Fuck This Shit...I'm Goin' to Europe.

Today I fly to England.

I'll try my best to post stories about my travels for the next month or so.

But, before I go...here's one of the coolest puppet video's I've ever seen.

Enjoy!




Jim Out

Space

The past few weeks have been insane.

Rushing around, shooting children's television, shopping for friends and family, tying up loose ends before going on a major trip...nuts!

I take off for a month-long tour of Europe in about 5 days. So much of my time, these past few weeks, has been dedicated to preparing myself for my great adventure, that the fact that I was spending Christmas at home (actually, Christmas, period) was pretty much just an after thought. It mostly just consisted of logging on to Air Canada's website, booking my ticket, printing out my itinerary, and forgetting about it until it was time to go.

Yesterday morning, my sister, her fiance, and myself got up at 4 AM and caught a 6:30 flight to Winnipeg. My dad had left us a car in the airport parking lot, and I drove us to my home town, Portage la Prairie, Manitoba.

I'll be the very first person to admit that, to most, there wouldn't be a whole lot for this town to offer. Its population is about 12,000...which makes it one of the largest of Manitoba's communities. It's situated smack dab in the middle of the wide open prairie, right beside the Trans-Canada highway. Most people just drive right past it. They might stop for a meal at the McDonald's at the end of town, but that's about it. To be honest, it doesn't occupy a lot of my thoughts, either. I grew up here, went to school here, and experienced the myriad of "firsts" that we all encounter in our lifetimes. But I live in a big city now, and have gone through a billion changes. I'm a totally diffent person from the guy I was when I lived here. It will always be "home", but I don't think I'd enjoy living here now.

We got to the house and had the usual family Christmas. I teased my little brother a lot, drank just enough booze to make my Mom dissaprove, and helped fill the tiny little house with the barble and banter that I grew up hearing. We had the neighbors over for Christmas turkey, I took the usual ribbing over being a vegetarian, then we all had one last glass of something, said goodnight and toddled off to bed.

I'm staying in my old bedroom, which is now the office. The house was quiet, and I could hear the wind making it's famaliar whoops and hollars outside my window.

Our house is situated on the far, far south side of town. Further south, there's one street, the highway, then nothing but prairie. To the east and the west, there's a few houses before the town tapers off into long stretches of field. I lay on a mattress on the floor, thinking about my home in Toronto, and the cities I would see in just a few days. Then, as I drifted off to sleep I heard a noise that whisked me straight back to my childhood.

The furnace kicked in.

When I was very young, I used to wait for the furnace to kick in. Once it did, I would drag my pillow and blanket to the heat register, and build a little tent over top of it. I'd lay there with my face pressed against the register, letting the warm air blow up into my face, whistle in my ears, and warm me from head to toe. When it stopped, I would lay there and wait until it kicked in again.

For hours I would lay there. To me, there was no place more safe. Outside our house it was empty, endless, and cold. But on top of that heat register, it was perfect. In the morning I would wake up with red grate-marks embeded on my face, and loud complaints from my dad pouring in outside my door about the "damn furnace" and "this bloody cold hallway".

Lying directly over a heat register doesn't do much for the temperature in the surrounding house.

I've travelled a few thousand miles to be with my family for Christmas. After this, I'm going to travel several thousand miles to places I have only ever heard or read about. These are opportunities I'm very thankful to have. These are places I'm lucky to be able to go to.

But last night, with the wind howling right outside my window, and nothing but endless snow covered fields stretching out in three directions, there was only one place I wanted to be. With one clunk, and a rush of warm air, all the years I've been gone from Portage la Prairie, all the changes I had been through that made Portage seem less like home, simply disappeared.

I grabbed my pillow and blanket, made a little tent over the heat register, and drifted off to sleep.

No matter where I go, or who I become, there's no place like home.

My apologies to dad for the cold hallway in the morning.



Jim out.

Letter to An Angel

Dear Clarence,

Remember me, you fucking pixie?

Well, I remember you. And I'm writing to give you a warning, you little son of a bitch. When I die, I'm coming up to Heaven, and I'm looking for you. And when I find you, you Tom-Sawyer-reading fucknut, I'm going to tear off those fucking wings of yours and shove them right where the ever-loving sun don't shine!

Know why? Let me tell you.

I used to own an establishment on the outskirts of Pottersville…Nick's. I'm the guy that threw your candy-ass out of my place when you and that jail-bird, George were shooting your mouths off about angels, reaching out to child-killers, and trying to give my place atmosphere. You remember me now? I sure as shit hope you do! If you don't, you will when I choke you to death with your own fuckin' halo.

