When I first told people I was going to the U.S. They were very much like: “Why?”

In a way that is “What’s wrong with you?, “Why enter the centre of darkness?”

For sketch comedy. Of course.

Before this trip I had never travelled far from home; Quebec City, Sault Ste. Marie, Detroit, and Buffalo. Those were the furthest reaches of the earth that I had ever set my hobbit sized feet.

Before this trip I had never seen the ocean.

I used to feel some shame around my non-travelling life. People often associate wisdom with a well travelled person, but I know a bunch of people who have travelled and they are fucking idiots.

I’ve just never had the disposable income for travel. It has never seemed plausible. Where a grew up, only the rich kids travelled. Us poors are meant to stay home. Only to travel with our imaginations, using affordable library books.

When the big wigs at San Francisco Sketchfest invited me to perform 2×20mins versions of my show Men Love Horsies: The Musical, I jumped at the chance. SF Sketchfest has felt like the mecca of sketch comedy to me so this was a big dang deal.

People asked if I was afraid to fly. Or afraid to go alone and perform my show. Nope. What I fear is strict and complex systems that run like a conveyor belt and can’t be stopped for some newbie that doesn’t know how to fly right.

I’m just a simple country kid, who still lives in his hometown, has never seen the ocean and works for the post office. And I made sure to tell every person I met on my travels those qualifiers.

Day 1 : A Boy And His Airplane

I enter the airport already lost. Even on the shuttle bus from my car, I had to ask a few times to make sure I was going to the right terminal.

I ask the first official looking person I see “Where do I go? I’m new to this, please help me, I’m a lost 39 year old man.” She points to the clearly marked lineup of people.

In line I ask a couple if I’m in the right line. “This is my first time flying” I say. “Just have your passport ready and your boarding pass printed.”

I leave the line immediately to go print my boarding pass at these futuristic machines. I’m confused with the machine and bap the buttons like a cartoon monkey, the Air Canada worker gives me a hand. “This is my first time flying” I say with my classic I-have-no-clue-what-I’m-doing smile.

I get back in line and make chit-chat with a nice couple, or at least the woman was nice. The guy kinda already seemed annoyed with me. Which is understandable since I just talk about how this is my first time flying, I’ve never seen the ocean, and I’m a postal worker. The woman and I talk about the post office and how the super boxes suck. We part ways as I enter the pre-clearance line.

As I place all my worldly possessions into the bins, I ask an obscene amount of questions and make nothing but mistakes. Loading my belongings into the bin, fumbling and smiling. “This is my first time.”

At the scanning machine I realize I still have my phone in my pocket. The TSA guy informs me I should have put that with my stuff. He let’s me dash back to bother the bin worker and get my phone in, seconds before it goes through the scanner.

I wait for another man to be scanned. He’s an old short Asian man and honestly, they are really making him get it right. The TSA guy tells me to go through this other way. A secret privileged way. There is no scanning machine. I’m basically just let in on pure trust, walking past the old Asian man while they tell him to take his belt off.

I collect my belongings from the bins. My Sp404 (The beat machine I use on stage to cue my music that definitely looks like a bomb) is brought to a special spot where a woman asks me what it is. I tell her. “It’s a sampler to make music”. She shrugs and scans the machine. I ask “I know I probably shouldn’t ask questions, cause everything is all official here, but what is that thing you are using?” She tells me it scans things for chemicals. “Oh cool, This is my first time flying.”

I walk through the special line to customs for people who downloaded the customs app, cause I’m a modern man. A modern man who got lost in the maze of stanchions. I end up where I think I’m supposed to be. The woman asks me why I’m going to San Francisco. I say “Ughh Tourism?. I think… I think that’s the word I would use.” “Well is it?” “Yes, But I feel there’s another word that’s better suited, you know what? That doesn’t matter. Yeah tourism.” She asks me again why I’m entering the states. She stops herself. “Oh wait I just asked that.” We laugh. She stops herself from laughing cause she realizes this is supposed to be serious airport stuff. “Do you have your Nexus pass?” “I do not have a Nexus pass or really know what that is, I’m using this little app” “Sir, this is the Nexus line. You were supposed to follow the signs for the app.” I stare blankly.

“You know what it’s fine. Have a safe flight”.

I did it! I’m in the airport. All of that took maybe a half hour. So now I have 2 and ½ hours to wait cause I was so afraid customs would take forever. I call my girlfriend to let her know I’m a big boy and can airport all on my own. She tells me she’s proud of me. She actually said that and it made me teary-eyed.

