hey, sticks and curves:
i just made that up.

let me first say that i'm having a great time writing these blogs. my only, repeat only, intention is to get some laughs. I REQUIRE NO PITY. i'm refering to my time at "motorcity." yes, it was sad and pathetic, two perfect reasons to write about it and laugh our asses of at how sad and pathetic it can be. i choose to attend these functions and some are great and some are motorcity. i take them all in the same breath. and hey, where else are you gonna spend two days next to tom braidwood telling him you feel like a, "washed-up old whore in an amsterdam window?" that's gold, i tell you, gold!

anyway, here's another chapter in my road to, "not getting a day job."

a few years ago i was asked to host and MC a huge film and TV awards show up here called THE LEO AWARDS. i was honoured to be asked and thought it would be a great addition to my hosting resume. i'd be up there on-stage in front of all the directors and producers who had, during the previous year, told me through the act of simply auditioning me then not hiring me, that i suck. i thought this would be my chance to make them laugh and have them see me in a different, non-sucking light.

i dusted off my best thrift store, rat-packish tuxedo and headed off for the gig. one of the perks of the gig was free make-up. i mean, they had hired make-up artists to come in and make all the presenters look beautiful. the producer of the Leos really pushed for me to get a bit of makeup on as i'd be under the spotlight and might end up accidentally burning out the retinas of the very directors and producers that i hoped to impress from the sheer glare off my sweaty forehead.

the gig was taking place in the hotel vancouver and i was led into a massive ballroom with floor to ceiling windows where a clutch of make-up artists were busy creating their grand illusions on various high-maintainance actors. there were no mirrors for the actors to see themselves being made-up. i should've known something was up when the producer of the Leos told me that all the natural light blasting in through those gigantic windows would give a good indication of what i'd look like under a spotlight.

huh?

everything was being over-seen by a head make-up guy who, i was assuming, would do my make-up since i was the host and would be on stage a ton.

no.

head make-up guy palms me off on a guy who shall remain nameless unless i use his name.

okay, rick.

his name was rick. sorry, rick. i have to use your name because you suck at make-up. anyway, from the way that head make-up guy barked at rick, i figure out that rick is about 45 minutes out of make-up college. he just keeps nodding wildly at everything that head make-up guy says. head make-up guy yanks out a patch of colour swatches and tells rick, "okay, match his facial tone and if he needs some colour, lightly brush on some blush. then add some carmex to his lips." rick grunts something and head make-up guy vaporizes. based on the instructions to Rick, i'm expecting a quick job.

twenty minutes later, rick has gone through a mountain of those tiny sponge wedges and is still applying, nay troweling, crap to my face. the other make-up artists are glancing over but not saying anything. again, no mirrors. remember that.

finally after about 40 minutes, rick is done. i thank him and leave to wander around the hotel before the gig starts. i casually stroll the huge hallways and wander past the massive paintings and giant gilded mirrors. hotel workers hurry past me, glance at me and hurry on. at some point i casually glance over at one of those huge gilded mirrors and check myself out.

two words:

kabuki deathmask.

i swear i did a double-take. i stared at myself, refusing to believe the make-up job that was staring back at me. bear in mind, i was about to hit the stage in front of all of BC's film and television heavy hitters.

apparently as "beetlejuice."

it dawned on me then as to why the hotel workers wouldn't meet my eye. mostly because they couldn't see it under 3 inches of powder and pancake. i looked like i'd been dead for a week. i motor back to the room with all that fabulous NATURAL LIGHT! i grab the show's stage manager, chris lee, and say, "hey, chris, does my make-up look a little weird to you?"

chris says, and i quote, "weird? it looks fucking scary, man. i didn't say anything to you because i didn't know how you'd take it." so i peel over to rick, who was in the midst gouging a black jiffy marker under some co-starlet's eye for that heroin chic look that lasts 3 months. i pull him aside and tell him that my make-up looks too white and to fix it. rick goes, "uh, okay. let me add more make-up and bring it down a couple of tones." all i can think of is my head sagging over with the weight of the extra make-up so i grab him and growl under my breath, "Rick, forget adding make-up. I want you to take it all off, okay? Take it all off."

Rick being Rick, he interprets, "Take it all off," as a chance to sit me down and add more powder. Oh, did I say "powder?" I meant, WHITE CHALK DUST!!! I still look like a Nazi cabaret host and so, I give up. I stagger away, staring at the floor so that no-one can gaze upon my freak-o hideousness. I manage to get to the mensroom and scrub everything off. I cleanse my face of every trace of make-up, eyeliner, powder and base. I'm back to normal.

