The 100th Post

It's been a hundred posts after this one. Much has changed since the night I feverishly ran around Calgary late at night, seeking a internet cafe so I could add to this new writing tool I had. A spirtual treatment triggered this, and it's nice to see how it has been here everywhere I have gone, which finds me surprisingly in Montreal now, casually strolling downtown after a show in a new place, to sit and write some thangs.

Lots has happened in 100 posts, which is what this time period shall be called. fuck four score and ten years ago, it's now '100 posts and three naps ago'. I no longer call Toronto home. I no longer call anything home. As my girlfriend - another new addition - reminds me, I am sorta from nowhere. I'm just here, wherever that is.

Montreal is a diffirent city in many ways other than language. It's pace is quicker, yet smoother. It is more aggressive, but equally seductive. If Toronto is Steak and Lobtser, this place is caviar. You could smoke a pipe (of varying types) down the street here and look no more out of place than the hasidic jew. It's a good city, this place - one I call as much a home as any.

The challenges in my life are new ones now. I have passed the previous level with varying degrees of success and marks that were good enough to get my by. These tribulations will be new ones, draw more strength from me, challenge me and help to define me. If I was a golfer, I'd say I'm developing a new swing. it'll be the same swing - just more power, accuracy and grace. More money for after golf beers, too.

No more golf meteaphors. No more writing for now, either. Fuck you - I'm in Donwtown Montreal, sitting on Ste. Catherines on a Saturday night with another show to do and somebody to see after. Things are good. Much is ahead, little of which is easy. I anticipate it all with a smile, a light heart and a quiet confidence that tells me no matter what, it will be ok.


What will 200 look like? Better go make it happen.

A Good Day Brings This

I'm in Vancouver now. I love this city. I could live here. There is a constant buzz of life. Beings living peace and harmony. City infastructure sits in the shados of nature's true beauty - and me, walking around drinking coffee, smoking 'my last ever cigarette' thinking I finally get it here and, damn, am I lucky I get to do a show here tonight.

The show last night was very good. I was happy with it. Room for improvement still and always, but more shows like last night equal less days of being broke. The tide is turning and I, lucky to catch the wave.

Talk after the show turned to art and philosophy, two of my favorite subjects. Rarely are these two values spoken of amongst peers in my former city of residence. Ideas are important here, and my friends in this city hold the same values. Che Guevara was exposed as a manipulated minion of Castro, who has inspired the name of my yet-to-be-formed band; Castro's Karma. As soon as I learn to make music, there will be no stopping Castro's Karma.

I need some clothes. I don't have what could be called a 'wardrobe'. What I do have is 'Clothes that are cleaner than others'. Perhaps that is not the best system of design, but honest it is, and I must live by the style my economic reality has dictated. If I was rich, which to me is enough money for both bills AND fun, I would probably dress the same - I would just do less laundry.

Tonight one idea I have for comedic discussion is Jessica and Ashley Simpsons parents. I think it's too bad that their loser father has pushed them to display publically their mediocrity just so old men and prisoners can masterbate to their image. That's bad parenting. I'm gonna make fun of him good and people will laugh. Then, the audience and I, we will all buy guns and storm the legisla...uh, too much Cuban Revolution going on in the mind. Castro's Karma is powerful.

The Flames won last night and the it appears the team is settling slowly into place. Much like their number one fan, the steps are small ones but without question, headed in the right direction.

"You're a Well Read Vagabond"

"Pleased to meet you take my hand,
There is no way back from here,
Pleased to meet you say your prayers,
There is no way back from here,
But I don't care,
No way back from here"

Foo Fighters - No Way Back

--------


Waves of good energy flowing in. Becoming positive rage. Much is good as things wind down on the West side.

I'm now around day 50 of vagabonding. Shows no sign of ending. I'm getting cool with it. It takes awhile to get used to but now I don't foresee it ending anytime soon. Wherever the wond blows, I was told, is where I will end up, and that - that is just fine with me.