I buy a meal that costs a billion dollars, then get a black coffee. Me and the coffee merchant chat. I of course tell him it’s my first time flying and I’ve never seen the ocean. A random woman chimes in “You’ve never seen the ocean?” “No I haven’t, I’ve seen the St. Lawrence river though” “That doesn’t count”.

They call my flight and as I’m in line to board I ask the couple in front of me. “Excuse me is this the zone 3 line?” “Yes”. “Thanks. It’s my first time flying.”

On the plane I ask the same couple how you figure out your seat. The woman points to the clearly marked seat numbers. “Oh sorry, I have no idea what I’m doing. It’s my first time.” “Yeah, you mentioned that.” I find my seat in the emergency exit section right next to the window. I chose this seat cause there’s a little extra leg room and I can look out the window and pretend I’m a bird.

I text my loved ones. Tracie and Pema (My girlfriend and our cat), Justin (my writing partner) and Darren (the King of Smooth Comedy). I get an encouraging text from Zach as they are about to do Smooth comedy without me, Kym shoots a message about how we are west coast queens. (he’s also missing Smooth, seeing his brothers and skiing?)

A couple sits down beside me, the flight begins and I realize, I have to fart.

As we reach the air in my brain I’m screaming “Holy shit! This is fucking exciting!” We should all be cheering, we should all be yelling “Go pilots go! Flight attendants, you are crushing this!” I also think about how maybe now is a good time to fart. But I hold back.

After an hour or so into the air, I look at the little 3-D map to see where we are. As we fly over Green Bay Wisconsin I realize, this is the furthest I’ve ever been from home. I did it. I could die now on this plane and at least I made it further than I’ve ever been.

I watched two movies on the flight: One Battle After Another and The Road to El Dorado. Road to El Dorado is arguably better.

Most of the time I just looked out the window pondering life’s great questions from the sky. Then looked them up and forgot the answers promptly.

Things I looked up:

• What’s the population of Denver?

• How do I take a cab from SF airport to my hotel?

• When do the time zones change?

• What is “Big Smokey Mountain”?

• What is pre-clearance?

• How do I use my data in the US?

• How many planes have crashed in San Fran?

• Who the hell is pictured on the back of the Alaska Airlines fin thing?

• Is it rude to fart on a plane?

• How can you make a fart silent?

• What’s the easiest way to fart on a plane then blame it on the couple beside you?

An hour before landing they called a last call for the bathroom. I didn’t really have to go and I forgot about that fart a few hours ago, I just figured I’d never used an airplane bathroom so this will be a first for me.

I made chit chat with the flight attendant asking how things have been since the strike and the government force back. They said it was much worse. And that the wages still haven’t been fixed. “I get it. I work for Canada Post. Also this is my first time flying, and I’ve never seen the ocean.”

I struggle with the bathroom door and the flight attendant almost helps, but I got it on my own cause I’m a big boy.

The plane lands and damn, if that isn’t the most fun and terrifying experience. I want to start a clap. But instead I snap quietly like its a beatnik poetry night.

I walk off the plane in a new city, in a new country. Lost in the night. I ask 4 different people where to get a cab. Each one directs me to the Uber/Lyft area.

But I want an actual cab. I’m a cab man. I believe in cabs. I believe in paying the fairest wage possible. Plus cab drivers have something to prove. So they drive erratic and fast.

I ask a guy outside where to get a cab. Turns out he’s on the phone with a guy named Phil. He yells “Hey Phil! How does someone get a cab at the airport, yeah Phil I’m fucking talking to you!” The guy points. “Phil says it’s over there.” Thanks Phil.

I wake the sleeping cab driver from his front seat nap. He peps right up and we speed to downtown San Fran like we are about to blow up the Uber and Lyft headquarters. Both conveniently located in San Francisco. The cabbie is a local, he moved away to one of the Carolina’s for his wife and kids but when that relationship ended he came home to where his heart is. The bay area. He points out buildings and stuff trying to give me the low-down on the city’s history but he doesn’t actually know what anything is. Which I found endearing and relatable.

I get to the hotel and check in with a man at the counter who embodies the hotel. Crypt keeper old and a little smelly. I take the elevator to the 4th floor. Which also happens to be the only broken button on the elevator. I wait for it to ooze blood.

In the hotel room the TV doesn’t have a remote. And the phone doesn’t work to call front desk about the no remote. I take the stairs to talk to the guy haunting the front desk to get a remote.

The remote doesn’t work. So I spend the next hour programming the remote myself. Looking up the model number online. Once I get it working I shut off the TV and I fall gently asleep to the bright city lights peaking in through the blinds. The city sounds, cars speeding, people yelling and bottles clanging.