Now all I have to do is put my stuff in one of the hotel rooms and go do the gig. I head up to the room being used by the producer of the Leos. His wife is up there getting her make-up done and guess who's doing it?

Head make-up guy, of course.

When I walk in the room he runs over to me and says, "Oh, let me see the make-up job that Rick did on you." Before I can say anything, head make-up guy grabs my chin and scrutinizes my non-make-upped face for 30 seconds. Finally, he goes, "Yeah, yeah. Nice. Very natural."

I just stared at the guy and after a huge pause said, "Yeah, Rick did a good job. I'm really happy."

Cheers,
jonesy

oh, my god! kathy garver's on the list! one of you pointed that out and i checked it out. we're all in there together, me, lou ferrigno and kathy garver. it really is a family affair!
cheers,
jonesy

Last year I attended a convention in Detroit called "Motor City." It was huge, one of the biggest I've been to. There were thousands upon thousands of people attending but due to the location set-up of the "celebrities," we didn't see as many of those thousands as say, the vendors in the middle of the hall hawking mountains of memorabilia. I believe there were actual "base camps" set up at the bottom of these piles of stuff with actual sherpas hired to climb the north face to retrieve that elusive and oh, so rare, pair of Darth Vader oven mitts, say. The "celebrities" including me, were all set up in a hallway ghetto off this main area.
I'm used to being at conventions which are, if not entirely Stargate-centric, then at least they're "sci-fi" related. You know, those other shows that involve parallel universes and ray guns? I won't name those shows because I only want you all to think of Stargate. But the thing about this particular con was that it was a "television memorabilia" show. Translation? Anything goes. Proof of that became evident to me when I looked down the alley and saw Cathy Garver at a table selling ancient pics of herself. Who's Cathy Garver, you're asking? Well, so was I until I checked out her photos and saw her in her salad days as, "Sissy," the teenage daughter on "Family Affair." Remember that show? Buffy and Jody and Mr. French the English butler? That Cathy Garver. And she was doing brisk business! I can only assume now that there are fans out there saying, "If I could just get Cathy Garver's autograph, I'll have the entire Family Affair set!"
And just down form Cathy Garver? Lou Ferrigno. But I'll talk about him later.
Aw, what the hell. I'll talk about him now. He's huge. The muscles at the back of his neck look like a massive wheel of cheese. You can't see any bones, just dense flesh. Even though the hall was freezing, Lou was in shorts and a wife-beater. Pretty spectacular. Anyway, Lou had a deal in which, if you paid $20 for a Polaroid with him, he'd give you an old black and white pic of himself. You gotta know that those black and whites were taking up a pile of room in Lou's carport hence the give-away deal. At the end of the convention, after Lou had packed up and left, I drifted by his table and there lying on its own, was Lou Ferrigno's business card. I picked it up and pocketed it with the secret knowledge that I had Lou Ferrigno's pager number and could drive him crazy with endless long distance calls. Let's see how green and angry he gets then!
Anyway, I had a table in this sad alley next to an old friend, Tom Braidwood of "X-Files" fame. Tom played one of the three "Lone Gunmen" along with Dean Haglund and Bruce Harwood. Anyway, Tom is a big laugh and I was thankful to be sat next to him. Tom had been there the day before and had made some money selling autographs but due to my filming commitments with SG:1, I had to come in on the Saturday and stay till Monday. So there we sat with our pictures spread out in front of us waiting for the "thousands upon thousands" of fans to stroll by.
Folks, it simply didn't happen.
Not to say that the fans didn't visit other tables. They did. They even visited Tom quite a bit. But not me. See, what the organizers did to let the fans know who was there, besides printing a postage stamp-sized pic of us in the program, was pin a square of cardboard on the curtain behind us with just our name on it. No reference point with say, the show you're either in or were on. Just your name. So I'm sitting there with "Gary Jones" hanging behind me and it slowly became evident, over two and half days, that to the large majority of these fans, the name "Gary Jones" meant absolutely nothing. This translated into them drifting by my table, letting their eyes drift over me and my pictures and then drifting away. Down to Cathy Garver's table, I believe.
Anyway, you can only take so much of people looking you up and down and then moving on. At some point, I turned to Tom and said, "Tom, I feel like a washed-up whore in an Amsterdam window." Tom chuckled as he signed another batch of pictures.
Once in a while a fan or two would come by and go, "Oh, my God, it is you! I saw your name in the program. I couldn't tell it was you from the tiny picture in the program but I saw your name and I'm so glad you're here!" It was like being at sea for days and being picked up by a Japanese fishing trawler. It was joyous! And if you don't think I kept those few fans chatting at my table, you're so, so wrong. A couple of times they had to break free and tell me that they had to get going because there was just so much to see. I'm assuming "so much to see" meant a visit to Cathy Garver's table.
Then a guy drifts by and hands me a sheet of paper and says, "Please read this over. We'd love you to get involved." I took one look at the title, "Hollywood Is Calling," and was about to ball it up and whip it at Tom for something to pass the time when I saw a picture of one of the listed celebrities on the front page: Greg Evigan. Remember him? "BJ and the Bear?" The Bear being not an actual bear but an actual chimpanzee? Oh, wait. Maybe Greg was "The Bear" and the chimp was "BJ." Either way, Greg was a chimp-hauling trucker and they got into all sorts of scrapes in which the chimp would help Greg out so's they could long-haul pineapples or mattresses onto the next town of scrapes a-waiting.
I know Greg Evigan through my work as a television writer. He starred in a Canadian sitcom called, "Big Sound," on which I was a staff writer. Greg played a music talent manager and he's just a really great guy. So I hang onto the sheet of paper and decide to call him about this when I get back to Canada.
When I finally track Greg down and grill him on "Hollywood Is Calling," he assures me it's the real deal. This is how it works: fans go on the site and check out the celebrities listed. Based on who's available, fans can then, for a fee, get that actual celebrity to call someone the fan knows and wish them a happy birthday or congratulations on your promotion or good luck with the new baby or I suppose even, "Sorry to hear about your recent car-jacking." Whatever. The point is, it's the real life celebrity either talking to you or leaving a message on your machine. The fan writes in their request, the site forwards the request to the celebrity and then the celebrity calls up.
I still wasn't entirely convinced but Greg urged me to call them up so I did. The guy running the site was very enthusiastic about me becoming part of their roster. He was convinced that since I was a recurring character on a supremely successful show, that I would be flooded with requests. I agreed to join up.
That was last summer, I believe.
In all that time I've had one request.
One.
Not two.
Not none.
One.
Recently I went back on the site to make sure I was still listed. There I was, right below toothless boxer Leon Spinks and right above some guy named Dennis Haskins who apparently appeared in "Saved By The Bell." (Check out the attached site to the link if you want proof.)
It's been one of the most humbling experiences of my career. I joined up at the thought of "thousands upon thousands" of fans drifting over to their phone and delighting their friends or family with a call from me, "Walter Harriman, The Chevron Guy."
Folks, it simply didn't happen.
And the worst part? While Lou Ferrigno is on the roster, Cathy Garver's not even listed.

