tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74852531534792869152024-03-05T03:04:20.327-08:00So my Mum doesn't worryJez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.comBlogger136125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-38913490499284525462017-12-29T12:30:00.001-08:002017-12-29T12:30:39.598-08:00Anniversary<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have been in London for a year as of right.... now.<br />
<br />
It has been a whirlwind beat-down of reality which has flashed past like a naked man in a full length jacket.<br />
<br />
I've been to new places, London, New York, Montreal as well as Dover... yes, Dover (never going back). I went to Toronto, Edinburgh, Helsinki, Tallinn, Belfast, Glasgow and.. gawd damn you Dover, you were horrible.<br />
<br />
I called the police twice. No-one died.<br />
<br />
I rode my first rollercoaster, then five more.. I remain unconvinced.<br />
<br />
I performed in the Edinburgh Fringe. I performed in London. I performed in Helsinki.<br />
<br />
I had a job, lost that job, got another job, went to New York for a job and through it all did not starve.<br />
<br />
I did have financial hard times, but I dug myself out, I survived.<br />
<br />
I played village cricket in England.<br />
<br />
I saw Weezer live.<br />
<br />
I tried out hospital A&E.<br />
<br />
I met Stewart Lee.<br />
<br />
I started running and still hate running.<br />
<br />
I played in the Scandinavian snow on a frozen lake.<br />
<br />
I rode the tube in my underwear.<br />
<br />
I lost my business and was in all the papers.<br />
<br />
I did 101 things with a 101 people and made friends with them all. Except the ones I didn't.<br />
<br />
It's been an amazing year which I just feathered over with the lightest of brush strokes. It has been an exceptional time in my life and while I do miss much about home, I think I'm just starting to find my feet and this adventure is just beginning.<br />
<br />
Sorry Mum, maybe I'll pop home next Christmas.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-20135286536407170142017-04-03T10:00:00.000-07:002017-04-03T10:00:03.797-07:00Bricks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's been a while since I arrived in London, 3 months of a blur in fact. A lot has happened, my life has changed and I have stories to share.<br />
<br />
I should have shared them when they happened, but London doesn't provide the kind of downtime I had in the desert. Indeed rather than wonder what to do with myself, there is always something to do.<br />
<br />
But before I get into wearing undies on the underground or who punched who in the face, I want to share some of the basic observations that make Mum's happy.<br />
<br />
Everything is made of bricks. Everything.<br />
<br />
There's insulation, double glazing and central heating.. New Zealand, these are things you could learn from.<br />
<br />
Almost all the cars are fancy European ones, VW, Mercedes, BMW, Renault.. I'm beginning to forget what a Honda was.<br />
<br />
People are quite happy to drive them up the centre of the road and park them every which way in all directions, road markings be damned!<br />
<br />
London is pretty flat, there are a lot of cyclists and I haven't seen a single one of them wearing a helmet. Cyclists are also completely immune to the effects of traffic lights or pedestrian crossings.<br />
<br />
The supermarkets are much cheaper than New Zealand, including the New Zealand produce.. figure that one out.<br />
<br />
Dining out however is extortionate. I unexpectedly paid 18 pounds to satiate my craving for fish 'n' chips.. about NZ$35 for a piece of crappy fish, some chips and a lemon fizzy drink. Never again.<br />
<br />
People love to talk about what part of London they're from, which part they currently live in and which part they'd like to live in. Welcome to the most boring conversation of my life and know that when it comes up, which it inevitably will, that's at least an hour you're not getting back.<br />
<br />
Did I mention everything is made of bricks? I was constantly asked when I first arrived which parts of London I liked, but initially I couldn't tell one brick from another. While I'm now more aware of the subtleties, there's still an awful lot of bricks.<br />
<br />
Public transport is king and it's marvellous. The amazing thing is how Londoners like to complain about it, a 3 minute delay is met with collective groans, with the astonishing fact there's a train every other minute seemingly lost on them. I would love to see what they thought of their transport after living in Auckland for a bit.<br />
<br />
There are a lot less cats, or so it seems to me. I actually live near a cat which is famous for hanging out at the local mini supermarket, not that I've met him, but the fact he's so well known only adds to his mystique. They do have foxes and squirrels though! There's also an inordinately large number of sausage dogs which you share the tube, bus, supermarket and pub with.. people take them everywhere.<br />
<br />
There are very few KFC's, unable, I expect, to compete with the plethora of cheap and nasty 'chicken shops' which are absolutely everywhere. One even has its own TV show, a hidden camera in a chicken shop which highlights the eccentricity of their clientele.<br />
<br />
Shoes here are also much cheaper, people take them seriously and you don't often see anyone wearing anything that doesn't look new.<br />
<br />
The weather is better than people think, it's certainly better than the locals make it out to be. I suspect too many trips to the south of France may have tainted people's expectations, or perhaps people simply revel in the one thing they can agree upon.. a commonality in deriding the weather no matter how good it may be.<br />
<br />
Although it's frustratingly difficult to get clothes dry when the sun's not out or the heating's not on given my place has no outdoors of its own.<br />
<br />
You can forget about having phone reception indoors.<br />
<br />
And finally, despite driving on the left, they walk on the right side of the footpath.. ffs.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I made a quick list of 20 stories which should have been told, so hold onto your butts, cause while some of it's funny, some stuff gets rough.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-50536920250711383412017-04-03T08:54:00.000-07:002017-04-03T08:54:35.252-07:00Arrival<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Soon after my violation at the hands of America, my heart still beating in my chest, I was winging my way to Britain.<br /><br />Watching the sun set over the desert, flying directly over Las Vegas and Chicago as they lit up the night sky and then more than one ginger ale calmed my nerves. The empty, vast, bleak blackness of Canada and the Atlantic giving way to the surprise of sunrise over the British Isles.<br />
<br />
I remember thinking as my eyes locked sight on land "..so this where I'm from", which was as strange to write as it was to think at the time, a sentiment I'd never previously considered and now feel I should have a DNA test to confirm.<br />
<br />
Following my experience through transit in the USA, I was dreading whatever horrors awaited me at the United Kingdom border, then 'beep' and I was in, 2 seconds! 2 damn seconds America!<br />
<br />
I couldn't believe it, I thought I'd wandered through the wrong gate, out a side door or into a toilet, but no.. I walked straight up to the gate, no line, beeped my passport through and that was it.. I was in.<br />
<br />
So unexpected was the speed of my concession that I actually considered going back to check that due diligence had been served.<br />
<br />
Sleep deprived, exhausted and still pumped with the adrenaline of the effort to simply be here, I suddenly felt calm. Our flight was early, my friends weren't there to meet me, I had a sit.<br />
<br />
Ultra-aware, I scanned everybody, faces, clothes, I felt like a fraud.. did they know I was an outsider?<br />
<br />
A face I hadn't seen in 10 years emerged through the crowd, hugs were exchanged, hot chocolates were drank and the nonsensical ramblings began in earnest once in the car.<br />
<br />
The sun shone through on a brisk winter's day as we passed from highway to city, my wide eyes sending a bevvy of questions to my mouth, all of them garbled out, words missing, overlapping, my brain hardly bothering to engage my ears. This statue, that bridge, why is there an enormous purple plastic pipe running for miles down the side of the road pinned in a foolhardy manor to that rickety fence?<br />