DAY 2: And It Shows

I slept with my face mask on and earplugs in, because I’m a precious angel.

I woke up and called Tracie, she informs me that our cat is in fact still very cute.

I get a black coffee from the the downstairs shop. Then walked a half hour up hill to the park across the street from the Full House-house. The park is just a big hill, I was hoping the hill was high enough to get a glimpse of that ocean. But no. Just more hills.

I head back to the hotel and grab another black coffee. I tell the Coffee woman I’m from Canada and have never seen the ocean. She tells me a great way to take a bus there and I forget that promptly.

I walk the 15 minutes to my tech rehearsal at the Eclectic Box Theatre.

I do the full abbreviated 20 minute version of the show for the tech guy Orian and we become fast friends talking about the LA clown scene. He’s in a full green track suit and it’s killer. That’s SF style baby! I of course tell him I’ve never seen the ocean and I work for the post office.

I get a black coffee and tell the cashier I’ve never seen the ocean. Then I go to Silver Sprocket this alt comic shop/indie publisher I really wanted to check out, cause I’m cool. I tell the cashier I’ve never seen the ocean. They give me directions to a great place to see it, which I promptly forget.

I go to a very fancy Japanese stationary store and the woman asks me if I need help. I say “I do. And thank you, how are you?” She is taken aback by me asking her how she is. I tell her “I’m from Canada and I’ve never seen the ocean.” She informs me that makes sense I’m from Canada since no one ever asks how she is. “That’s sad”, I buy the cheapest notebook and pen I can which are both still very expensive.

Another black coffee. Plus an avocado and some bananas cause papa needs some fruit.

I take a coffee fueled nap.

Then go get my SF Sketchfest artist pass. I cut through a random park and there are four cops on dirt bikes riding slow like circus clowns. I ask a random couple if that’s normal. They tell me this is the first time they’ve ever seen that. “I’m from Canada and I've seen horse cops and bike cops but not this.” I do not tell them I haven’t seen the ocean. The guy says “From Canada… eh?” I ignore this but secretly hold my resentment for all of eternity.

I walk to my hotel, grab my show stuff, then walked to the show. Honestly for a guy who’s job it is to walk all day this is even a bit much for me.

The show was so fun. I met some lovely sketch people “Young Douglas” from New York, “TV Unscripted” from LA, local improv troupe “Limited Bread Sticks” (who taught me a secret handshake) and awesome comedian/host “Christi Carter”. I of course introduce myself to all of them by saying “I’m from Canada, I’ve never seen the ocean and this is the furthest I’ve ever been away from home… also I work for the post office.”

I’ve learned that being a solo-sketch comedian in a sea of big troupes can be tough, cause you just have to introduce yourselves to like 6 people at once. And they are all safely tucked away in their bubble. So it’s up to you to say “Hi”, state your name, give a qualifier of why they may want to talk to you and politely ask all 17 of them their names. Forget their names, then ask them their names again later. I have found it goes a long way.

Day 3: Ocean Man By Ween

Coffee. Black.

I grabbed a future-pedal-assist-electric-rental-bike and ride my way towards the ocean. Pedalling at super speeds down hills, then at very slow speeds up hills. Then through the Golden Gate park.

The park is magic. Jurassic looking plants everywhere and it smells like dirt and grass and in mid-Canadian winter this is heaven, it’s a high of 20. Celsius. I don’t know what that is in fahrenheit. Cause we all know fahrenheit is silly. I overheard people in SF complain it was a little chilly, so obviously the sun has melted their brains.

There was a cop half asleep in his car, blocking the street for a big marathon and I asked if I could just ride through to get to the ocean. He shrugged and said “Sure.”

As I look back the cop is getting out of his vehicle to prevent a non-white couple from doing what I just did.

After I assume I won the marathon, I had made it to the ocean. I see it from the road. But I must touch it. With my heart!

I lock up the bike with confidence. Walk towards the beach and Tracie calls. As I’m on the phone, steps from the ocean, I see in my electric bike app that I didn’t lock my bike properly. I was over confident.

I walk back to the hub and try to figure it out. I’m so frustrated. Steps from the ocean and I can’t lock a fucking electric-future-bike. I’m not a modern man! I’m a little boy luddite. I become paranoid that somehow in this moment I will die. Seconds away from the ocean. Yet never setting foot in it.

I asked another cyclist how to lock the bike. I tell him I’m from Canada and I’ve never seen the ocean. He tells me he’s from Texas and this is also his first time seeing the ocean.

Since both of us have not seen the ocean our collective wisdom is subpar and so we cannot figure out what’s going on with this bike.

