04/28/05

I had a gig last night. I went to Fairmont Springs with Doc Barham. He was a good guy to travel with. I think we hit it off. We traded war stories from the glory days of old school punk, and had a good time trashing Baby Bush.

Fairmont Springs is a little resort town in the interior of British Columbia. The Golf course there has a show. More to the point, they have a room, a big one, which was mostly empty. (A room designed for about 200, and I’d stay with all honesty there was less than 10 percent of that…) It was notably very cold and unforgiving. (I’m pretty sure it’s a place where they send comics just to keep them humble…)

Even the bar staff were borderline hateful. There was an obvious air of resentment from the second we walked through the door. The staff at the venue were quite curt, and seemed really put out by having a comedy show in the bar. I was shocked. I don’t expect handshakes and kisses on the cheek, but something more than a grimace might be nice.

The bar barely made an attempt to put the show on. They should have put up a sign that said “Please leave your dignity and self esteem at the door.” At least that way you could be forewarned. (I’m not sure that being forearmed would have mattered much.)

The bartender (in a polite, yet clearly annoyed fashion…) walked up to the stage with me, and then just kinda pointed at the P.A. I got the crash course, and then he lumbered off.

So I started the show… And it sled straight to hell from there. It just might have been the most awkward time I have ever had on stage. I felt like I was trapped in a fishbowl. I’ve never been gawked at like that before. It was like I had just told the audience I set fire to all their children. If this kick to my ego had been measured in monetary terms, I’d be fighting off debt collectors and loan sharks right now.

Doc’s set wasn’t much better either. He fought hard to win them over, but it was like watching someone try to squeeze blood from a turnip. He was disappointed, but put up with it like a trooper.

This morning I had a chat with the woman who runs the Spruce Grove Motel. (Our quaint accommodations… Nice, but a little sparse…) Apparently the little fracas that happened in Cranbrook last week has made the rounds. She had heard that the show had been going well (I chose not to correct that assertion…) and then chaos erupted.

It feels like I have some sort of BC monkey on my back. I never do well there. (Other than Vancouver…) The interior seems to have a big stick in its ass. Perhaps it’s the kooky fundamentalist Christian thing that runs rampant there. It’s more than a little ominous. There are signs that say things like “Jesus is the Lord of this Valley” all over the place, frankly its creepy.

I will never begrudge anyone for his or her faith, it’s not my right, or my place, but as near as I can tell, it’s a very personal thing. (Or at least it should be.) I keep my spiritual beliefs close to my chest, because they belong to me. No one else needs to know them.

I fail to understand the need for billboard-sized proclamations. I think that’s unique to Christian based belief systems. You never see Buddhists hauling out the plywood and paint to advertise. Muslims seem to get along nicely with out it too. (Other than the odd flaming effigy… but really that’s a political thing based more on the right to exist than a proclamation of faith.)

Anyway… I’m tired now.