After weeks and weeks of work out here, it seems to me that I have grown quite a bit as a comic; moreso as a man. My armor is ready for the inevtiable attacks that the world will throw my way, my psyche tougher than it's ever been and my heart fearless. If I can be modest, honest....I'm liking the man I am becoming. I have many roads to travel, all of which will be full of twists and turns and a rut or two along the way, but with absence of fear I shall navigate them, full of the knowledge that that which does not stop me will make me even more powerful. Without calling on the spirits to throw me more of the roadblocks they have been so effective in presenting, I feel that although nothing is easy, nothing is outside the realms of my ability.

My insatiable desire for victory is becoming a driving force that I cannot soothe with anything but triumph. My gears are set for over-drive, idling until the situation deems it necessary. In this meantime, like a shark, I cruise in low gear, looking, listening, taking in all that I need to see, so when the moment arises, my preparation is at it's fullest and my attack most fierce. "Until The Victory Always"

My vagabonding days consist of reading and listening. Watching and being. Sleeping, talking, taking in. I recomend this to anybody. The key, it seems as I see it now, is to let go of everything and pick and choose that which comes to you. It will come. Realize the whole world is your home. That is the key - it seems now. More vagabonding will teach me even more and offer me the opportunity to share it, too.

I have been blessed to meet several people who have contributed to my collection of understandings. If I had never taken this leap, I never would have. Yes - there is no way back from here, which is wonderful....I didn't leave because I wanted to return.


You will hear more from me. In fact, I have hardly begun.

Cryptic doesn't mean dumb

The world as it was drawn was never correct. I lived it by their rules. Living by their standards, up to their ideals, thinking that was the way.

I was wrong.

My turn.

Whatever happens next will.

My turn at the helms.

Another perspective

I was in Saskatoon a few weeks ago. It turned out to be one of the wildest expereinces I've had in any walk of life in recent memory. I will share a side of the story.

I don't feel like explaining it too much. Thought about it all the time and figure there's another time to write about ir - just not now.

Luckily, a new friend and prospective journalist was there and captured it all. It's mostly as I recall it. Plus, my side would be so one-sided, so pro-Brett. That's a good thing, but sometimes it's nice to register an outside view as an official one, too.

So, enjoy.

http://shyangela.blogspot.com/2005/09/grace-under-fire.html


-----------------

Getting near the end of this tour. As my energy re-fills, I shall write more. As it stands now, I want to play guitar.

The Weekend in Numbers

Venue: Calgary Yuk Yuks

Position: Master of Ceremonies

Shows: 7

Times onstage as MC: 30

Times more fatigued I am after this than normal: 10

Number of free drinks recieved: 2-4 (descrepency from bar tab)

Number of shows where I was me, as a man: 2.5

Number of shows I was an "MC" and told jokes rather than be me, a man: 4.5

Timed anger at self for mistake above normal rate: pi

Number of vistis to the gym: 1

Number of free newspapers recieved: 1

Number of small ceaser salads recieved: 1

Number of times I gave off the wrong impression, as seen in others eyes: many

Total bar tab at weeks end: $22

Number of pizza joint that delivers shit fucking pizza at 3:30 am in the indutrial part of Calgary: 403-531-3131

Number of times I will re-order from same venue: 0

Percenrtage likelihood that pizza chef was a fucking idiot: 83%

Games of chess played: 2

Games won: 0

Games ongoing because friend had to leave: 1

Games won by default: 1

Amount of sleep I need: lots

Blogs by Brett

Blogs are a wonderful tool made neccesary by human being inability to deal with emotional truth face-to-face. The trouble with bligs are not the people who write the, rather the people who read them. If you are reading this now, or if you ever have, and thought you found infomation that can be used for selfish gain, you must die violently and misrably. This is a platform of free-thought and expression, one which should exist in every capacity if not for the emotional weakness of those in the herd who can't handle truth, and must have all information spoon-fed to them in docile, safe language.

If you are a co-worker of any kind, and read this, or any other blog, and think this information is relevant in 'real life', it would be if you had the emotional strength to speak in such truths. The faceless anonymity of the internet can be achieved in real life if you care only for the expression of your thought and not the popularity of it's result.

That is the reason chat-rooms are so damn popular. Everybody is shielded by facelessness. Easy to tell the boss to fuck off online. Do it to their face if you have any strength.

