It seems like I’ve spent at least 1/3 of my life in a van, on a plane, or chilling in a hotel room.
I’m not complaining. I don’t think I’d have it any other way. When I took my current writing gig, I figured…that’s it. No more tossing a duffle bag into the rear hatch, cracking a comic book, and watching the world go by.
No more highway bathroom breaks, or small town diners. No more games of “Deniro” or belting out songs that magically appear on the radio at the exact right moment.
It’s the end of the tour. The road’s disappeared (thank you, They Might Be Giants…).
But I was wrong. Thanks to this job, I’ve made it into provinces I never got to before…and a territory! I’ve sweated in a plush astronaut costume, climbed 20 foot screen mounts, screamed over flying banners, and cobbled together a broken projector with nothing but duct tape, a chunk of wood, and a prayer.
I’ve laughed as hard as I ever have in my life, memorized lines from The Simpsons (and many, many Bill Murray movies), sampled microbrews from all over the country, and eaten more plates of nachos than I ever thought possible (it’s tough in the Maritimes for a vegetarian).
Holy fuck....I think I might still love touring!
Now that my most recent tour is officially over, I’ve decided to write some stuff about my absolute favorite memories from my short life on the road. I hope you like them. Here’s the first.
1) Red Shorts Borges
Most of you already know this. Back in the mid-to-late 90’s, I was part of a comedy troupe called the Spleen Jockeys. Those of you that know this also know how much that time meant to me. Ray, Darren, and Justin are family. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for them. If I dedicated any more space describing how much I love these guys, this entry would be a fucking novel.
But there was our Fringe Tour, in 1998…
When I started the Spleen Jockeys, I never saw us as a touring group. In my youthful naiveté, I figured we’d do a couple of sketch shows, get picked up for a television show, become Canadian cultural icons, move to the States, and make a movie with Mike Myers.
I figured we’d break up at the height of our fame, in a fire-storm of malevolence and controversy, I’d go in and out of rehab, before dying a spectacular death, and rest of the Spleens would re-unite 10 years later, and maybe do a show at the Hollywood Bowl.
But it didn’t really go that way. Thankfully.
Justin was the guy that wanted to go touring. So we did. Our first venture was the Edmonton Fringe Festival, in 1997. Nobody was more surprised than us when our show was a hit.
I’ll be honest. We weren’t the best troupe in the country. Hell, I don’t even think we were the best in Winnipeg. But we were damn good friends, and we always had as much fun at our shows as our audience did. And I guess that counted for something.
After our success in Edmonton, we felt invincible! In 1998 we quit our jobs and scheduled a Fringe Tour across Canada. We (sadly) missed the deadline for Montreal, so our grand debut would be Toronto. Then it was back to Winnipeg, up to Fort McMurray (instead of Saskatoon), down to Edmonton, and over to Victoria.
The only hitch was that our long-time stage manager, Adam, was moving away.
This was upsetting. Adam is one of the best stage managers I have ever worked with. Nevertheless, the show had to go on, so Justin suggested another friend of ours to accompany us on the tour.
His name was Rob Borges, but we never called him that. We always called him “Gorgeous” Robby Borges.
At the time, Rob was an actor, like us. But he seemed to have a much better handle on stage-manager-type stuff than we did, so we figured he’d be a great fit for our merry little gang. And we were right. In his own, unique, way, Rob provided the Spleens with some of our most hilarious memories.
Rob’s most prominent personality trait was that he loved to argue. He wasn’t confrontational, or aggressive. He just loved the subtle art of debate. Except he wasn’t subtle. Rob’s favorite thing to do, when in conversation, was to make an utterly ridiculous statement, then refuse to back down, no matter how much (or how long) the rest of us argued with him. Among his incredible theories were…
1) A car is a time machine, because it gets you someplace sooner than walking.
2) You can get drunk if you drink enough water.
And my personal favorite:
3) Paul Newman and Axel Rose look a lot alike.
Rob delighted in saying stuff like this, and we delighted in taking the bait. The result was hours and hours of heated, circular, hysterically funny conversation. The miles on the road flew by as we tried our best to best the Gorgeous One. But there was no converting him.
And then there were his red shorts.
Rob was a frugal man. And while, I’m sure, he has since changed his habits, at the time he didn’t feel the need to change his clothes very much.
After all, we were on the road for most of the summer. Why would he bother weighing himself down with a suitcase full of clothes?
For pretty much the entire tour, from Lake Ontario to the Pacific Ocean, Rob’s uniform consisted of a Spiderman Sweatshirt and a pair of red shorts. We teased him about this mercilessly.
Rob defended himself by saying that he had packed 5 pairs of red shorts. Ray tested this theory by making a small ink mark on the seat of the shorts, one night, after Rob had gone to sleep.
Miraculously, the stain showed up on all 5 pairs.
Exhibit A
Rob took the brunt of our ribbing like the gorgeous gentleman that he is. But by the time we hit Edmonton, he had had enough of the comments about his red shorts. He made it quite known that any more comments about his attire would not be met with pleasure. So we gave him a bit of a break. After all, we had been on the road for a long time and, like all tours, eventually you all start to get on each others’ nerves. It was quietly agreed between the four of us that all red shorts comments should be curbed.
And that was that.
So we thought…
Apparently, Ray felt there was still some gas in the red shorts engine. And one night, onstage, he gave the pedal one last push.
He, Darren, and myself were onstage, in mid-sketch. Justin was backstage, getting into costume, about to enter. Ray was supposed to rattle off the names of famous musicians. And that’s when he slipped it in.
“And let’s not forget Red Shorts Borges”.
The reaction from the booth was swift, immediate and loud.
“FUCK YOU, RAY!”
And I collapsed.
The laughter started with me and spread quickly. Before long there were three Spleen Jockeys lying on the stage, gasping for breath, with tears in our eyes. Offstage, Justin lay prone, helplessly shaking on the floor in his costume, felled just before his big entrance.
The audience might not have known what was going on, but they understood that, for us, this was a profoundly hilarious moment, and they joined in. Even Rob could he heard hooting loudly from the booth, quickly recovering from his wounded feelings and joining in the mirth.
After ten minutes of laughter, Rob mercifully brought down the lights.
It was the only sketch of the night that we didn’t complete, but it was easily the best received.
Great pieces of theatre will change how you think and feel. They will drive home messages that you never saw before, and spur you to be the change that the world so desperately needs.
This was not a great piece of theatre. It was just five good friends laughing their guts out over a pair of ink-stained shorts. Nevertheless, it remains one of the most profound, most memorable moments I've ever experienced onstage.
And the man I have most to thank for it is Rob. Borges, you are truly, truly, the Gorgeous One.
Thanks, man.
More tomorrow. Maybe.
Jim Out.
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