Martha O'Neill

WARNING:  Unashamedly upbeat and positive blog to follow!

It’s two weeks since the Canadian Comedy Awards and I’m still buzzing about the whole thing.  What a wonderful weekend in Saint John, New Brunswick.  Truly, I had the time of my life.  Though now I’m paying for it (I swear my brain keeps forgetting to tell my body that I am NOT 20 years old anymore).

So here’s a little recap, from where I stood.

Arrived at Pearson in plenty of time to catch my 8:40am flight, where I ran into about 10 other comics (interestingly all ladies, except for Nathan Macintosh and Sean Cullen).  On the tiny plane, it sure felt like the start of a fun weekend.  However, about 30 mins into the flight, I went to the loo, only to discover that 95% of the comics were asleep.  Party on, Garth.

We were met at the airport in Saint John by reps from the CCA’s and a VERY enthusiastic Lori Gibbs (who was nominated in my category) – such a lovely lady (and so perky first thing in the morning – perky all the time, I later found out!).

After we checked into the hotel (harbour views of the Bay of Fundy!) had a wonderful lunch with a whack of comics – met Cory Mack and Scott Falconbridge amongst others and gorged on seafood.  Then down to the “green room” where a few of us had a few beers…getting sleepy; but headed back to the room only to run into Ron Sparks who invited me to tag along to the university gig he’d booked for the evening – would I like to play?  Of course!  Was a little nervous about the idea of playing for the kids – but they were wonderful.  Afterwards, headed off to catch the end of the Stand Up showcase (which featured many of the male & female nominees), then back to the hotel.  Shane arrived later that night and had a quiet drink in the bar with a rag tag mix of fest folks.

Next morning, was up early for a radio interview with Shelley Marshall at the local classic rock station (Big John 98.9).  I think it went well, though I was perhaps a little punchy due to lack of sleep mixed with adrenaline.  Walked through Saint John (holy crap, what a beautiful city…hilly as hell, but lovely).  Met Gordon Pinsent outside of the hotel – lovely man, so decided to spread the rumour that he & I were an item. Later bought gifts for the kids and Dad, then an all-too-brief nap, then off the awards.

Kudos to Harry Doupe who put together a first class night.  The Imperial Theatre was one of the loveliest I’ve seen and tickets were sold to the public, so it felt like a real event. The awards ceremony moved along at a good pace and though I didn’t win (Nathan “Newman” Macintosh did), really enjoyed the evening.  After the awards, met Gordon again, so told him I was spreading the word about him & I and not only was he cool with it, offered to have our first public fight on the street then and there! Such a gent.

Straight after the awards, I had to rush off to my “festival” show – the Late Show at the Phoenix.  Jon Dore hosted and myself, Nathan, Andrew Johnston (also a nominee in my category) and Shelley Marshall performed to a standing-room only (and tipsy, rather vociferous ) crowd.  Good times.

Returned to the hotel and green room around 1am only to discover that all the beer was gone – but clever me had stashed some in my room, along with other intoxicants so rallied forth into the wee hours.  My body was not pleased with me, but worth it in retrospect.

Have just realized that I’m going on and on, so this blog will have to be split into two parts – still have much to tell!  Check back next week for the gripping conclusion!  In the meantime check out the CCA’s website for the list of winners and photos from the weekend.

And (belated) Happy Thanksgiving all!  I know that I, for one, have much to be thankful for.

Everyone has pet peeves when they drive; things that make them crazy.  Mine is pretty constant, it’s always the car directly in front of me.

I don’t know if it’s similar to my other curse, the tall-guy-in-the-theatre-in-front-of-me, but man-o-man do I get stuck behind the worst drivers in all the world.  Or at least it feels that way.

Hey car-in-front-of-me, do you really need to make a left there?  Hmmm?  ‘Cause there’s no way for me to go around you, so now I must wait with you until there’s a gap the size of Manitoba for you to get out of my way.

And speaking of left turns car-in-front-of-me, when we’re at an advanced green, move immediately!  Don’t look up and get mesmerized by the flashing light and think “oh, there’s an advanced green, I guess I should go now” then crawl at such a pace that you are the only one to make it through.  But I guess that’s all that matters, right?  Bastard.

If you absolutely must make a turn, car-in-front-of-me, indicate using your turn signals more that 2 seconds before said turn goddammit.  You turning should not be a surprise to either of us.

And, for the love of God, drive at the posted limit, at the very minimum! 42 km/h in 50km/h zone makes me, the-car-behind-you, demented.  Ya, ya, you make not get a speeding ticket, but I will have cursed you to hell and back, and that’s infinitely worse in the long run.

On the highway, car-in-front-of-me, do NOT drive in the passing lane, unless you are passing!  Crazy concept, wrap your head around it.

Do you think a row stuffed animals peering out the back window at me will placate me, car-in-front-of-me?  It will not!  In fact it will send me into a frenzy of contempt.  What are you thinking, anyway?  Certainly not that a row of beady plastic eyes and faux fur is cute, right?  Or whimsical?  Demonic, is what it is.  Point the feckers inwards, if you must have them – let your kids be freaked out by their constant, vacant stares.

In fact, do me a favour.  Pull over and let ME be the car-in-front-of-you.  I’ll show you how it’s done.  Unless, of course, the new car-in-front-of-me is useless.  Which is likely.

My favourite part about funerals is the egg salad sandwiches; though a close second is the tuna.  I only wish they were bigger!  And those teeny-tiny plates – you seriously have to load up to get any value at all…grieving is hungry business, people!  You have to be pretty fast, too.  Otherwise, Aunt Edna gets all the egg and tuna, and all you’re left with is the ham, which is usually one measly slice; detritus, really.

