly through a long and difficult illness.  He lost his gorgeous german sheppherd Bailey.  (What did you think his name would be, Claus?)  And after a stoically appropriate Irish time of mourning, he let one gossipy neighbour have it full guns and he was back.  The spirited twinkle that was lost for a while returned.  It took a good fight, as it should.  She lost.

If I could be so bold and preach a smidge of my small town doctrine,  see what you can do to know your neighbours a little bit.  Communities don’t just have to be through churches or ethnicities, they can be from just plain old geography.  It’s quite possible that you are sleeping with some of them, a wall or alleyway the only thing between you.  As a collector of stories,  I could not make up what it looked like to have an 80 year old Irish boxer learn to play beer pong in my back yard surrounded by my family.

That being said, if the people that buy his house are arsholes, I will pretend I don’t see them.

For Immediate Release:

Anna Gustafson and Yuk Yuks have announced that their storybook marriage has come to an end.

In a statement Tuesday night, the power couple announced their separation after rumors swirled over the weekend that dissolution was imminent.

“While we have enjoyed many very loving, loyal and happy years of talent coordination together, after much soul searching we have decided to separate,” the statement read. “We have had the deepest respect for one another throughout our relationship and continue to love each other very much, but we have grown apart. This is an amicable process and protecting the well-being of our priorities remains our top consideration, especially during this time of transition. We thank our family, friends, and fans for their kind words of support. And for our  sake, we appreciate you respecting our privacy.”

The couple joined in the late 1990′s and has no prenuptial agreements.  Irreconcilable priorities has been cited.  Gustafson will continue as the primary caregiver of their only son Steven Kravitz who resides in Los Angeles.

Canadian Source: The Independent