What the hell did you do to me? One minute, I'm the most righteous motherfucker in town, owner and proprietor of the toughest bar in the toughest neighborhood, in the meanest fuckin' city in the whole Goddamn state. I ate nails and shat nickels, drank my whisky with a chaser of turpentine, and kicked the shit out of any barfly who didn't pay his tab. I served hard drinks to men who wanted to get drunk fast. I even had a nice little sideline running muscle for Potter! I mean, we weren't best friends, or anything, but I broke a few thumbs, and got some pretty fat fucking envelopes for doing it. All in all, my life was pretty sweet. I drank what I wanted, fucked who I wanted, and kicked a hell of a lot of ass. I coulda lassoed the moon, if I wanted to!

And then you came along, didn't you? You rat-bastard, do-gooder, Angel, Second Class. And when I wake up on Christmas morning, and what kind of present do I get?

My place is gone! Instead of bad-ass Nicks, it's Martini's again! And, even worse, my old boss, Martini is back, too! Gee, that's fuckin' funny! Last time I checked, I buried that skinny old guido prick out by the ravine where Harry Bailey drowned! And that's another fucking zombie, back from the dead! Harry Bailey, a war hero pilot? That snot-nosed little pipsqueak couldn't even drive a shovel! And I see the jailbird's now his brother. Nice touch, you celestial jerk-off…

And what the fuck is Bedford Falls? This place is Pottersville! I've lived in this town ever since I was a kid, and it's never had any other name. Where the hell are the dance halls and speakeasy's? What the fuck is a "Saving's and Loans"? And since when has Violet Bick not humped everything with a pulse and five-dollar bill?

Jesus, Mary, Joseph! FUCK YOU, CLARENCE ODDBODY!

I feel like I'm in some sort of fucking weird alternate universe. It's like some sort of bizzare twilight zone, where the whole world has changed for the worse, just because you saw fit to let one more fuckin' guy get born! What the hell were you playing at? He even gets to marry that shrew of a librarian…who's now smokin' hot! Jesus...she looks like Donna fuckin' Reed!

I don't know what the fuck you're playing at, Oddbody, but when I find you, your body's not going be odd, it's going to be fucking broken! I swear to God, you night-shirt wearing, mulled wine drinking, two hundred ninety three year-old shit-stain, when I find you, I'm going to ring your bell…over and over…until every angel in the whole fucking Universe gets a pair of wings, plus a spare!

You're a dead man, Clarence. I don't even care that you're already dead. I'm going to find you and kill you again. Slowly. Then we'll see how many verses of Auld Lang Syne you can sing.

"No man is a failure if he has friends", you say? Well you better bring all the fuckin' friends you have, Clarence. Because I'm coming for you. And I ain't stoppin' until I've stomped a mud hole in your angelic ass, and walked it dry.

Once I do that, Clarence, it's going to be one hell of a Wonderful Life.

See you soon,

Nick


I got your rum punch right here!

Odyssey

I've got a shit-load of traveling coming up.

First I fly to Manitoba, to celebrate Gifty Time with my family. After that, I fly to London England. I'll be kicking around there for a couple of days before I jet off to Edinburgh.

After getting soused on good Scotch and McEwan's Ale, I fly to Paris. Then Prague. Then I take a train to Berlin. Then I go to Brussels for a while, before taking a train to Bruges. After thoroughly inspecting the bar there that has 300 Belgian beers on tap, I will go back to London, then fly home.

It's a big trip, and I'm super excited. I'm also nervous as hell. I've never been off the continent before. I'm traveling by myself, which is cool, but scary. Also I picked a dandy time to go...what, with the recession and all...

Anyway, I'll try to blog about my adventures while I'm out there, and post any cool pictures.

Also, I'll be taking my Gnome, Gnoman D. Gnomer along. He's usually good for a few laughs, and I'm sure he'll have a few opinions he'll want to express up here.


Gnoman. At home on the porch.

As reading material, for my trip, I've selected Homer's "Odyssey". This may seem like a strange selection, since I'm not going to Greece (or Ireland, for all you Joyce geeks). But I've based this choice on a few criteria...

1) I've always wanted to read it.

I read the Iliad over the summer, and really enjoyed it. I find Homer charming. I love how he always describes his characters by name, and then gives them a little title ("Achilles the Runner", "Hector of the Flashing Helmet", etc). The oral tradition of the poem is really noticeable while you read it. It's almost as if Homer is right there, speaking it into your ear.

2) My copy is extremely portable.

It's small and light...perfect for stuffing into my coat pocket or backpack. It's also well-used, so if I lose it, it won't be like I've lost a brand new book. The fact that it's a classic will make it easier to find other copies, if I lose mine.

And I've never been all that fussy about my books getting tattered. I'd love to be able to read the book again, when I'm an old man, and say "Hey...that stain on page 117 is from that beer I had in Brussels! That corner got torn off the cover while I was on the train from Prague to Berlin"...and so on...