guys:
having read all the blog replies, it's obvious that my airport adventures pale compared to some of yours. in fact, most of yours. now i think i'll think of the rest of you when i'm running through an airport lugging 90 pounds of photos and think that i don't have it too bad. at least i'm not pregnant or looking for a lost child.
somebody suggested that with my pro-active actions towards getting help from the cabin crew, that i'd be good on THE AMAZING RACE.
well, a friend's company utilizes this particular auditing company. the auditing company, at the end of the year, puts on a big event to thank all of their clients for the business. one year they did a "vancouver" version of the AMAZING RACE. i got invited along. we were in teams of 4 and had to get around town, find and decode clues and get to the pub at the end for beers and natchos.
we were not allowed to take cabs or bikes. we could catch a bus but of course, that's on theslow side when you're racing from one checkpoint to another. that's why it's called the AMAZING RACE, not the AMAZING BUS SCHEDULE!
anyway, when we were assigned to each other we sat down and figured out what our individual strengths were. one guy was a sailor, two others had some other tangible skills and when it came to me, i said, "the only skill i have is that i have no shame and will ask any stranger anything."
my team mates couldn't quite get a grasp on this until we were stranded downtown and i walked out into rush hour traffic and flagged down some old guy in a volvo station wagon at a red light. i had on my AMAZING RACE singlet so i had a shred of credibility. i talked the guy into giving us a ride across town. my team mates were standing on the sidewalk mocking me until i got in the front seat and waved them over.
later we passed a guy in a panel van on a break from painting a building. the inside of the panel van was crammed with paint cans and brushes, etc. i told my team mates that i'd get the guy to give us a ride. again, they mocked me and walked on. again, i got in the front seat and called them back.
we came in second.
cheers,
jonesy

