(Disclaimer: The material that follows is bit more personal than my usual dreck, but that’s really why you’re here isn’t it? Anyway, rest assured I am most certainly not curled up in a fetal position in a corner somewhere… I’m fine, really, and thanks for asking!)

Way back in high school I read a fantastic novel called Sister Carrie, and was a bit surprised to hear in a classmate’s book report that its author had led a pretty miserable existence.

Now me, I’ve had a pretty damn good run, both personally and professionally. And yet it seems that personal drama has repeatedly reared its ugly head along with milestones in my career.

Consider that I apparently did my best, Dora-nominated work at The Second City while recovering from a bit of a broken heart. And just today I’ve been offered the director’s chair of their National Touring Company in the midst of my girlfriend of three years walking out on me.

Like I said, I’m not looking for pity here. Rather, I look to the long, not-so-proud lineage of brilliant comedians—and artists for that matter—who’ve ended up dead of a drug overdose in their underwear on some hotel bathroom floor. Not to suggest, of course, that I think of myself as the former or will end up like the latter!

Yet I wonder… Is there some inverse and perverse ratio between personal happiness and artistic success? Or am I just making a big deal out of a coincidence? Come on you showbiz-types, here’s your chance to dish!

A no-brainer or career suicide? Whatever the case may be, I’ve just turned down the chance to spend four months on board this cruise ship performing with The Second City.

I’d be away from November to March of next year, and would miss Christmas with my family and friends. But I’d only have to perform two shows a week, and would have full access to the ship’s many amenities the rest of the time.

The long contract certainly gave me pause, but the deciding factor turned out to be the sleeping arrangements—sharing a tiny cabin with a roommate that I don’t necessarily know is something that this crotchety old SC alum just wasn’t prepared to do. I had no problem sleeping six to a tent in Bosnia, but on a boat-load of American tourists I would absolutely need some kind of guaranteed personal space.

I will, however, get a small taste of the Caribbean when I accompany Ray Deonandan to T&T for his appearance at CARIFESTA at the end of September. We’ll be sharing a room, but for a couple of days I think I can manage…

About the show, click right here and be rewarded with your very own souvenir poster, suitable for mass emailing! It also has all the deets about the time and place of the big show.

… See you Saturday!

Pictured above is six-tenths of my current Conservatory Class, who as you know have their grad show on Saturday, May 27th on The Second City Mainstage.Tonight they will experience a Second City rite of passage as their director (me) produces the running order of scenes for that show.

In an instant, all the work they’ve been doing since last September gets crystallized into two 45-minute acts. There is usually much discussion that follows, along with complaining, gossip and (hopefully) sighs of relief. But it’s still a magical moment, because for the first time we will have a concrete product… On paper, at least!

Though it’s really a sheer coincidence of timing, I’m gonna call the part The Williamson Playboys gave me in their radio pilot yesterday another birthday present.

What a joy it was to muck around in a studio with a bunch of really talented people, all trying to make each other laugh. If even half of the commercial auditions I’ve done over the years were like this I’d still be doing them.

Al Howell, Jack Mosshammer and I were talking just the other day about how we used to try to crack each other up on stage at Second City, more often than not at the expense of our fellow cast-mates.

But don’t be too quick to discount such behaviour—after all, Harvey Korman and Tim Conway weren’t exactly known for their smart writing on The Carol Burnett Show.

“Hey Rob Smith, what’s new? Oh. Oh, dear… Oh, dear god!

I passed on the chance to be the drummer in the house for the new Rumoli Brothers talk show premiering at The Second City this month. From what I can tell it would have been a pretty easy gig, basically playing guests on then sitting back and watching the show for free. But when you factor in hauling my kit back and forth from my mom’s place, setting it up and striking it each week, the musical payoff wasn’t enough to justify the time commitment for me.

Then out of the blue I get an email from Second City in Chicago, asking if I’d be interested in a four-month contract doing a best-of revue at The Denver Center for Performing Arts. With 7 shows a week and Equity scale pay, it would have put me just a little worse off career-wise on my 40th birthday than my 30th, peforming my material on the Toronto mainstage in April of 1996… Sorry, Denver!

If this gig could have promised me just a little more money, a few less shows per week or a shorter contract I probably would have taken it. Instead, I’m sticking to my guns, still on the lookout for that first, big break as a director.

Just a few days ago I read on a cast member’s blog about The Second City Touring Company being dissolved—awful news, considering that six very talented actors, and their musical director are now unemployed. And no matter how you spin it, it reflects badly on the company as well… For example, getting a an audition for the Touring Company is a big reason why many students go through the Conservatory program at the Training Centre, so this news is almost certainly going to affect the graduating class that I’m about to take on.

What I didn’t know was that the powers that be also saw fit to fire Peter Sherk, pictured above on tour with yours truly in China in September of 2001. I’ve worked with Peter since my first day on the Second City mainstage in 1993, and was fortunate enough to go overseas with him three times, twice to Asia and once to Bosnia-Herzegovina. In fact, Peter holds the unique honour of being the only person to have ever aimed a loaded grenade launcher at me!

I know I’ll have the pleasure of working with Peter again, and I’ll go out of my way to do it. If Second City is foolish enough to let this guy go, then as far as I’m concerned they don’t deserve to have him.

So once again some lucky Conservatory students may well get to spend their winter with yours truly—unless, of course, that offer gets rescinded as well…

How’s this for a scoop—possibly the first-ever published photo of the

inside of Toronto Second City’s new home?

Also, some good news for alcoholic alumni: The bar won’t be run

by outsiders… Happy days are here again!