3) I'm going on an odyssey, myself, so I might as well read the book!

Look out Europe! Kayak's a-comin'!



Jim Out.

Mashups = Awesome

RobboMills was twittering a while back about a party he was at, and mentioned they played an Iggy Pop/Peggy Lee Mashup.

Since I absolutely had to fucking hear it, I googled it down and gave it a listen.

And now I give it to you.




Thanks Robbo. Best Christmas gift ever.


Jim Out

Useless Triva Factoid!

We all know Google. Chances are, you used it to find this very site. For internet users, nary a day goes by that we don’t find ourselves “googling” something or other. Many of us even us it to check our spelling. One of it’s most useful features is the “Did you mean…” hyperlink below the search engine. Google has saved us all from many a typo.

But here’s an ironic little kicker.

Did you know that the name “Google” is, itself, a typo?

The name was supposed to be “Googol”, which is a mathematical term for 10 to the power of 100. While researching the availability of the domain name, developer Sean Anderson typed in the common misspelling “Google” instead.

Turns out it was available.

I’m tempted to end this entry with the childish troll taunt “FAIL!”…but we all know Google ain’t no failure.

Jim Out.

Just a Video Today

The "Spoon is Too Big" video that I posted earlier this week is actually part of a longer, brilliantly hilarious piece.

Here it is. Enjoy!


Jim Out.

My Favorite Monster

One morning, at work, I got called into a meeting with our department head. She wanted us to come up with a segment that features a different kid, every hour of our programming block. We tossed ideas around for a while, and I suggested we do it as a superhero segment.

I like superheroes a lot.

The segment would feature a little cartoon superhero that flies around the screen. Parents would send us pictures of their kids, and we’d put their head on the superhero, while a voice-over talked about what made them so super.

We wanted to call it Captain Canada, but couldn't because it was already copyrighted. The law department suggested a list of names we could use instead.

- Lieutenant Canada
- Lance Corporal Canada
- Captain Moose
- Sgt Beaver.

After we finished laughing at these horrible suggestions, we settled on Kid Canada. A few weeks later, it went up on the air.

It was an instant hit, and I spent the next several weeks with stacks of work on my desk. I was originally doing the voice-over for it, so I had to write all the pertinent info on each kid, plus some fun reason why they were Kid Canada for that hour. Our team had to contact each parent to tell them when their kid’s segment would be appearing. There were thousands of emails to answer, tons of pictures to render, and a buttload of voice-over sessions that made me hoarse. Not to mention the fact that this is preschool television, and viewer mail has to be treated carefully so it doesn't end up in the wrong hands. Writing, rendering, photocopying, filing, voicing. The whole team was up to it's ears in Kid Canada. And it wasn't going to stop.

I thought I had created a monster.

Then came the tour. Every year, our department does an outreach tour. We were a small team, and couldn’t afford a huge staff for it, so I was asked to stage-manage it.

Because of the popularity of Kid Canada, it was chosen the show’s theme. Each kid was given a Kid Canada headband, as they walked in the door. The hosts would be wearing Kid Canada costumes. There was even a little Kid Canada stand in the lobby, for kid's could stick their heads through, and get their picture taken. I was so sick of Kid Canada at this point, that I though I was in for a miserable experience.

But I wasn't. At all.

I got to travel around the country with a really great group of people. Many of whom have become close friends. One of whom has become my girlfriend. We worked hard, played hard, and got to travel to a lot of smaller cities around Canada that I hadn't been to before.

And I got to see the effects of what I was doing, first hand. Each show I got to sit above an audience full of preschoolers laughing at my jokes on a huge video screen, cheer on the hosts I got to write lines for, and pretend to be a superhero I helped create. I got to listen to their parents get them excited about what they had seen, or were about to see. Something I helped make.

It mattered to them in the same way it mattered to me. That meant an awful lot to see.

Our last show was in Moncton, New Brunswick. Because there was always a meet-and-greet and a huge play-centre in the lobby, my tech (Paul) and I often finished packing up the theatre long before we could load anything on the truck. This day, we took advantage of the time by making a beer run, for the post-tour-hotel-room festivities that would inevitably happen.

On the way to the van, we passed a group of little kids jumping around in their headbands, arguing who gets to be Kid Canada, and making up other names about places they knew. There was a Mr. Moncton. A Captain New Brunswick. Some little girl wanted to be Queen Shediac.

I wasn’t the least bit surprised that their list was better than the lawyers'.

Anyway, if any of you have ever wondered...that's why I like childrens' television.



Jim Out.

*I still think a preschool television character named Sgt. Beaver is hilarious.

More This. Less Other Stuff.