I tell him “Go. Go see that ocean before it’s too late. Me I’ll just die here at this bike rack.”

He leaves, our hands out stretched grasping for one another. As he fades into that ocean haze, I figure it out. Bike locked. It’s simple and stupid. I just had to put a thing in a thing. Duh.

I rush down to the ocean. Taking my shoes and socks off, rolling up my jeans, everything is in slow motion.

Water hits my toes, I am a changed man.

Time stops for a moment and I feel like the cycles of all evolution and progress rush past me with each wave. My molecules connected to the birth of life on this planet. But also, in the end it’s kinda just like a big salty lake. I think about how now I have fewer qualifiers to present to people as I meet them. One grand achievement is an innocence lost.

The water comes up really high and splashes my crotch so now I look like I peed myself from being too excited to be in the ocean, then the tide almost steals my shoes.

I find a log to sit on and stare at the ocean for a bit hoping for some type of big ocean epiphany.

Nothing.

I continue to sit and dry off my jeans. You know, it is kind of cold here. Fuck it.

I bike to the Golden Gate Bridge looking like I pissed myself. Riding up and down hills.

Buying some post cards from the gift shop I make no mention to the cashier of how I’ve just seen the ocean. I’m cool now. Cool people don’t talk about how they’ve seen the ocean. It’s like a fight club.

I ask them how long it takes to walk the Golden Gate bridge. “About an hour and a half there. So in total three hours.” “Really? I walk like this:” I demonstrate the long galoot style strides I take. Some have compared it to Sasquatch. I understand this comparison and am still emotionally devastated by it.

The cashier stares blankly at me as a finish my demonstration. “I don’t know what that means” they say.

“I’m saying I’m a fast walker.”

They tell me the miles of the bridge. I tell them I only know kilometres. They do some math in their head. Then tell me how many kilometres. I promptly forget.

It took me a total of 40 minutes there and back.

I hop on a future bike and ride to my hotel to grab my gear for tonight’s show. Then a coffee.

The show was great, but not as good as the night before because there were two kids in the crowd. And it’s just tough to yell swears and say lines like “Trample those children to death” When there are actual children in the crowd.

This was the final night of SF Sketchfest. And so I knew I had to go to the last party. I of course did not want to go. But nobody ever wants to go to a party. They just go cause they know it might be fun. Which it won’t be.

I bike there and try to create a short cut, but I am met with the steepest hill I’ve ever seen. I give up and take the way Apple maps has requested me to do. Which I hate.

The party had free beers and snacks and and all the lovely sketch people I had met. I stayed longer than I intended. cause parties are fun. Drinking two whole free beers, cause I’m wild. I mingle in the only way I know how, which is very awkwardly.

I chat with a very nice local who saw my show and liked it and she gave me some advice on what sights to see tomorrow, for my last day in SF. I promptly forget.

Day 4: A Man About Town

I just walk around all day.

Literally for hours from one end of the city to the next. Drinking a million coffees, as one does.

Bought some stamps from the post office.

I got my fortune told to me by several robots at the Musée Méchanique which was the only thing from the party I remembered being recommended to me.

I overhear a conversation from a man in a wheelchair and his friend. “You ready for this next part?” “No? why?” “Because where we are going next is all up hill.”

I take a moment to think about how lucky I am to have these working gams of mine.

I decide to go see the ocean one more time. Maybe during the sunset I’ll get that deep reflection.

I walk from one end of the city to the other. Which takes hours. But fuck it, what else do I have to do?

Walking through golden gate park during golden hour.

I make it to the ocean just after the sun sets. You can’t really see it from the walkway. And I don’t want to go down by it again, in fear tomorrow’s news states: Privileged Idiot, Washed Away At Sea, Easily Preventable!

I ride a future bike back to the hotel and get lost a few times.

Day 5: Fly Away Home

I grab two black coffees from the only shop open at 6 am. It’s just me and some homeless people, the woman at the counter is pretty curse with them and very pleasant to me.

Yesterday I was getting sick of this place. Sick of the sunshine. I told Tracie that and she said “Fuck right off”. But come on, like give me a few clouds okay SF. But today, on my way out, I already miss it.

I down the two coffees, check out of the hotel and get the front desk to call me a cab.

As I mail my postcards I see the cab pull a u-turn in the street, almost hitting a cyclist, then runs a red light and parks in the bike lane.

As we pull out he runs over a pylon.

A guy on a scooter yells “What the fuck man?”

“It’s okay.” Says the cab driver.

I whisper to myself “Goodbye San Fran”.

The cab driver says “What?”

To pretend like I wasn’t just having a moment, I ask the driver about his life. He, while driving, not looking at the road, pulls out his phone and shows me a picture of his daughter’s first day of medical school. Proud papa.

