Carolyn Bennett Writer/Comic

“It’s not urgent, but we need you to get a mammogram asap” Nothing like coming home to this message on the old voice mail to make a gal’s Monday night. At least it was my doctor calling and not some recorded message, like Emily at Bell -- For leukaemia, press one. For biopsy press two. For carcinoma press three. If I ever met Emily I’d shove her into an alley and put the boots to her London student protest style …Ah, the London student protests of last week … takes me back to the riots of Thatcher’s England. Ah sweet bird of youth! You know you’re getting older when your blog becomes a forum to kvetch about health matters. As if you care … But care I must. Seems some nasty cells have accumulated in my fun bags. It’s disconcerting thinking I may have some gunk blotting otherwise pristine landscape. Must say, I’ve always been proud of my guns. They are the stuff of sonnets, of ballads and monosyllabic grunts. But even I saw something on the ultrasound when the technician smoo...

CBC TV gets a couple of things right. Hockey. Investigative journalism. Hockey.  Did I mention hockey. What it also get right it covering the Remembrance Day Ceremony in Ottawa. I was home yesterday (don’t mean to brag) and tuned into the Ceeb to watch. There on my set the National War Memorial gleamed under a brilliant sky. Throngs of people spilled onto the street and around the memorial. There’s something about Remembrance Day that gives the Parliament buildings a sharper feel, a more regal presence. War is both ancient and timeless and Canada, our young tender nation, has a footnote in the annals of history. Our people were there … and our people are there. That we are able to pray as a nation together on this day is a treat. We’re not comfortable evoking God in public (let the Americans do that), but every now and then mentioning that old chestnut is reassuring. It classes up the occasion. I did wonder though, seeing how both a minister and a rabbi spoke, if a...

I never thought I’d be happy to write those two little words. On Tour. After a decade of abandoning questionable one-nighters in favour of writing for other people from the comfort of my home office, I am gigging once again. Not with any voracity, but I am putting mouth to microphone in hope of inspiring others. The topic is “Fun in Sobriety” A.K.A. life after drinking and drugging. I get to do a couple of my favourite things – preach and make people laugh. One without the other seems insincere. When I say preach, what I mean is … well, preach, I suppose. Offer up my story as a cautionary tale. Bear witness to the joys of being clear-headed. Yes, I know the idea of “story” is being appropriated left and right. You can’t watch an advertisement without someone sharing their “story” about how a product or service changed their life. “Narrative” is the buzzword du jour in communication circles. But testifying is as old as humanity itself. I swear; it’s true. There – I just testified....

This document has come to my attention via Mr. Milo Savanich (see his profile at http://www.responsiblewingnuts.com/ ), who purports to be a reputable internet source. I post it for the sake of public knowledge. [Rob Ford is a mayoral candidate for the City of Toronto. The election is Monday October 25, 2010.] Below is an abridged version of Rob Ford’s known brushes with the law: May, 1988 Ford is accused of streaking at a Toronto Argonauts football game. Mischief charge is dropped when police realize it wasn’t Ford, but another fat white guy. Aug. 23, 1990 Police are summoned to an Etobicoke Quiltmakers Society reception when attendees complain Ford is “too loud” and “ruining a perfectly fine evening”. Sept. 4, 1992 Ford drives his Oldsmobile Cutlass into a tree in what the Etobicoke Tattler later reports as "driver fatigue" caused by a "chemical imbalance." Police only notice Ford had been knocked unconscious 45 minutes into questioning. Oct. 2...

It's a balmy evening here in the T Dot, the T.O., the TeeRonToe. It's a calm, mellow night. A person gets used to the heat in August. August is the middle age of summer, July's older sibling. September is the dutiful eldest of the summer bros. September, bah, too serious. The sun feels a little rounder in August, the twilight gleams a little earlier. I was bounding up the subway stairs at around 8:45 the other night, emerged onto Yonge street and was positively enchanted by the wash of  pale yellow light. That's right people, I was enchanted. Let me rephrase that --- that's right one person who might be reading this because you accidentally stumbled upon this blog -- I was enchanted. It's the transient appearance of subdued light that keeps me from talking on a cell phone or texting outdoors. I remember light. I remember its particulars. I remember the incandescent light in the bathroom from my childhood, the way it brought out the...

Could've been the whiskey Might've been the gin… Well kids, did you have fun at G20 Central? Did you enjoy watching hooligans smash store windows and torch police cars? Did you tweet your friends to say “here on Queen Street, guy just lit cop car on fire, SSOOO great.”? Did you feel like the Leafs had just won the Stanley Cup? I mean, didn’t it feel like one big celebration? You really did fuck the new world order. Now it’s time to go back to the suburbs and work on that novel or study law or create sustainable eco-fashion. In 40 years you can tell your kids or grandkids that you were there man, at the G fuckin’ 20 in the T-Dot. Better yet, show them all the video and pictures of yourself smiling beside guys kicking in doors and spitting on cops. You kids ROCKED the G20. Police Chief Bill Blair politely called you the”naïve and curious”. I call you middle class white kids who don’t know the meaning of the word suffer. Meanwhile, your vicarious thrills may have cost legiti...

It’s been a sad time here at Bennettworld. We have been mourning the loss of comedian Eric Tunney, a wit, gentleman and elegance personified. Eric’s death has hit me hard on a number of levels. I remember having a heart-to- heart with him in Edmonton when I lived there in the early ‘90s. He was on tour and performing at Yuk Yuks. We talked about the business, our insecurities, our dreams. I don’t think Eric was aware of his own magnetism. Being in close proximity to him felt like sunshine. His beauty made me swoon. I never made a play for him; certainly never felt I was in his league. Instead, I stood at the back of the room like the other comics and marveled at his presence. Much has been made of Eric’s battle with depression. In a Toronto Star article comedian John Wing wrote about a memorial in L.A. with standup veterans and how “we wondered why we’d been successful and he had not, since it had nothing to do with talent.” I know Mr. Wing meant well, but the sentiment comes off as ...

January never happened. Let’s just put January out of our minds. No more mention of January. January is a distant memory. If it happened, which it didn’t. How can we remember something that never happened? Don’t forget that January never happened. I want to share with you an early draft of Tiger Woods' apology. While I wasn’t the speechwriter, I have it on good authority that this is legitimate. Tiger Wood’s Apology: Draft 04 Good morning, and thank you for joining me. Many of you in this room are my friends. Many of you in this room know me. Many of you have cheered for me or you’ve worked with me or you’ve supported me. Many of you may even be jealous of me. I make a lot of money hitting a ball. Millions and millions of dollars. I don’t even know the exact amount of money I make, it’s so much. Let’s just say it’s more than $2000 and less than the U.S. national debt. I know people want to find out how I could be so selfish and so foolish. People want to know how I could have done ...