<br />
Here we go, off to Brighton to stay with my friends, except the car stops "We're here!".<br />
<br />
My friends have moved, I live in London now.</div>
Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-19247511976818600022017-01-09T13:55:00.002-08:002017-01-09T13:55:48.090-08:00Podcast<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Before I left New Zealand, I was interviewed for a podcast, a bit of insight into things I did<br />
<br />
<a href="https://soundcloud.com/puckyeahpodcast/pyp002">https://soundcloud.com/puckyeahpodcast/pyp002</a><br />
<br />
Just click the link Mum and make sure you have the speakers on. Unless you don't want to hear the sound of my voice, in which case just click the link and watch the little bar go across for an hour.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-85220276685912558322017-01-05T08:43:00.000-08:002017-01-05T08:57:32.048-08:00Transit<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My flight to Los Angeles was relatively non-descript, if you can get past the fact there's over 10,000km of open ocean between you and your destination and any fault will surely mean a long swim to oblivion, you'll be fine. There's not much to sea.<br />
<br />
The stopover in L.A. was 2 hours, a chance to stretch the legs, get a drink, use a less fearful toilet and take in the surroundings of a place I'd not been before, airport or no.<br />
<br />
I was in transit and having completed my transit visa (I did complete it in time let's remember) I was expecting to hop off and on my plane after it refuelled with little bother. How wrong I was.<br />
<br />
Americans love two things, yelling at you and yelling at each other. The ground staff had both bases covered as the cascade of travellers from my flight were met off the plane. Thick Latino accents filled the air and at least one "you don't know me", I was handed a large teal transit pass and ushered onwards.<br />
<br />
Downstairs was bedlam, the mayhem of the chaos causing me to run out of adjectives.<br />
<br />
We were funnelled into queues whether we liked it or not, there was very little decision making on anyone's part. <br />
<br />
The QueueMaster Retractable Barriers are functional yet affordable retractable belt barriers,
which come with a 3 year manufacturer's warranty and key safety features
such as belt lock and a slow retract braking system. An ideal low cost
solution for forming customer queues and the Americans couldn't get enough of them.<br />
<br />
No sooner would we be in line, than a belt would be removed here, replaced there, the entire flow of traffic splintering and wavering in a cacophony of uncertain groans and dismay. My teal transit pass could only buy me so many shortcuts, others were not so lucky. You felt like you were saying goodbye to family for the last time, would you see them again? You didn't know.<br />
<br />
I was pointed to one of the American paranoia machines, despite only being in transit it would glean as much information as it could from me including pictures and fingerprints. The interface was cumbersome, the fine print detailed and the constant critiquing of the fact I hadn't finished in record time only added to the anxiety.<br />
<br />
I reluctantly placed my fingers on the fingerprint scanner, rejected. A slip falls out of the machine and I'm told to move on. I didn't know it at the time, but the reason I was rejected was because my little fingers were too short.. yup.<br />
<br />
Another queue, more tension, more yelling, more whiz bang opening and closing of QueueMaster Retractable Barriers than you have ever seen. You'd be in front of someone, then ages behind them, crossing in zig zags everyone exchanging looks of total disbelief, the how's and why's beyond any of us.<br />
<br />
I was to be processed by a human being and the clock was ticking. My thoughts of a drink and a go on the toilet long since dissipated, the only thing on my mind was my travel insurance and whether it would cover this. I reached my man, no chit chat, what was my business here, I was grilled, fingerprinted, re-photographed, glared at and sent on my way.<br />
<br />
Holy shisskebabs Batman, America is a ridiculous place.<br />
<br />
Oh but if this ordeal was over, ushered through more doorways, narrow hallways, escalators and wouldn't you know it, QueueMaster Retractable Barriers. It was time to strip down, unpack all of your belongings and stand in a x-ray machine listening to the female staff have a good laugh. They laughed the whole time, for everyone, at least someone was enjoying this.<br />
<br />
Suddenly in the midst of a grand hall full of food and beverages, all I could do was hustle past them, smacking my lips, staring longingly at the drinks on display. It felt like slow motion, but this was a race. My mind, body and soul still reeling from the effort to even get this far over the previous days, the world seemed surreal and cartoon like, but this was America.<br />
<br />
My flight was a long way through boarding as I ran up to the gate, I handed over my boarding pass as the violation of the USA hit me. 2 hours I'd never get back from a nation I hope I don't see again soon.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-45628329001486630622017-01-02T09:50:00.000-08:002017-01-02T09:50:21.203-08:00Just<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I made my connecting flight.. just. JUST.<br />
<br />
Sitting amongst the suits on the plane I became aware of how gross I actually was. Pret-ty gross.<br />
<br />
I forgave myself and decided they had it coming because I can't buy a house. The sort of sound resolution of thoughts one might expect from someone so close to breaking.<br />
<br />
We landed in Auckland, I picked up my bags and half ran with them from the domestic to international terminal.. because in New Zealand these things are seperated by an open air maze of carparks, wire mesh, prefab huts and wheelie bins which stretch on for roughly a kilometre.<br />
<br />
I had made it in time to check in for my flight, the relief was immense! Until I tried to check in anyway.<br />
<br />
Despite numerous paranoid queries to the airline and friends about what paperwork might be required for passing through the United States, no-one mentioned a transit visa. But the woman at check-in did!<br />
<br />
I was boned.<br />
<br />
Off to the service desk I trolloped, giddy, vision blurred, smell.. apparent, and so so embarrassed about the visa. I could see the attendent behind the desk's face droop, just as the woman at check-in's had when my lack of a visa become the topic of conversation. "I can give you options.." here we go "We charge $50 to do it plus US$14 for the visa.. or you can do it yourself on your phone and just pay the $14." Now that's what I call options volume eleven. "I'll take the latter."<br />
<br />
With time running out, I probed through the ridiculous American forms and how well they displayed on a phone. "How many hairs do you have on your right arm?" - "What was your Grandmother's dog's favourite colour?" - "How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck was a terrorist?"<br />
<br />
Finished. Paid. Sent. "You have not qualified for automatic passage" which I show to the ground staff "That never happens." Of course it doesn't. "Your application will be assessed and you will hear back from us within 72 hours" - US Government. Well that's handy as my flight closes in 17 minutes.<br />
<br />
A sort of slow imposing dread finally starts to creep over me as the woman at the counter types in one thing and another "No." she says to herself "No." again.. she pats the keys and squints into the screen "This never happens." I'm half listening, mostly clock watching, my thoughts have turned to who I can ask to pick me up from Auckland airport and what people will think of me when it comes to light that I haven't left the country. I feel sick.<br />
<br />
I'll never know who my hero was, their name, their age.. but they knew mine and somewhere in America they hit the green button. With two minutes before my flight closed, I popped up "Approved."<br />
<br />
With a total air of disbelief and visibly emotional I shunt myself through the automatic doors and onwards..<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-59451411886624603142017-01-02T08:59:00.000-08:002017-01-02T09:00:45.004-08:00Options<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