The part I like least about funerals is that they are no fun at all – and the word “fun” is right there, in the word “funeral”!  Talk about an annoying misnomer.  But I’ll tell you something right now, my funeral will be fun.  Big time.

First of all, I want it to be over-booked, so that there’s a queue outside.  There should be velvet ropes and a bouncer outside, so when people walk by the church, they’ll say “Hey, what’s going on in there?!  Looks like good times!”  A wristband policy should be considered.  The bouncer can also enforce a strict “no crying” policy; crying = not fun = out.

Inside, I want the pews arranged in a circle, none of that row after row of anti-social stare-at-the-back-of heads palaver for my big day.  I should be in the middle, natch.
And entertainment, I definitely want entertainment. Not sure what, but definitely no clowns. But there should be a magician.  Maybe a magician who could do a disappearing trick with my body…open the coffin – there she is – close the coffin “abra-cadabra” (or “abra-cadaver” heh, heh) – open it again – I’m gone!  How cool would that be?  He wouldn’t even have to bring me back; just leave me wherever it is magicians send things.  That way, we could skip the annoying burial and my kids could sell the (mildly used) coffin on eBay.

And there will be gift bags for everyone.  Filled with all my shit that’s not worth saving for the family, but too good to throw away, like my houseplants and tennis racket, stuff like that.  Though there could be a raffle for my charm bracelet or something else decent, just to up the stakes a bit.

But the best part will be the MASSIVE amount of egg and tuna sandwiches, on dinner plates.  So, go on Aunt Edna, help yourself.  You’re welcome.

Dear 1989 Me,

Hi! It’s 2009 me, writing to give you a heads up about a few things.  Now, I’m not going to ruin all the fun and tell you everything, but thought it’d be helpful for you (erm, me) to have a few hints and tidbits to make everything easier all around.  You’re welcome!

First off, don’t give a second thought to that ass Andy.  He’s a narcissistic jerk who doesn’t care about you at all.  Stop calling him and showing up at the pub hoping to see him.  Seriously, you’re making a fool of yourself and he’ll be a blip of a memory soon enough.  But do start being friendly to any Irish guys you may meet in the next few years.

Appreciate how thin you are!  Yes, you are thin… trust me on this one.

Don’t have any more perms.

Enjoy that racoon fur coat you got as a grad gift as much as you can…soon, you’ll be forced to put it in a trunk in the basement never to be worn again.  Confusing, I know, just enjoy it & its silken deliciousness.

Skip “Turner & Hooch” and “The Cook, The Thief, His wife and Her Lover”.  Your time would be better spent rolling around in piles of poop.

Consider writing a book about a school for young wizards.  You might want to call the main character Harry Potter and the school Hogwarts.  In fact, don’t write just one book, write a whole whack of ‘em, like 7.  But do it soon!

Buy as much stock as you can for Microsoft, Time and Warner.  Like, give up nights out and clothes to do it.  Do NOT buy Exxon stock!!!

Also, buy a PC instead of that stereo.

Start writing jokes, or at least start a notebook and write down anything funny that occurs to you.

Spend less time with those friends who suck the life out of you!  You know who I mean, they’re fun, yes, but you would be better off without ‘em.  And don’t worry about a being a social retard at times.  The people who count won’t mind one little bit.

Don’t forget to wear make up to driver’s license photos renewals.  R.I.D.E. cops can be assholes.  And in the same vein, always come to a COMPLETE stop at the corner of Isabella and Huntley in Toronto.

And always, always wear sunscreen and moisturizer.  Just do it.

That’s all for now; but don’t worry, all will be well.

Recently, I was working on a premise, so had reason to look up the Ten Commandments (long story). While I was doing so, I realized that, for all intents and purposes, when applied to comedy, we really shouldn’t follow the Ten Commandments, in fact, we should do the opposite! Blasphemous, likely, but bear with me whilst I illustrate what I mean:

1. You shall have no other Gods but me.
** Does this count comedy gods? I mean, number 1 leaves little room for Bill Hicks, Mitch Hedberg, Bill Cosby etc. etc.

2. You shall not make for yourself any idol, nor bow down to it or worship it.
** A microphone, a stage, a stool and an audience… sorry God.

3. You shall not misuse the name of the Lord your God.
** Take swearing out of stand up?! Not gonna happen. I can’t think of any club comic who never drops a J-bomb or G-bomb now and again! Sheesh.

4. You shall remember and keep the Sabbath day holy.
** Sunday is part of the weekend. When comics work. For money. Enough said.

5. Respect your father and mother.
** Unless a story or two about them makes for a hilarious bit.

6. You must not kill.
** Well, this one needs very little expansion… all comics want is to kill. Duh.

7. You must not commit adultery.
** Erm, what happens on the road, stays on the road. (NB – does not apply to me, but ya know, I’ve heard stories…).

8. You must not steal.
** Okay, this one does NOT apply to my theory. Don’t steal.

9. You must not give false evidence against your neighbour.
** This one is a fancy way of saying “don’t lie”. Lying for the greater good (i.e. greater laugh) is how we roll.

10. You must not be envious of your neighbour’s goods. You shall not be envious of his house nor his wife, nor anything that belongs to your neighbour.
** Comics make so little money, all we have is coveting!

So, I think I’ve proved my point. It’s just a little sad that we’re all going to burn in Hell. Could that be worse than bombing? Time will tell.