Sunday, October 30, 2005

A Failed Experiment?

As Paul McCartney wails "Hey Jude" into my ears, my partner does Communications homework next to me, and I am forced to confront a nasty truth: I don't blog very often.

For readers with a good memory (or at least readers with a scroll bar on the right side of their browser) my last post blamed my general lack of posting on a September Blogger's Curse, or something like that. Pigswill, codswallop, flimflam.

There IS no September Blogger's Curse. I made it up (cue shocked gasps).

I feel I don't have enough to say about Canadianness and Americanness to make this blog worth writing in every few days (or even once a week).

Canadians like backbacon. Americans like, oh I don't know, grits.
I really don't want to have to reduce my blog to such observations. Reduce? I suppose that's mostly what it was in the first place.


I love movies. I watch movies. I make movies. I'm going to start a blog about movies. It may be about something I'm making, about something I saw, or something I heard.

I'll explain it better in my first post, which should be in my links section. Soonish.

This is American North temporarily signing off. Thanks readers (Nigel, TM, and especially Jay). Y'all rawk. (see? that was American.)

Saturday, October 22, 2005

Scary September

There are few who know this, but blogging in September is proven to be fatal to your health. Check these irrefutable statistics:

If those statistics aren't chilling enough, consider this: I, American North, did not make A SINGLE BLOG ENTRY for the entire month of September. Coincidence?

Skeptics may argue that other factors could come into play when considering the phenomenal void in my blog that was September, but I don't need to tell you what you already know: the skeptics are all injecting crack cocaine into their genitals (as if doing crack in the correct manner isn't stupid enough).

Just to be on the safe side, I left the first half of October empty as well. You can't be too careful when it comes to fatal death such as terminally dying as I surely would have had I dared to blog.

Ok, so my partner in life managed to squeak thru September posting six times, but that's not very many for her. (Plus I was forced to save her life after she blogged for the fourth time by using those little electric paddles that Gregory House uses to restart someone's heart and then tell them they're stupid and ugly and he hates them, and then he goes and pops three Vicodin and sits around coming up with clever things to say about the hospital administrator's breasts for the next time she comes into his office without knocking... hmm... knocking... knockers...there's something there...

Like parentheses that never close, I'm going to end suddenly and let this post's nonsense speak for itself.

Monday, August 29, 2005

Wasted days...

So my significant other is at school, and work is scarce (work at the job I want to work at, that is. At the job I want to quit, shifts keep popping out my ears and hiding in my shorts. No, I don't know what that means either.)
Stuck today trying to get Outlook Express to function properly. Apparently it's worth my time to sit in front of the computer for 13,453 hours trying to fix a problem that any one of my former groomsmen could fix just by coughing in the vicinity of my computer.

Wasting more money on iTunes today. "Fortress" by Sting and "Invisible Touch" by Genesis. Not to mention "Nothing Compares 2 U" by Michael St... er...Sinead O'Connor. I'm sparing my partner the indignity of having Nelly Furtado on her computer. She has limits to her tolerance, which I'm testing today with Sinead.

Think I'll see if I can waste some time at lunch with Nigel, who's a far more intelligent lunch companion than I deserve. Maybe I'll tell N. the clean version of the mouse and the elephant, told to me by my boss, who usually doesn't include clean material in his repertoire:

A mouse walks up to an elephant.

"Hey elephant! We should hang out more."

"Why's that, mouse?"

"We're obviously related. We're both grey, we have four legs, a tail, and really really disproportionately large ears!"

"But what about the tremendous size difference?"

The mouse looks a bit stumped.

" was sick?"

Well, I think it's funny.

Also trying to write a new script so that Jay and I can start working on a new movie, now that Original Monstas 2 is finished (mostly). Writing a new script is difficult. You need dedication, stick-to-itiveness, and a subject to write about.

Maybe there's a movie in that mouse joke.

I'll leave today with a comment from the late, great, Douglas Adams about trying to make a movie of his book "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy": Making a movie is like trying to cook a steak by having a series of people come up to the steak and breathe on it.

Wednesday, August 17, 2005

George would say a full body dry heave set to music

So my partner and I went to a concert last night.

No, not the Eagles. No, not Destiny's Child. Stop guessing.

We went to a show by a little known (relatively) South African musician who's been playing his unique blend of Western and Zulu styles for over twenty-five years.

Terrific for dancing. Now all we needed were some dancing skillz. We hoofed it up close to stage and demonstrated to all those around us precisely the kind of skillz we possessed. I suppose the best things that can be said are a) we danced in time to the music b) we rarely crashed into each other, or other people. Our dancing consisted of taking up as much space as possible for our semi-coordinated seizures.

The problem was we were close to the stage, and we realized our... er... expansive dancing was interfering with a standing audience's natural inclination to slowly press forward towards the stage and stare at the performer in the manner of a stunned goldfish. Pretty soon our gesticulating was near-impossible due to the proximity of our neighbours' armpits (waving their hands in the air to the music, but of course).

We were forced to take our show to the back of the crowd, where I daresay it was greater appreciated, if only for the heat we generated.

But we had fun, here endeth the lesson: have fun when you go to a concert.

Profundity, thy name is Jape.

Sunday, July 24, 2005

In memory of Mr. Scott

Try to forget Homeboys from Outer Space.