I'd been on the phone with the airline earlier in the day for reasons unrelated to my departure, however they'd picked up that I wouldn't make my international flight on my current connection.<br />
<br />
Their quick thinking and attention to detail was appreciated, though the time I would lose in the run up to leaving my house forever was about as welcome as a slap with a wet haddock. The woman from the service team assured me she would sort it out and placed me on hold..<br />
<br />
"Good gawd fuck" I thought to myself, just as I'm now thinking "I hope my Grandparents have the ability to censor swearwords in their minds". But swearing was required at the time and not relaying that now would be dishonest, which is surely the lessor of two evils..right?<br />
<br />
The service team is back with options.. "We can change it for you for $280 or you can book a new flight for $299". Now that's what I call options volume ten!<br />
<br />
I sat for a moment, I was too worn down, if I looked at that bit of floor a bit longer, maybe it would swallow me up? "Sir?" "Yes, right, well, the $280 option I guess" I said with as little conviction as is possible to convey a decision of that nature, it's like "you can eat this dog sick or cat shit".. "I'll have the shit thanks."<br />
<br />
I'd lost time, I'd lost money and I'd lost self respect from eating all that shit. Not that I really ate any shit, that's not a past-time of mine, but I really want to rub in how bitter I was and it certainly felt like I had anyway.<br />
<br />
Feeling not very well, I doubled down the effort, which was exactly like when you're already running, tell yourself to go faster and fall down in a heap. I did not get everything sorted before I left and I really can't apologise to my flatmates enough for that, at least I didn't leave piles of cat shit flavoured vomit anywhere.<br />
<br />
I haphazardly packed my bags, got them downstairs and they were placed in a taxi on my behalf.. where I also eventually ended up. I'd frantically staggered there, soaked in sweat, twitchy and miserable, completely out of touch with my surroundings, we were off to the airport.<br />
<br />
</div>
Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-55314282630126585542017-01-02T08:33:00.001-08:002017-01-02T10:01:49.209-08:00Sprint<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've been working towards getting to Britain for the last 3 years, chasing my crazy dream like the two foxes I just saw chasing each other outside my window (they have foxes! OMG! squeee!)<br />
<br />
Ahem..<br />
<br />
The last few months especially have been hard yakka, working two jobs, paying double rent, trying to sell my business, getting rid of my other worldly possessions.. did I mention 'trying'?<br />
<br />
I wasn't able to sell my business before I left and the upshot was a lot of running around to make sure it could continue operating in my absence, like the squirrels frantically running around the garden (Squirrels! holy fucking shit! SQUIRRELS! errrmmmeerrggeerrhhdddd)<br />
<br />
Ahem..<br />
<br />
It meant the run up to my leaving really did become a sprint. In the last few days I regularly stayed up past 4am trying to dot t's and cross i's.. which was part of the problem, I could no longer tell my arse from my elbow.<br />
<br />
I chose to stay home for Christmas rather than spending it with the family, not because I wanted to, but because I simply wouldn't make the finish line if I lost two days to be with them. I had fights with friends and family alike in those last couple of weeks, I was emotionally drained, mentally fatigued and incredibly unfit (that's not news to anyone) and I hit the wall.<br />
<br />
I spent a lot of time staring at two things like any decision I made was life and death and would alter the future of the world. I churlishly goaded myself whenever I stood still unaccepting of any time spent on my elbows.<br />
<br />
It was a hard farcical grind and if there had been judges present I wouldn't have made it to the second round. I was a mess on that last day, a sweaty, exhausted, emotional, quixotic mess. For those I wasn't able to see on that last day, you're lucky, that would have been the grossest hug you've ever had.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-10454681048693601902016-12-31T04:37:00.000-08:002016-12-31T04:37:47.591-08:00Here<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I went to work for a major organisation in a far away land, a scary, but necessary prospect off the back of a lean year. In actuality literal as well as figurative as I was poor enough to get skinny, 15 kilos lighter than I am now and I'm not exactly bulging at 75kg.<br />
<br />
The work was rewarding and my colleagues gave me open license to be funny and plenty of encouragement to chase my dreams.<br />
<br />
For many of them where we worked was what they had been reaching for for many years, it was confronting for some that I'd only had a phone call to come over 3 weeks earlier. I learned to keep that fact under my hat. So often I'd been on the wrong end of years of toil versus dumb luck, this time I really didn't know how lucky I was.<br />
<br />
I wasn't there long, but the love and respect of the people in that place is still with me today, still egging me on, still challenging me to go for it. It was so immensely refreshing from the safety first mentality of New Zealand that it made me believe I could do things. Anything.<br />
<br />
I was tapping back into who I used to be, bright eyed, confident, precocious, ambitious, a person who constantly tore down the wall of "no's" and proved things were possible. People can't tell me I can't do things any more.<br />
<br />
I was told about a course in comedy television in London and I applied, three times as it turned out, but I didn't get in. I guess people can tell me I can't do that one thing. However that didn't stop me either.<br />
<br />
The dream is to work in comedy TV, why pretend like it isn't or that I'm not prepared to work two jobs and give up everything to go to the ends of the Earth to make it happen?<br />
<br />
So here I am, to chase the dream, to see what happens and see what it makes of me.<br />
</div>
Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-13309860587212110712016-12-30T09:12:00.000-08:002016-12-30T09:12:03.702-08:00Sensible<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
2006 was a weird year, mostly because it was 10 years ago and that is pretty weird.<br />
<br />
I was living in Dunedin doing student radio and student television, I was having fun, as can be seen here<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/xBee1o9qOBE/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xBee1o9qOBE?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
The problem was I was under immense pressure to grow up, have a 'proper' career, a family, a home (imagine) and my recent foray into stand up on the back of years of presenting simply wasn't going to cut it. Or so every single person told me.<br />
<br />
I realise now that people were just looking out for me because they cared, the sweeties, but it lead me to believe I was on the wrong track and something needed to be done. So I went to film school and majored in post-production, sensible sound decision making.. which took me a bit off course.<br />
<br />
I was now in a long term relationship with video editing, except I wasn't in love. We'd dabbled, played with each others feelings, pushed each others buttons, but we hadn't really clicked. Sure we worked well together, but our relationship was purely practical and eventually when I'd roll out of bed in the morning I'd seethe about having to touch those keys again.<br />
<br />
I broke. A bit. My sensible choice had been an unmitigated emotional disaster and while up-skilled with practical abilities and a sound knowledge base, I was in truth blue to the tooth.<br />
<br />
While still always laughing and joking, I think at times I could be unpleasant for those who knew me best because I was just so obviously down in the dumps. I felt trapped in the decision I had made, unhappy, but sticking by it because it was the sensible thing to do.<br />
<br />
Eventually it was simply better to "fuck sensible". Why paddle round in calm conditions for fear of catching a wave?<br />
<br />
Which brings us to 2013.<br />
<br /></div>
Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-49202217792693374032016-12-30T08:29:00.002-08:002016-12-30T08:29:35.519-08:00Miandad<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This story begins with a boy, me, more precisely.<br />
<br />