The internet is good for trivia, porn, and stealing music. Blogs ARE a good tool, but one that should be replaced by something even more important - truthing up at all times. They are not the replacement for truth and honesty in real life.

Weekend Stats - Cranbrook

Part of the fun of being a Sports fan is getting to follow the stats. The Arts tend not to offer the same service - until this point. I present the Stats and other vital information for the weekend:

Number of Cowboys I lipped off - 3

Number of Cowboys who bought me drinks - 1

Number of Cowboys I thought would beat me down - 3

Number of bottles thrown at me - 0

Number of bottles of HP sauce I took home with me - 1

Number of jokes I made about raping myself - 1

Number of times I'd thought about that before I said it - 0

Number of complimentary drinks given by the bar - 0

Percentage of people wearing mauve - %32

Line of the Weekend - "Every time I tell an AIDS joke, an Angel loses it's wings"

Number of Ketchup packets in my White Spot Triple O burger bag - 2

Number of packets desired - 6

Percentage likelihood of my telling them off next time I order a burger - %100

Number of colds gathered from the germ filled hotel room - 1

Average age of of bar clienetelle downstairs - 17

Average dirty old mans' thought upon seeing said young crowd - awesome

Number of drinks bought for me downstairs - 2

Percentage of drinks bought for me that weren't paid for by my fellow comic - %0

Number of times I became snitty with the whole idea of the bar - countless

Number of times I woke up before noon - 2

Number of times I was happy to be awake before noon - 0

Number of times I filled my plate at the Breakfast buffet - 2

Number of times I 'Took a Break' on stage - 2

Number of time I'd like to return to Cranbrook - 0

Percentage likelihood of my returning - %50

Reason for %50 return chance - $$$

Percentage of my brain that thinks $$$ is a good reason to return - %15

Amount of brain space that thinks about rent and bills - %15

Amount of brain space I could do without - %15

Percentage of fear that now, because of that brain joke, that I will develop a tumor and require brain surgery that takes away %15 of my brain - %1000

Percentage likelihood that if I do have brain surgery that the hospital will be in Cranbrook - %100

Number of times I was happy to be onstage - 2/2

Cranbrook / I Feel Diffirent / The Good In Everyone

I'm in Cranbrook now. A shitty little mountain town. Amazing how such natural beauty can spawn such a crappy town. It's ugly, run-down and the people are mostly retarded. It took me an hour to locate this internet terminal. The old internet cafe closed down, the new one had it's computer (yes, the ONE) stolen, and the college is closed. I had to go to the mall and ask the 'Circuit City' dudes where I could find the internet. Always rely on the electronic people to know of such places. Naturally, it was located across the street in a Wrap deli.

My ire has been stirred by these people. They really are about eight steps slower than most cats I have met. Outside the box thinking is not a trait here that couod best describe the populace. Oh, yes, there are the excpetions, and to them I owe the world, but the majority should think of moving to New Orleans. Myabe I'm just in a tiff.

The show last night was great fun. I was brilliant and named king of the mountain people by the redneck audience. I fathered eight children and built a truck. Mount Brett was renamed Mount Brett in my honor, and I healed a lepor. In other words, the shows are at adequate levels and I am content.

While I was waiting to ask for internet use at this wrap place, a Cranbrookian was struggling to choose what she wanted on her wrap. She, a slow mountain person. Me - impatient. I was getting very angry and tempted to break my vow of celebant violence when it hit me harder than I could have - the good in everyone. For all these people are as ass-backwards as can be, they still have good in them. It's not her fault she's never seen that many options in any form in her life, she just wanted to eat some food that would taste good and noursish her. Her intentions were pure while my anger was soiled by lack of thought. I relaxed but still must learn patience with these humans.

All in all, something good is happening. Septmeber 30th is a momentous day in my life. I met, who was to that point, the most influential women in my life on the 30th years ago. Last year, I moved to Toronto. When I was James Dean 50 years ago, I died in a car accident. September 30th this year will be recalled as the day I brought good-will to the people of Cranbrook, even when I all I wanted to do was hit them in the neck. September has ended and I am awake.