Big City Disaster...

Originally posted April 1 2011 on Facebook...

Hello Friends.

This isn't my usual blog and it doesn't feel right. It's like wearing a bathing suit instead of underwear, or being given a cold glass of ovaltine and told it's chocolate milk (when it's not the same at all, Mom!), but it will have to do. The usual host to my rantings, Big City James at blog.com may be an unsafe destination. I linked to it three nights ago, got some weird warning, then my computer was overtaken by some kind of virus which effectively shut it down within five minutes. The fact that my blog, my dear project I have tended to for the past year and a bit, was what may have shut it all down, that's the discouraging bit. I imagine it's like going in to embrace your darling toddler who then sneezes into your mouth. In any case, I must find a new server to host this silly thing, because the thought of having to shut it down is a major bummer.

In the meantime, though, I have to play major catch-up on another significant project that was sidetracked when the aforementioned virus shut my computer down. Young Dr. Jonathan is writing a book (this book, in fact: http://www.amazon.com/First-Canada-Aboriginal-Book-Days/dp/0889772401/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1301633098&sr=8-1) and against all sound advice, I have been hired on to contribute brief entries on notable First Nations topics like The Nigsa'a Treaty, Pauline Johnson, The Oka Crisis, Bill Reid and so on. It's been going well, so far the publishers all seem to dig it, but this crash meant I lost a few and now have to spend the next few days redoing them. As such, a short entry, but it's better than crap on a banister (an expression I just made up).

Dream: Always have interesting points to ponder so as to sustain Big City James to a newer and more competent website.

Goal: Achievable? I don't know. I only write once a week and there's a lot of toss-backs in the boat already. I marvel at people like Lynn Crosbie whose written her weekly column Pop Rocks for The Globe & Mail for a thousand years and yet it's consistently funny, entertaining and super-intelligent. I don't have a hope in hell of doing that, unless I start crafting long entries out of jokey punchlines.

Plan: Think of more jokey punchlines from which to write a few paragraphs. Some examples:

On Full House, did Joey live in the garage at one point? There were twelve adults in that house; where the fuck did everybody park?

Babies are like cinnamon buns. I only want one if somebody else has one and I feel like if I got one all to myself, I'd regret it almost instantly.

If you're a man, it's impossible to enjoy a sundried tomato and not also enjoy sex with another man.

Before he was a painter, M.C. Escher was a dope M.C.

What's up with those Swiffer commercials? Does a mop love its owner? We submerge its head underwater then drag it across a hard floor, love shouldn't hurt like that. Stand up for yourselves, mops.

“Thanks so much for the birthday wishes!” = “Where are my birthday wishes from the rest of you?”

Sarah McLachlan wrote “Angel” just so the Faber family of Ann Arbor, MI would have music to underscore the photo slide show of their dead dog Crinkles.

An opposite sex high-five is the blowjob of a religious teen.

Turns out H1N1 is the virus that leads to full-blown Bieber fever.

People in yoga classes: Lululemon is not a sufficient fart-muffler.

They should make string cheeses six feet long like for office parties and stuff.

Y'know what's a good nickname for Ryan Seacrest? Ryan Seaquest DSV. Let's get on it, guys!

It's eerie how accurately The Jetsons predicted a future filled with terribly-written animated programming.

In an effort to capitalize on the success of his first hit, the farmer who once had a dog named Bingo named his second dog CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP.

The inner-voice of Daniel Stern is Howard Stern.

The Black Eyed Peas originally titled their song, “I Have An Inkling...”

Why do they put fancy designs on toilet paper? Do they know what we do with it?

The only famous person who won a child beauty pageant is that girl who got murdered.

Stop flipping my blizzard upside down, Dairy Queen. I'm here to shame-eat, not be easily impressed.

Obstetricians I'd like to fuck are called OBILFS.

Steroids is like nothing on steroids.

How busy is that woman that she has to eat microwaved rice wearing only her bra?

That's all I got. A couple of days without your computer can really cause the mind to wander. But if nothing else, I've got a few more Thursdays worth of stuff to write about. I'll miss the old Big City James, but not if I put it in correct context. It's hard to be sad about the minor inconvenience of a laptop breakdown when compared to the devastation of broken treaties, crooked land claims, oppressed freedom and stolen rights. No use crying over spilled ovaltine. What's passed is past, let us look to the future on whatever server, forum, host or site I can find. Meet you there.