I asked my Mum when she first realised I was 'funny', she thought about it for a long time and then told me the tale of a 1 and a bit year old still largely unable to talk who was watching the cricket on Grandma's knee.<br />
<br />
Pakistan were playing and one of the greatest players of all time was at the crease, Javed Miandad. That his last name included almost the full breadth of my vocabulary at the time apparently brought quite a chuckle, how funny it was that the player's last name be "Me and Dad".<br />
<br />
You could call me addicted to laughter, at the very least susceptible to its charms.. "crushing hard" the kids might say, except they probably wouldn't, maybe "I is sick in the head for funny yeah bruv". Kids.<br />
<br />
And I have tried to ignore it, put it down to personality rather than passion, but right now I'm sitting in London.. an awfully long way from home in New Zealand. Not because like so many Kiwis I am enamoured with the fatherland, I'm not. Not because I like big cities, I don't. But because this place of all places is my best chance to make a living being funny and I just can't ignore that desire any more.<br />
<br />
So here I am. Flying in the face of common sense or financial stability, personal relationships or family, leaving behind all the good graces of a country people call 'God's own', to be here. Now.<br />
<br />
Let's go back a bit and find out how I got.. here.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-12519277081133728242016-11-20T16:15:00.000-08:002016-11-20T16:19:52.680-08:00Failure<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Failure, rank abyss of black sinking melancholy, hello again.<br />
<br />
Failure is a funny thing, it has a serious finite feel to it, yet it denotes effort and can spur further endeavour.<br />
<br />
I'm feeling as blue as the blue man group at the moment because I've spent the last year staring into failure's black lifeless eyes constantly egging it on to "come at me bro".<br />
<br />
I can't argue it hasn't been a difficult year, I've effectively taken time out from my busy schedule of existing to throw myself into the emotional meat grinder one more time. Or several more times if anyone was keeping count.<br />
<br />
My dream of doing comedy for a living takes regular beatings, it could arguably be the speed ball in a particularly rough gym on the bad side of town next to the most downtrodden of steel factories where the workers truly despise their overinflated money hungry Grinch of a boss.<br />
<br />
Now I sit on the precipice of moving to the other side of the world, to a country I've never been to with a plan that no longer exists. My last roll of the dice for the year coming up snake eyes as the gates to comedy film school swung closed.<br />
<br />
Feedback would be nice.<br />
<br />
When I blew the Billy T, I understood. I didn't connect with the crowd, my performance was rushed and the title of my pitch was poor. The wrong foot, with which I do most of my stepping, was engaged and extended long before I opened my mouth. I didn't perform to my potential and wasn't nominated, quite rightfully.<br />
<br />
However no such understanding has extended from my inability to get into this school. This was my third attempt, my best attempt and it wasn't good enough. I simply don't know why.<br />
<br />
So steadfast was my belief that I would not fail this time that I booked my ticket to Britain long ago. An act of defiance in the face of the odds, something I could control.<br />
<br />
I worked two jobs, paid two lots of rent in two cities, a candle burnt at both ends with no favours left to call in. I wanted this so much.<br />
<br />
But those dice stared up at me, two black lifeless eyes..<br />
<br />
And I stared back.. into the abyss, without a rudder, without a plan, I'm still moving to the other side of the world in less than a month.<br />
<br />
I recognise these eyes. "Come at me bro."<br />
<br />
</div>
Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-42856729278372338602015-08-17T23:04:00.000-07:002015-08-17T23:09:35.011-07:00My Jemainecan Guy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
A couple of days ago Jemaine Clement said New Zealand television was shit. Now I'm not quoting him verbatim, but in my version he's absolutely right.<br />
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But why is he right? One reason is because New Zealand burned public broadcasting at the stake, another is because we jumped on reality television so hard its knees broke and it could no longer leave.<br />
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New Zealand has become a roundabout of bad television, but if you work in the industry, as I do, you're not allowed to say so because it makes you very unpopular. Spitwads fly your way from the back of the class if you dare say anything bad about the New Zealand industry because people live in constant fear of no longer being able to afford to buy their lunch at the cafeteria.<br />
<br />
You are not to rock the boat, no matter how shit your boat might be. In fact despite how shit your boat might be, you are encouraged to tell everyone there's nothing wrong with your boat, you love your boat, your boat is great and ask would anyone like to buy a boat?<br />
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I'm an outsider when it comes to nautical buoyancy, this is a big part of why I'm planning to move to the UK. I'm not making any friends here trying to change things and I don't feel I can learn more about making television comedy when I'm being shown a chart on boat floatation.<br />
<br />
'Flight of the Conchords' was a great TV show and very genuinly Kiwi. The irony is if it had been made in NZ, it would have been decidely worse. Not because Bret and Jemaine aren't clever writers and actors, not because we don't have fine world class crew or because we're a naturally sexy people constantly distracting each other from the task at hand.<br />
<br />
The reason it wouldn't have been as good is because of the way our networks, production houses and national funding body operate together.<br />
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Now this is where things stop being pretty, so if you're an industry person seeking veagence, please don't come to my house.<br />
<br />
Here is the tale of "The Little Production That Could."<br />
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The production house had a great idea for a production, but it needed money to make it real.<br />
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"NZ on Air has money!" Thought the production house and it ran off down the lane.<br />
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"Can we please have some money for a production?" The production house asked. "Not without a hot slot." NZ on Air said. "You should talk to the network, they have heaps of big slots."<br />
<br />
The production house ran off to see the network and show it the great idea. "Look what we want to make!" said the production house, its tiny hands quivering with excitement as it held up its idea to the network's hole. "That's not going to fit in there!" said the network snidely. <br />
<br />
"However.." the network said, "If you change this, this and this, we can shoehorn it on in there". "It can't be too edgy.. and it needs to be as broad as possible to really ram it home."<br />
<br />
"Oh." said the production house and they took their good idea away, ritualistically removed its soul and buried the original writers at the back of the garden.<br />
<br />
The network and production house were so happy they held hands and skipped off to visit the old man who lives in Wellington under the Prime Minister's shoe.<br />
<br />
"Look what we want to make." said the gleeming smiles of puppets in wankersham suits. "Cool!" said NZ on Air, "..but, just one thing.. can we change this?" "Sure!" said the tiny prostitutes and everyone was off to production country.<br />
<br />
The little production that could no longer resembled its fluffy bunny self, it was better! It now had one green eye and one bulbous undulating tendril where its other eye used to be. It had one giant scaly forelimb, half a wing and was constantly in labour. "Yay!" said the production house and the network as they nipped behind the bikesheds for a quick wrister. "Nuufffcllaarrrggghhhh!" said the little production that could, long having forgotten it was for an english language channel.<br />
<br />