We fly down the highway at speeds that only cab drivers can reach. Calculated in mystery miles. I give him a large tip cause U.S. money feels like expensive fun pretend, he tells me I just made his day.

I’m way early at the airport again.

I struggle to print my boarding pass and a women tells me I don’t need to print it if I have it on my phone.

She points to where I need to go. I stop and say “where?” She double points to the clearly marked area.

I get confused of what I’m doing and ask everyone around me. Then I say “This is my second time flying.”

The TSA didn’t even ask about my bomb looking beat machine.

They change my seat for weight distribution cause the flight is near empty. But tell me I can go back to my sweet-sweet emergency exit seat, once we are in the sky.

“Okay thanks, this is my second time flying.”

My friend Donna texts me. She informs me I’m in the newspaper at home for an upcoming performance. She tells me to say hi to Gavin Newsom, I have no idea who that is. I though it was Joanna Newsom. She informs me that he’s the Gov. of California and is a Trump bootlicker.

Flying over the mountains soaring home I think about how privileged I am to get to do this. To wander a city, to walk around all day with custom orthodics, to bike with no helmet, to see the ocean, to get a million black coffees at every corner, and to perform a horse musical. How I can just float through the airport with ease and how I’m flying in the sky watching one of my favourite childhood movies: Demolition Man with Sandra Bullock, Wesley Snipes and Sylvester Stallone. My privileged little head floating in the clouds.

I think. “Well haven’t we done well.” This is the golden era… for me. I’m 39 years old in a goddamn fucking bird in the sky. When I look at the news it’s hell on earth. And although I’ve never really travelled, clearly I already live with my head above the clouds. Easily navigating the airport while they harass an old Asian man, just wandering into a marathon while cops harass a non-white couple, literally just being able to walk without a friend pushing me in a wheelchair. Lost in the night without any fears of harassment. No, I’ve never really travelled. But I’ve sure had it pretty fucking easy. It makes me sad. To think not everyone can just walk around like a confused idiot. They have to be aware of their surroundings and what arbitrary power people will try to instill upon them. I do not do a good enough job at pointing out injustices when I see them. And maybe that’s because I fear if I do they will take my privilege away. But I guess do I really deserve it if I’m not using it to help?

We land. I get lost and confused a few times on my way out of the airport. I ask 3 people where the shuttle to my car is. It shows up right as I step outside. A group of people yell at the driver cause they’ve been waiting in the cold for an hour.

I chit chat in the shuttle with a couple, I say I’m a postal worker. The man tells me he retired from the post office a few years back after 35 years. “Just 28 more to go for me.” I tell him I was in San Fran doing comedy. He says he loves comedy and that I should do Kill Tony. I ignore this.

I step out into the frigid colds of Canadian winter. Still beaming from my trip. Warm in my heart.

Me,

An ocean seer,

A solo traveller,

A solo-sketch comedian,

A postal worker,

A Canadian,

A privileged idiot.

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Secret Folder!

As is tradition. To thank you for reading. Here is a secret folder with a gift inside.

The file will self destruct by next month.

This month is a song I made about my home town and most towns:

“Everything Is A Condo”

It was written at the same time I did a Fringe On The Streets performance by the same name and I have recently been given an Ontario Arts Grant to create a full hour show of the same name. So that’s pretty fucking cool.

Enjoy! or don’t. Either way just tell me you like the track because that future show hinges on your potential enjoyment!

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Upcoming Shows!

Smooth Comedy! Feb 27th!

I’m back on that sweet monthly with my favourite buds.

Tickets!

A Series Of Forms You Are Required To Fill Out

I have a short site specific theatre piece for this years Frost Bites Festival as part of:

A Night At The Staircase March 6-8th

Tickets!

Men Love Horsies: The Musical

@TO Sketchfest with Friedman & Stew - March 12th

Tickets!

Top secret announcement!

I’m bringing Men Love Horsies: The Musical to Scotland this year for the Edinburgh Fringe. The Venue is booked, The plane tickets and lodgings are acquired (unless you know someone who’s couch I can crash on cause that would be cheaper.)

Doing a cool two weeks August 17-29th at Greenside Venues - Mint Studio and I’m super excited and horrified and this will be a financial burden that I surely will never recover from!

I’m doing a hometown show as a send off the weekend before I leave. looking like August 8th @ The Staircase Theatre. I will plead with you to give me jewels and gold. Mark it in your calendar. If you can’t go. Maybe think of just donating rupees and emeralds anyways. It’s going to be a wild ride.

Thanks.

Devin