hey:
i have to write another blog simply because if i got hit by a bus i don't want to be remembered as the guy who wrote his last blog all about toilets.
maybe i should tell you about my day leaving the french "constellation" con. the gig was over on the 10th and i was out of there on the morning, uh, matin, of the 11th. while the deluise brothers lay twitching in their beds dreaming of flashbulbs going off, i was up at 5 a.m. to make sure i caught my 7:20 a.m. flight.
i can't remember the name of the frenchman who drove me to the airport but let me now say, "merci beaucoups, monsieur!" he informed me that in order to make sure he drove me in time he didn't go to bed. which, at the time i was quite impressed with. until i realized that i was driving on the highway with a guy who hadn't slept. anyway, he got me there and my odyssey began. here was the flight plan: PARIS TO AMSTERDAM, AMSTERDAM TO NEW YORK, NEW YORK TO DALLAS, DALLAS TO SAN JOSE DEL CABO IN MEXICO.
let me say right now NEVER, EVER, NEVER, NEVER, EVER, NEVER, think that saving a couple of hundred dollars by not flying direct is not really a saving when you're wind-sprinting through the newark, new york airport to get checked in because the guy at the paris airport wouldn't give you a boarding pass for that leg of the journey.
i knew that when i landed in newark there'd be trouble. normally i just take carry-on luggage and hit the ground running when i have connecting flights.
oh, let me quickly add that lufthansa airlines are the coolest because they ask if you'd like a coke, some ginger ale or a stella artois. huh? you're giving me beer? i took it because they offered and if you do the math now, you'll all know that i was drining beer for breakfast.
anyway, when the flight takes off from amsterdam to newark the pilot comes on and tells us due to tail winds, we'll be landing early. i've learned to ignore these early good-faith messages because, just as i predicted, we got closer to newark when the pilot came on and told us we'd be late due to head winds. i guess i could look back and say, "it was heads or tails as whether i'd arrive on time. turns out it was heads."
and i know that i have to check in AGAIN in new york because the guy in paris wouldn't print me out a boarding pass.
i've learned over many flights when time begins to shrink, that a stewardess must be flagged down and threatened. the cool thing is, i've also learned that most flight crew love the chance to help someone in a fix. this was no different. there's nothing like me and all my carry-on being brought up to first class to sit by the door. i didn't get free cake or a mug of port, but really, who cares? i'd be first off the flight. and i was.
i run like i'm on fire through the airport and skid to a halt at immigration/security. huge line-up. when i finally get to the homeland security guy and try to act not-sweaty, the guy swipes my passport and asks that question that legendary airport experiences are made of:
"have you ever been in trouble with the law?"
never have i been asked this. i try to stay cool and and choke out, "uh...no." didn't really help my case that i had to stop and think about it but there you go.
the guy keeps swiping my passport and frowning. finally, he says the next thing that cements the legendary airport experience:
"you'll have to go talk to them in that room there."
i look to the heavens. nothing. i have been forsaken.
i trudge to the room which is CRAWLING with homeland security guys and three bleary-eyed Korean guys who look like they'd been sitting, slumped, for 2 days.
the security guy starts swiping my passport and says, "you ever been in trouble with the law?"
"no."
"you travel much to the states?"
"Uh, i come every once in a while just for a weekend."
"and when was the last time you were here?"

at that point my brain does what it always does when in peril, it goes into brain-lock. i cannot recall a single fact. i could have been in the states the weekend prior and i wouldn't have been able to remember. so i just said, "you know what? i got no idea! not a clue! not a single clue! i have zero idea of when i was here last, okay?"
a bit belligerent but he cocked his head, stared me down and then handed me back the passport. i was on my way. all i had to do was hand the piece of paper he'd scribbled on, to the next herd of securitattas and get to the next terminal.
so i'm now freaking and running, running and freaking. bad combo.
i see the homelanders standing around shooting the breeze. i run by, handing in my slip of paper and one of them yells, "hold it, right there!"
i freeze.
he goes, "aren't you on sg:1?"
I CAN NOT BELIEVE WHAT I AM HEARING.
i tell him i am and then i have to stand and chat with this guy about season nine and why the hell did richard dean anderson leave and what's beau bridges like and how come they don't give me more lines.
all the while i'm inching away to catch the train to the next terminal. finally he shakes my hand, sends me off and what feels like 38 hours later, i'm shot-gunning tequila in cabo san lucas.
cheers,
jonesy

and by that, i mean BLOG TIME with your host, GARY JONES.

