Love Your Weird Tour Underway

Wow!  Holy hell did I have a fun time at St. Catharines last night as I kicked off the Love Your Weird tour.  And what a wild ride it’s been to get to this point.  Monday and Tuesday I finished writing the show, and last night was my first chance to perform it for a live audience.  I was about as nervous as one could be to do so: the show’s pushing me out of my comfort zone as both a writer and performer, and I had no idea if the set would be a disaster – or worse, TEDIOUS!

I don't know how I thought a man in a kilt could ever be considered tedious, though...

I don’t know how I thought a man in a kilt could ever be considered tedious, though…

Well, the cats at St. Catharines are among the most supportive you’ll meet, and it felt like everything was well-received.  I can say with certainty that at least one person received it well, my friend Bassam, who described the show as “cinnamon dust bunnies loaded into dynamite q-tips.”

Well, shit!  That’s what I was hoping to hear.  If that stokes your curiosity, I’ll be at Capital Slam in Ottawa tonight at Maxwell’s on Elgin, Throw Collective in Montreal tomorrow at Le Divan Orange, and then back into the GTA region late next week following a Wednesday night workshop at McGill put on by the McSWAY club.  You can also find the full schedule here.

But if you’re curiosity’s not quite totally stoked, here’s a little taste of the show to stoke it:

“and i would go so far as to say
we are all love songs.

but not love.
no. not LoooOoove.

not a candy cane soap opera
or a sweet and sour sugar glaze.

not a shot of butterscotch
or a toffee pudding after story.

nor a cheese-dip yoga pose,
a cocoa buffet,
or a meat strip slather party.

no. love like a sweat stain.

like a drunk rabbit dodging cats.

like a pickpocket handshake,
a jalapeno slaughterhouse,
a blood-stained high heel.

like a barbed wire massage
and nothing but sore muscles,

a puddle of dust turned microverse,

a cook-fire,

a four-pronged tuning fork
bent out of shape,

a ravishing wildebeest,

an atomic bomb
whispering the only word it knows –


the way we didn’t speak for two hours
only looked at one another
after i handed her a note which read
if eyes were lips,
when ours met there was a furious make-out session.”

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