Everyone in production country was happy. The network was happy, they got their hole filled. The production house was happy, their boat would float for a couple more months. NZ on Air was happy, they'd gotten rid of all that pesky money. And the crew were happy, because they could feed their families.. or in lieu of actual families, their dog. The crew long having given up on true happiness because of the long hours and punishing stress of having to dedicate themselves to television in order to make it.<br />
<br />
There was just one tiny problem with the little production that could, no-one had noticed it was now a forty anused shit fountain.<br />
<br />
The industry had long since forgotten that people watching don't like shit everywhere and the little production that could was cancelled. Or shot. Where ever this loose metaphor has been going.<br />
<br />
"Oh no." cried the kids in production country "whatever will we do?!" "I know!" said the production house "We'll make another production, with the exact same people and the exact same process. It won't go wrong this time." "Does that matter?" asked the network "Shhhhh" said the crew.<br />
<br />
And they all went home for tea.<br />
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THE END.<br />
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Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-30800261017422753612015-08-11T03:34:00.001-07:002015-08-11T03:35:45.381-07:00Stars<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The #1 question I am being asked today is if I don't like the Top 40, what then do I think the flag should be?<br />
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I'm glad you asked, except that it meant trawling through all 10,292 national flag submissions at some considerable effort. I do have better things to do, I just must not want to do them.<br />
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Let's be clear from the outset, this is not a national logo picking competition. If it were, the fern would win hands down. Well done to all the marketing people who have wretchedly and increasingly obtusely forced it upon us over the years.<br />
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I think this is where the official panel of flag pickers got it so wrong, they went logo and we went "oh no". Perhaps someone could have explained to the panel that we live in three dimensions, not one.<br />
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A flag should be simple and it should represent everybody. This is the flag Tony Veitch has been bandying around. Congratulations, if you like this flag, you like a sport.<br />
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The flag should represent everybody, even the knock kneed science geeks with no sporting code of affiliation. So while navigating the maze of ferns, koru's and kiwis, I did try to keep an open mind in coming up with my own Top 40.<br />
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I tried to take basic flag design into consideration as well as my own 4 rules which I laid out previously. So here goes, in some semblance of order, but certainly not favouritism, my Top 40 NZ flags.<br />
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I'm going to start inexplicably with those which have ferns on them. I know this breaks rule #2, but then I don't think every flag in my Top 40 should be the new flag. I accept that it needs to be here as part of the discussion, so if it has to have a fern on it, this is what I would choose from.<br />
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In fact I broke rule #4 there as well, so let's cross these off, but expect to see them on a speedway derby car sometime in the future.<br />
<br />
Let's move on to the use of korus. I'm not entirely opposed to the use of korus, but as pointed out to me by a few people, you don't want the flag to look like it's going down the drain.<br />
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I think the use of korus here isn't too bad, but again, I wouldn't choose any of these as my flag.<br />
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This sheep here is as surprised as anybody that it pooed stars<br />
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On to korus used within convention. I kind of like these, it feels like I'm giving the finger to the Queen.<br />
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I actually wouldn't mind having one as our new national flag, busy though they might be.<br />
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Maybe we could aspire to be like another nation?<br />
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But if we stick with the Queen for a moment, I do like this Kenya inspired option..<br />
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But I would change the colour scheme.<br />
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Anyway, on to red, white and blue bars and stripes<br />
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These are strong flags, if a bit sea faring. I would lean towards the first and the fourth ones in this section, I like the back story of the first that the three main stars are our major islands, while number 4 makes me feel like our country is actually in the Caribbean.. and therefore warmer.<br />
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Maybe we should go with red, white and blue baa's.<br />
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That was low. Great flag though, it fills me with patriotic fervour, sort of like these 1990 commonwealth games numbers..<br />
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<br />
Or this ode to Taumaranui<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_0DVCC6kPzClW0zMERIY1LtQhExWSinRuB9qwQ-rDDsyMXmziphuByAL_J63BIWir6CZ_fjieXRsMa-myb94UU4Y2Q4SqmPgltvb4CECwwkMLM4OnPkSzlF8zgbYM6GzMKP8-pseALw4/s1600/21105-zdujjdjg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_0DVCC6kPzClW0zMERIY1LtQhExWSinRuB9qwQ-rDDsyMXmziphuByAL_J63BIWir6CZ_fjieXRsMa-myb94UU4Y2Q4SqmPgltvb4CECwwkMLM4OnPkSzlF8zgbYM6GzMKP8-pseALw4/s320/21105-zdujjdjg.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I'd certainly be worried if I was the other countries watching that flag come out at the games.<br />
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It's crisp blue skies, fluffy clouds and green hills lead me to our next group, the blue, puffy.. green.. ocean.. err.. what "NZ looks like when you get here" group<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsaN6wC9BCnMXMt6T7c0sEIhyphenhyphenxfEhYD9TKqY9HN5Esqsr0EJzjUQuFXabLiIBlb-HN7BVxAZHwLoYAbdkQ11ha4F6p-WbmGPQQ_l6RpwSaT0VgLZD1pzeQznYzJLMJW7oduC2ae4ebuWE/s1600/8152-nickfargherflagdesign2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsaN6wC9BCnMXMt6T7c0sEIhyphenhyphenxfEhYD9TKqY9HN5Esqsr0EJzjUQuFXabLiIBlb-HN7BVxAZHwLoYAbdkQ11ha4F6p-WbmGPQQ_l6RpwSaT0VgLZD1pzeQznYzJLMJW7oduC2ae4ebuWE/s320/8152-nickfargherflagdesign2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Again, I would be pretty comfortable with almost any of these being our flag. They're bold, reflective of our country and not copyrighted. To me they do say New Zealand, but if they don't go far enough for you, there's always this<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinQ5svBjWGk7X7zFkvE7-XVK743QNdVRaVS1qXCcEz7okHvg-1p4PUDgpa_noXtp_0vh4o29SNRrEo2x-mcsyFpIJ9GlmgYX4WYdxHJffQluNhBART6XWIrQaNzfAHYvrRlpiI91OhcFk/s1600/25018-kiwi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinQ5svBjWGk7X7zFkvE7-XVK743QNdVRaVS1qXCcEz7okHvg-1p4PUDgpa_noXtp_0vh4o29SNRrEo2x-mcsyFpIJ9GlmgYX4WYdxHJffQluNhBART6XWIrQaNzfAHYvrRlpiI91OhcFk/s320/25018-kiwi.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Except this might help the ongoing confusion amongst foreigners about which kiwi we want to be likened to.<br />
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Here are a couple more flags which I think have strong ideas<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJwqKYhPnto0yISu1pCcS13v59YJMUVSV0vB1-_oWAsQGWTXfFKOwmyRSFAeDxIgBZEWxGfbz65UPSJqgenfLHLBC0wZSmq4PGUmStfSkM9fT4vWdk0Lok1lSjjDgoasnB0V45XOSsAtw/s1600/3886-nz-flag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJwqKYhPnto0yISu1pCcS13v59YJMUVSV0vB1-_oWAsQGWTXfFKOwmyRSFAeDxIgBZEWxGfbz65UPSJqgenfLHLBC0wZSmq4PGUmStfSkM9fT4vWdk0Lok1lSjjDgoasnB0V45XOSsAtw/s320/3886-nz-flag.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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None of them would really look out of place flying above the Beehive.<br />