hello children and welcome once again to "blog time" with gary. i'm gary and you're a bunch of other people. today we're going to talk about my travels to some different cons that i had the pleasure of being invited to.
last november i appeared at the L3 convention in the "butlin's holiday camp" in bognor regis. strangely enough, i spent a week in that very camp when i was about 8. i spent my childhood in wales and since my parents considered going to europe much akin to joining the space program, we holidayed close to home. the name "bognor regis" has always made me laugh since it has the word "bog" in it, which any brit will tell you, is slang for "toilet." as in, "bloddy hell, i'm bloody burstin'! where's the bloody bog?"
and speaking of the word, "toilet," it's everywhere in britain. i was so used to it growing up but after living in north america for so long where we always ask to use either, "the bathroom," the "restroom," the "mensroom," or "the little general's room." north americans never say the word "toilet" when looking for the room that includes the toilet.
i judge not here. it's just that it's a bit jarring when you're in a high-end hotel and you see a sign for the "gent's toilet." north americans will know what i'm talking about but brits will not care a whit about what i just wrote.
the butlin's camp at bognor was also hilarious. well, when i say "hilarious" i mean, so many fans told me that they booked rooms there for the convention weekend only to find out that they had to supply their own towels and that they were rationed one roll of toilet paper for the weekend, regardless of how many there were to the room. that kind of "hilarious."
the L3 girls were fabio! they gave me my own night to get up and talk for an hour and a half. and so i did. it seemed to go well although i did hear back through the grapevine that people were expecting some kind of "one-man show." i don't have a one-man show. i'm less "one-man show" than i am "one-man show up." i show up and talk off the top of my head. about stargate. i heard that some fans had heard some of my stories before and thought they'd be getting something else. i can see where that would've been a bit disappointing.
but for me, the fact that i get to go to stargate conventions means that i owe it to the fans to give them a different stargate perspective.
so many have written to this blog site already and commented on my role in the show, which, while crucial, is limited. i only get so many scenes and hardly any are with the leads. it's my job to appear at these conventions, have fun with what the producers give me to work with and keep everything stargate-centric.
my background is in improv and i like to show up with an empty head and some back-up stories. the bottom line is: make the fans laugh. that's what i did at L3 and all i can say to some fans who had heard some stories before is, stick around and the more seasons i have, the more stories i'll have.
the brit fans were great. i'll tell you that it's quite strange to meet someone in britain and think that you've met them before only to find out that they flew to canada to meet me months prior. that's when you realize, as an actor, the kind of fanbase that watches the show. i've done tons of other shows and movies and every once in a while someone will tell me they saw me in something. but with sci-fi fans, they are the only group i've encountered where i'm meeting the people that the show gets beamed to. it's pretty humbling.
after i did the L3 gig i stuck around in cardiff to stay with my cousin and then it was off to nuremberg the next weekend. i'd never been to germany before and i loved it. the german city con ladies were just uber-lovely! i enjoyed the language and the german fans were really fun. we got driven out to rothenberg, i believe is the name, to visit the christmas market. and we got driven there in new mercedes and audis at about 600 mph on the autobahn. it was an hour long drive that was over in 7 minutes. great fun.
the gig involved being on stage with peter deluise and his two brothers, david and michael. my only mistake was in not ordering extra oxygen ahead of time. i simply could not keep up with the boys. they are a force of nature.
okay i'm going to go now as family life calls.
i'll blog again soon.
cheers,
jonesy

hey, muchachos:
this is gary jones here, aka, walter harriman of sg:1. you guys all see me sitting at the massive mainframe that runs the gate and handling it as deftly as ever. now, if you ever witnessed me at my own real laptop, you'll know how much computer "acting" i do on the show. i can't tell you all how many phone calls and soothing instructions that were required to get me this far.

anyway, i'm glad to be here and there will be more blogs coming down the pike. let me post this first to see if i've got the hang of this.
cheers,
jonesy

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