The short-lived UPN sitcom featured Canadian actor James Doohan, who died (not passed away) last week at the age of 85. He basically played Mr. Scott on that show.

Homeboy #1: Give us more power!
Mr. Scott: I'm givin her all she's got captain, if I push her any harder she'll blow.
Jape: Too late, Mr. Scott, too late.

Instead, let us focus our energies on the positive aspects of the greatest Canadian actor ever to star on a Star Trek show (yes, WS, that's a dis, or is it 'diss'?)

Ignore the fact that his Scottish accent was as convincing as Dubya's excuses (See, I'm all about political commentary). Ignore the fact that the moon's orbit is now deteriorating following Doohan's 89,394th twinkie.

He was Mr. Scott, dammit! Show some respect, Jape!

Great Mr. Scott moments:

1) The death of his nephew, or son, (I've forgotten) in Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan.
2) Giving that 20th century guy the formula for transparent aluminum in Star Trek 4: The Voyage Home.
3) Breaking Kirk, Spock, and McCoy out of prison in Star Trek 5: The Final Frontier.
4) Shooting that sniper at the end of Star Trek 6: The Undiscovered Country.

or that episode of the show where he's on trial for a murder he doesn't remember.

Well, gotta go, I'm starved. Think I'll have a twinkie.

PS - Please feel free to add to my list of great Mr. Scott moments.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

Apologies, true stories, and other things...

I was visiting with some friends in Vancouver last weekend, and a female friend of mine (I'll call her Zil) was terribly snuffly. Being an enlightened twenty-first century person of the XY variety, I helpfully and concernedly inquired what was wrong. She said, and I quote: "My nose is full of snot."
True story.

I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to each and every one of my readers personally for my lack of posting: Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

And while I'm at it: Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. That's for next week, cuz I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be posting much. Working like a dog, you see.

Have you ever noticed that you always need something in the clothing department? No matter what season it is, I am always short two t-shirts, six socks (none of them matching), and several pairs of wearable underwear. I always have no end of pairs of unwearable underwear, which I wear anyway. I define unwearable underwear as underwear that fails to cover either of the two basic naughty bits (latin terms "hoo hoo dilly" and "outhole #1").

About once a year, after a big trip to the mall, I find myself in the blissful position of possessing enough of everything, for about five minutes. Then I go naked for two weeks. Can't lose clothes that you don't wear. At least, I never lose clothes that I don't wear. The dryer gods steal my regularly worn socks, but the Tea Party shirt with the rip in the back that I haven't worn since my Provincial Exams is still sitting pretty (figuratively speaking) in my closet.

Maybe I'll start wearing that t-shirt on my feet. Think the gods can tell the difference?

Thursday, July 14, 2005

L'espirit de l'ouest (sp?)

"You'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best,
I've been gone for a month, I've been drunk since I left.
And these so-called vacations will soon be my death,
I'm so sick from the drink, I need home for a rest."

Anyone who's ever attended a wedding (particularly a Canadian wedding) will be familiar with that refrain, even if we can never remember which chorus you say "month" and which you say "week." (I pretend to be distracted by something momentarily while I'm singing that line so I can skip that word).

The song is Home for a Rest by Spirit of the West. Fabulous band (more fab then than now, I'm afraid).

They had many hits singles in Canada, most unrecognizable to Americans, but one of my favourites is one even Canadians are unfamiliar with: Far Too Canadian.

Zee lyrics:
I'm so content to stand in line
Wait and see, pass the time
Talk a streak, fall asleep,
wake up late, whine and weep
I kiss the hand that slaps me senseless
I'm so accepting, I am so defenseless
I am far too Canadian

I am far too Canadian
I pick the bones of what's been done

And I'll lick them clean with a cautious tongue
In dim lit rooms, I spill my guts
I'm the revolution when the doors are shut
I'd bite the hand that slaps me senseless
But my patience it is too relentless
I am far too Canadian

I am far too Canadian

I am the face of my country
expressionless and small
Weak at the knees, shaking badly
Can't straighten up at all
I watch the spine of my country
bend and break
I'm in a sorry state

I scratch the walls to mark the days
With my coup d'tete I am locked away
With Mother Jones, pots of tea
The kitchen poster, anarchy
I never march in demonstrations
I hold my breath for arbitration
I am far too Canadian

I am far too Canadian

As a Canadian, I'm proud of our flexibility as a people, but SOTW have a point. We are a most passive-aggressive people. We're the revolution behind closed doors, spilling out our opinions from the safety of our living rooms or our blogs.

We're all far too Canadian.

"But enough about that!" I hear you holler. "What about that other Spirit of the West classic, The Old Sod?" Interesting question, and very observant of you to bring it up.

The Old Sod is about Scots who settled in Canada, and about being a proud citizen of both.

From the old land to the new land, came over by the score, we packed our bags and cut our ties and closed the old world door. We settled in your prairies, your cities and your towns, there's another oatmeal savage every time you turn around.

First of all, I don't know who came up with the term "oatmeal savage," but the individual responsible deserves a Pulitzer (or whatever award you give people for coming up with clever names.)

I'd also like to comment on the final line: the thistle and the maple leaf are the emblems of the free.

The thistle?? It's ugly and prickly, and it takes a country of character to adopt it as an emblem.

The moral of today's post: listen to Spirit of the West. Dey's good music.