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But what's my favourite you ask?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU7d-gZ1qnIa_nXP-oLxEC9CuWJC_NHot5MhSG9jPKDTAbHTq63UfGR_LC32pK7Bv9d3N4qzT4GQVR26XFOWJyHIcVU-yYIXua4qpwR76MLFfyqvMz5KVRmH7KS5nXDByHkFKsC4hjf5Y/s1600/NZ-flag-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU7d-gZ1qnIa_nXP-oLxEC9CuWJC_NHot5MhSG9jPKDTAbHTq63UfGR_LC32pK7Bv9d3N4qzT4GQVR26XFOWJyHIcVU-yYIXua4qpwR76MLFfyqvMz5KVRmH7KS5nXDByHkFKsC4hjf5Y/s320/NZ-flag-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
This, obviously.<br />
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But if it came right down to it, if someone held a gun to my head and said "you can't have awesome bike flag", well then I'd choose this<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6pcoO8ycwRD1SetmhDZG2P6ZMeG_z2_T8JBgaqDqFjyen_zoZ63McwMH9K4E1Ije5bEnTNi6eq-yv_mt3Y73rDAe8uYPbjlGyPMZNTCvmsWwILszrPVC_oCg8Lq55A98Cd0CwcmLIP0U/s1600/3765-ttfhwtct.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6pcoO8ycwRD1SetmhDZG2P6ZMeG_z2_T8JBgaqDqFjyen_zoZ63McwMH9K4E1Ije5bEnTNi6eq-yv_mt3Y73rDAe8uYPbjlGyPMZNTCvmsWwILszrPVC_oCg8Lq55A98Cd0CwcmLIP0U/s320/3765-ttfhwtct.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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To me, this is a strong, robust, New Zealand flag. I identify with the colours and I'd be happy seeing it flown in a stadium or patched to the arm of one of our "peacekeepers". To me, without being cheesy, without lowering ourselves to logos and emblems, this is the flag of Aotearoa.<br />
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Also, I heard those other flags said you looked like dorks!<br />
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Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-57255515935384376272015-08-10T00:58:00.000-07:002015-08-10T01:17:47.989-07:00Flagons<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have opinions on the flag debate.<br />
<br />
"Why" "WHY?!" I hear you ask. "It's not even a debate, it's one overstroked corporate ego in the midst of a self serving rebranding exercise."<br />
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And you're right, that's exactly what this is. A rich man who wanted to be Prime Minister, used his finances and influence to realise his dream and now wants to leave his egotistical mark on the nation like a businessman kissing a prostitute.<br />
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I have an opinion because years before our Prime Minister slithered out of the Wall St woodwork, I too felt we needed a new flag. Our current flag is a colonial flag, but I think we've far outgrown the label of colon-y. We are a nation which can stand on it's own two feet.. until we sign away our sovereignty.. but that's another matter.<br />
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So while I agree we should look at a new flag, I cannot agree with the process, the cost or the absolutely vile Top 40 picked out by a group of utterly inept Noddie and friends.<br />
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Here is the <a href="http://www.stuff.co.nz/national/politics/70996308/a-list-of-40-possible-alternative-flags-chosen-from-10000" target="_blank">Top 40</a> from which our potential new flag will be picked, prepare to get a little vomit in your mouth. <br />
<br />
I have quickly canvassed people I trust to make sure I'm not just being an arsehole, but without the slightest deviation, all agree this list is an abomination. Phrases like "ew" and "..it looks like a first year design student's portfolio" pretty much nutted it on the head for me.<br />
<br />
At this juncture I think it's fair to say the decision around our national flag is done and dusted. None of these designs will topple our current flag. And I have mixed feelings about this, because A) I actually want a new flag, and B) I am so so glad it won't be any of these.<br />
<br />
I've spent an unhealthy amount of time looking through the <a href="https://www.govt.nz/browse/engaging-with-government/the-nz-flag-your-chance-to-decide/gallery/?start=180&sort=random&scroll=true" target="_blank">submissions</a> over the past few months, there were some really good designs. It's just sad none of them made the Top 40. Judging by the list, never even came close, because they didn't go with the far superior option of letting blind chimpanzees pick at random in a dark room.<br />
<br />
Because no-one involved in this process seems to know jack diddley about flag design, I came up with a list of guidelines to help narrow the field.<br />
<br />
1) - No black.<br />
<br />
You can argue our national colour is black, but you can't argue black is a colour, next!<br />
<br />
2) - No fern.<br />
<br />
The silver fern is our national emblem, it does not belong on the flag, it is on literally everything else.<br />
<br />
3) - No kiwi.<br />
<br />
We are not the airforce.<br />
<br />
And finally..<br />
<br />
4) - my 4 year old niece must be able to draw it.<br />
<br />
It's not rocket science, but a few more blind chimps in confined spaces might bring us closer to the mark.<br />
<br />
My personal opinion is the flag should be blue, green and white, which will rankle the "we are not Fonterra" people, but by the same token, maybe Fonterra actually did some proper market research in defining the colours which best represent our country.<br />
<br />
Then again, maybe my good friend <a href="http://hadleydonaldson.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Hadley Donaldson</a> nailed it from the start.<br />
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Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-45142201106283435262015-08-04T20:48:00.003-07:002015-08-04T20:48:54.690-07:00Wednesday<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Almost 2 months have passed since my last wrote so vehemently staking my claim on the future.<br />
<br />
In that time, I didn't stand up to the courage of my convictions, I allowed myself to once again be besotted by work and I haven't made a dent in the comedy application I've been at pains to perfect. <br />
<br />
And that makes today a very important day.<br />
<br />
For the last 5 years I have worked closely with the New Zealand Ice Hockey League, building it up and making the impossible a reality. I have given it my all and placed the importance of its success far above anything else in my life. I have succeeded.<br />
<br />
Had I put the same time and effort into comedy, your cousin you hardly talk to might know my name by now. I might be appearing on a bad panel show and rolling my eyes at every lame white bread joke. I might be drawing crowds in the 10's playing some backwater dive and making disparaging remarks about the genetic make up of the people from the next town over.<br />
<br />
I could have all that and more.<br />
<br />
Today is the day I bid adieu and blow kisses to the NZIHL as my ship drifts slowly away from the dock. It's been fun and there are some achievements of which I am extremely proud, but the elves are leaving and they said they'd lend me change for the bus at the other end.<br />
<br />
I normally don't like fanfare, I shy away from celebrating success, even birthdays, but this time is different. I want to celebrate the success of all my friends in helping to build this impossible ice hockey castle up in the air. Because it was impossible and it could not have been done without the hugs, laughter and skill of some dedicated inspirational people.<br />
<br />
My last game will be the Skate Of Origin in Queenstown on August 29, an event I retrieved from the ashes and applied resuscitation to for three years. The fact that it is still using its inhaler is a sign it hasn't completely recovered, but with it now a part of the NZ Winter Games, I feel it has a chance to go on without me.<br />
<br />
Today is the day I stop using the phrase "a means to an end" because every means is a distraction. If you have a crazy dream, you must silence the doubters and chase it for all you are worth. You must lie on your death bed and speak knowing you gave it everything you had, understand that success and happiness are not one and the same and that your journey was well spent.<br />
<br />
Here goes.<br />
<br />
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Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-44058424587056907582015-06-12T04:16:00.004-07:002015-06-12T04:16:55.624-07:00Bitchin'<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I was in a meeting today and found this blog front and centre on the board room big screen. "Oh yeah." I thought to myself, with an "Oh right." strapped to the caboose.<br />
<br />
I began writing here to detail my adventures overseas, to put my Mum's mind at rest and avoid typing out the same story seventy times on whatever chat service was currently taking my fancy.<br />
<br />
The reason I've returned is because I've decided to detail my next adventure, one which is quite heartfelt and personal, but which I hope we can all revel in together.<br />
<br />
I turn 35 next month, I'm single, I have no kids, I run my own business and I am the envy of all my married, child laden, boss kowtowing friends. I think it's viewed by them as a choice, or even luck, but in truth I'm a terrible boyfriend, probably sterile and owning your own business means not having a penny to your name most days of the year.<br />
<br />
What I do have, is freedom.<br />
<br />
Not crazy USA style freedom paid for with the blood, sweat and tears of the very poor, but the freedom to choose a new direction, to chase a dream. Some might argue that is an American dream, but I think the real American dream is to wring every drop of blood, sweat and tears from every poor person everywhere and I don't share those aspirations.<br />
<br />
My dream is to be funny for a living. To bring laughter to the world and enjoy the smiles I put on people's faces. I want to laugh loudly every day of my life. I want to hear other people laugh, I want to laugh with them. I want to squeeze smiles from those who don't have much to smile about and feel them lift that little bit.<br />
<br />
I did stand up, I was even quite good for a while. "Next big thing" I heard mentioned more than a few times, but I never lived up to that billing. In reality I probably never came close.<br />
<br />
I had to go away from stand up comedy for a while after I started to resent the audience for laughing at jokes I didn't think were funny. I never had the knack for repetition, everything had to be fresh and new to keep me interested. I would find a joke funny the first time, not the second, question it the third and want to kill myself by its fourth retelling.<br />
<br />
Professional stand ups do the same jokes hundreds of times in a year, potentially thousands of times over the course of their careers. This was my failing as a stand up comic, great material, poor distribution.<br />
<br />
After a couple of years I started experimenting, being a bit strange, trying new things. People would see me on a poster and come along only to discover I was nothing like what I used to be and they were happy to tell me how bad they thought I was.<br />
<br />
The truth though wasn't that I was bad, but that I was different. I was enjoying stand up a lot more, so I decided to stick at it. For two years I listened to people tell me how bad I was and how much they didn't like my performance. For two years I questioned myself every step of the way, wondering if they were right.<br />
<br />
Until I finally decided "Fuck 'em, have fun."<br />
<br />
Things began to click, the old audience stumbled away into the darkness and a new one came out of the toilet.<br />
<br />
A fellow comic once said to me "Jez, what you do isn't comedy, it's art." I said "Can't it be both?". I watched him ponder this moment deeply, sip his beer and walk away. 20 minutes later he returned, tapped me on the shoulder, said "Yes it can." and walked off again. I loved that.<br />
<br />
The thing is, I love all kinds of comedy and as a student of the art form, I want to press on. I can be a "camel lion" on stage according to my spellchecker, political eviscerations one day, avant garde full lycra body suit ukulele playing gimp the next. For me the joy is the laugh, but how we get there has become so much more important. I no longer want it to be easy, I want to be challenged and I want people to have to think.<br />
<br />
So I'm applying for comedy television school, in London.<br />
<br />
Again.<br />
<br />
That's right, again. Unbeknownst to you, but knownst to all of those within tree shaking distance of me, I applied last year as well.<br />
<br />
This year is different however.<br />
<br />
I have even less time to prepare.<br />
<br />
I'm staggering round like a husk of a man because of my current vocation, more about that later me thinks. It can be hard to draw blood from a stone, though I suppose I could ask the Americans. This empty husk MUST finish his application on time and make a damn decent fisting of it. I'm hoping by leaving this here where you can see it, that you will take the time to remind me to put me first, to throw my hat into the ring and dance around it.<br />
<br />
Your support in applying boot to bottom is greatly appreciated.<br />
<br /></div>
Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-29980696442488659742013-11-27T08:32:00.001-08:002014-03-24T20:41:58.275-07:00Inhale<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
For the last few years I have noticed a change in my voice as it becomes raspier and whispier, changes I attributed to age. However it turns out it's actually my bloody inhaler!<br />
<br />
All this time while I've lamented the loss of my once *beautiful radio reading voice, it was actually my inhaler thinning me out.<br />
<br />
What this means in the short term is that I will now be following any use of the old blower with a drink in the hope that I can turn my "river cottage" voice around and return to the nasal chainsaw everybody knows and *loves.<br />
<br />
*tenuous<br />
<br /></div>
Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-57225442620672585962013-11-27T03:53:00.001-08:002013-11-27T08:04:11.764-08:00Hoops<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've been quite touched by the outpouring of concern from my family in regards to my treatment by the bank, messages from all quarters which, while occasionally incoherent, were none the less enjoyable to read.<br />
<br />
The good news is the bank FINALLY let me have my money. I only had to retrieve a small golden idol on their behalf from an undisclosed South American location fraught with booby traps. Several of my travelling companions either betrayed me or were killed, but in the end I flew out of there in my sea plane and could return to teaching university level archaeology.<br />
<br />
It really was some of the absolute worst customer service I have ever had. Even now I STILL do not know WHY they wouldn't give me access to my money. Reading back through their emails is like watching an elaborate interpretive dance depicting the difficulty with which you catch a fly with some chopsticks.<br />
<br />
In fact jumping through hoops has been par for the course as of late, the debacle that was getting a new gate pass for work was nothing short of your average ancient Greek saga.<br />
<br />
Security here is pretty tight, I pass through four gates every morning, I have a paper pass to do so. A request came through to replace this with a plastic pass which would require me to supply a copy of my contract, my passport and a passport photo.<br />
<br />
Done. Oh, but you need a physical photo, not a digital one. Ok, I'll get that done. Could you please return my passport? "We will next week." "Ok, but just so you know I only have one day off in the next week to get this photo done." I get my photo, still no passport, gate pass expires, I will be unable to come into work from now on, which..as luck would have it.. also falls on a weekend so no-one at work can do anything about it.<br />
<br />
At the end of my 12 hour shift I stay another couple of hours trying to work out a way to be able to come in the next day. After much faffing about with some genuinely helpful people who went out of their way to aid my cause, I had a temporary gate pass drawn up and sent off. All I had to do was pick it up the next day from the security building on the way into work.<br />
<br />
After staying late and now getting up early, I was a bit ragged, but managed to dress myself appropriately and fold myself into a taxi.<br />
<br />
At the security permits office they "Didn't get my request for a pass", I'm showing them the email, "No, we didn't get that", "Shall I forward it to you?", "No, we cannot make pass, request has to come from them", "The person who this email is from? That I'm showing you right now?", "Yes, it has to come from them", "But, it has", "Yes, but not to me", "But you're cc'd in right here", "Yes, but I didn't get it", "So shall I resend it to you?", "No, it has to come from them".<br />
<br />
*Stab *Stab *Stab stab stab<br />
<br />
I ring work, work rings my boss, my boss rings me (from hospital) and after 2 hours of camping out in the carpark, I get a pass. In fact they send through two passes, so security services decide not to issue either of them. Because there are two.<br />
<br />
*Stab, *stab stab<br />
<br />
I finally get in the gate, go to work, get my passport back and have everything in order to get my new plastic pass. I drop this all off the next day and am told to pick it up the next morning.<br />
<br />
I show up, say I'm here to pick up my pass and am told "No-one told me" and "What pass?". I look at the applications on the desk, mine is sitting on top, "That one, that's me." I'm given a *death stare* and told "One moment".. or more accurately 40 moments, if moments are minutes and minutes are stabs.<br />
<br />
Still, I got my new pass and the fact it lists my blood group is not unnerving at all.<br />
<br /></div>
Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-45277599437287805062013-11-25T00:25:00.002-08:002013-11-25T00:25:24.089-08:00Bank<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The entire time I have been in the middle east my bank has refused access to my funds. That is over a month now. A month of constant emails and attempted phone calls, only to be told nothing except "sorry" without ever sorting it out.<br />
<br />
I do not understand this way of thinking. I have money in a bank account which belongs to me, I have contacted said bank to transfer the funds so I can use them to I dunno "eat food" and there are no questions over the validity of my being. I am who I say I am and they know this. So why can I not just have my money?<br />
<br />
Well I would love to answer that question for you now, but I cannot. I have no idea, because they won't tell me. Even when asked directly, I do not get an answer even close to what I have asked. I am simply apologised at. It feels like I am dealing with our Prime Minister, "Mr Prime Minister, what about 'A'"? "Well you know, *shrug*".<br />
<br />
I pointed out that it has been a month now, more apologies, but no action. I've been told to go into a branch or call them, the first option melted my screen with my hex vision, the second has taken some doing as they never pick up, I get trapped in automated message hell or lose the connection. Progress has been slow.<br />
<br />
The other day I got someone on the phone, finally! To be told that no-one there could help me. Perhaps I should try calling between the hours of 3 and 4 on the 12th minute, just after the 37th second, but not before the 39th.<br />
<br />
So many emails have flowed back and forth now that is clearly troubling those who have to respond to me, so I pointed out that perhaps it would be easier for <i>everyone</i> if they just transferred the money and the whole saga could just go away. Is that such a crazy idea?<br />
<br />
That I don't even know why I cannot have my money is the most vexing, I don't even know which battle I am fighting.<br />
<br /></div>
Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-46815903272759681542013-11-24T22:54:00.001-08:002013-11-24T22:54:18.325-08:00Shiiiii...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Took a while to get to work today, mostly because all traffic was stopped for a Sheikh to pass through.<br />
<br />
Nothing beats pulling up to the lights to see swathes of police with automatic weapons chirping heavily on their walkie talkies and waving angrily at you to stop.<br />
<br />
Sure enough, once the roads were completely cleared, and I am talking about whole highways, along came the Sheikh.<br />
<br />
Now if I could have taken photos of this bizarre motorcade passing down a stretch of normally very busy highway completely alone, I would have. However doing such a thing would have meant the immediate confiscation of my phone. It's an HTC One and I am quite fond of it, they could have confiscated the headphones though, cut them up and burned them in front of me, I would have pat them on the back.<br />
<br /></div>
Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-4935787111322012572013-11-23T23:43:00.001-08:002013-11-23T23:43:25.071-08:00Old Habits <p dir=ltr>Today I was asked why I make the trek upstairs to use the bathroom when there is a perfectly good one downstairs.</p>
<p dir=ltr>"Two reasons", I said. The first is because the upstairs bathroom typically has toilet paper, the second is that it also has toilet seats.<br>
</p>
Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-74004196525581298772013-11-17T08:16:00.000-08:002013-11-17T08:16:54.782-08:00Precipitation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Something odd happened here today, it rained.<br />
<br />
It's the first time it's rained here since the first week of April when it ruined a motorcycle race.<br />
<br />
It's not quite rain in New Zealand terms, in other words you didn't have to swim from your car to your front door, but certainly everything got wet.<br />
<br />
Something I'm quite excited to see once the Sun comes back out (and that can't be too far away), are the skyscrapers. Despite how new and shiney they are, none are older than 6 years, they often look unloved. Haggered by the Sun and covered and dust.<br />
<br />
There's something deeply reviving about the rain and I expect the city to look next to new tomorrow.<br />
<br />
It's not just the buildings either, I had a real skip in my step when I left the house today. I was excited to see puddles on the ground and smell rain in the air. I had my headphones on and was jamming along, my excitement for all to see as I realised I was becoming the centre of attention as I strut down the street.<br />
<br />
I'd actually be very curious to know what a day's rain means in economic terms. I suspect it's worth millions.<br />
<br />
It's actually forecast to rain again this week, though I will believe it when I see it. The weather had quite a few people rubbing their eyes today.<br />
<br />
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Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-58306866089008237132013-11-14T01:04:00.003-08:002013-11-14T01:04:25.698-08:00Impasse<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Sleep has been of increasing concern, or perhaps not the sleep itself, but the resulting human refuse.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure quite what is causing it, week 1 here I had reverse jet-lag, but I was tired and I did sleep between floggings.<br />
<br />
Week 2, I settled into a groove and began to resemble a functioning human being.<br />
<br />
Week 3, and suddenly sleep seems like only a theory, debated at length between scholars with a view to preparing a conclusion for the Queen who will then send out explorers on a journey of discovery.<br />
<br />
My body and mind are both turning on me, independently. They refuse to work together on even the most minor of basic operations.<br />
<br />
I suspect this is the reason I cannot sleep, my body and mind have had a fight and refuse to kiss and make up. Just don't picture how that would work.<br />
<br />
I'm afraid I am going to have to go to mediation. Which would normally have been liquor in the past. Seeing as I no longer drink because of tummy troubles, I feel like my hand is being forced.<br />
<br />
What my body and mind need is something they can agree on to reunify their approach. Sadly only two such catalysts exist, cricket and pretty girls. As neither are on the cards for the immediate future, I suspect my sleepless nights will continue.<br />
<br />
I'm hoping the selection of international delegates arriving tomorrow can put aside their discussions about conflicts, resources and climate change, and really nut out a solution on behalf of my rival factions.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7485253153479286915.post-37782387821802567902013-11-11T00:21:00.001-08:002013-11-11T00:21:39.663-08:00Elbow<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've done 60 hours in the last 4 days, my brain has been replaced with a cabbage. It's not the work that's done it, it's the fact I've been hyped up on adrenaline and unable to sleep between shifts.<br />
<br />
I've been trying my best to contact Earth, but my communications have gone largely ignored. I thought it was a technical issue, but so much time has now passed that I suspect they have abandoned me up here.<br />
<br />
Paranoia is setting in and the fruitcake won't shut up.<br />
<br /></div>
Jez Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00855343316463051977noreply@blogger.com0