How To Find A Masculine Halloween Costume For Your Effeminate Son

This morning I awoke to find in my inbox an e-mail from a marketing company in my personal inbox asking me if I would be interested in attending a tasting for a particular brand of liquor and possibly writing about it in my blog. All in needed to do was reply to the e-mail and fill out a short survey.

Not one to turn down a tasting of any kind of liquor I replied and hit the link to the survey.

But after answering the questions I don’t think I’m going to qualify.

Here’s why:

The first question they asked was how many people visit my blog every week, and frankly it’s almost no one.

Then the rest of the questions seem to focus on a) how often I drink b) how many people I drink with and c) how much I spend every two weeks on alcohol.

But the problem is that while I do drink moderately quite often, its often alone or with only my girlfriend who works at a wine magazine so usually its free.

So I answered honestly and don’t think I’ll qualify.

I also questioned the timing of the invite. With the U.S. making it law the bloggers must identify when they receive a product for free will companies like this look to Canada more where this type of disclosure is not the law? If so, I’m willing to shill. I’m just saying.

Sometimes I find writing easy. The words skip off my fingers as fast as I can type, vainly working to keep up with the ideas from my head.

But that usually only happens by accident. I sit down to type and e-mail and have a thought, then the next thing I know I’m 300 words in about god knows what.

When I say to myself I’m going to write, it never happens. When I sit down, give myself a blank page and open the floor up for anything, that’s when my mind goes blank. Nothing catches my interest. I become an empty vessel and am forced to write about my inability to write.

Why bother?

— If I could draw (elderly actresses in particular) I would create a new comic - Captain Hepburn- basically a “On Golden Pond” era Katherine Hepburn in a cape who flies around solving crime.

Blah. Gurggg, Snoogggggg

Given the fact that I woke up with Kenny Rogers hair, thought I would share my favourite Kenny Rogers and the First Edition song. Useless fact I just learned Glenn Campbell is the guitarist on the opening backwards lick.

Apologies for the shitty video quality it’s from a TV appearance on The Smothers Brothers show.

I realize that I really don’t enter things here as often as I should or certainly could.

And here’s what I come up with as two possible explanations

1) It turns out in most cases 140 characters is enough for what I need to say. Maybe I am a concise writer who can convey a complex thought or idea in one sentence

2) I’m lazy.

But I’m going to chance all that. I vow to enter something here everyday for the next week at least. Are you ready for that kind off onslaught of useless banal content. Oh right you are already here so I guess the answer is yes.

In a bit of random insanity invented a dance at work today. It’s called “The Nixon” I think it is only a matter of time before it breaks big time in the clubs.

So I’m sitting here doing the dishes from dinner, into my second Friday night cocktail, listening to Back In Black when I have the following thought:

Let us suppose that an intelligent life form is joy riding around the galaxies, when drifting across the vast vacuum of space comes the tell tale bell toll intro of “Hell Bells”

Theses aliens have never seen humans before, they have no understanding of our rich history, our complex social systems and the ever increasing speed in which we are developing technology.

They may not even comprehend our language.

So the question is: What is their first impression?

Do they think the repeated guitar phrase of the first minute is some sort of code? A primitive distress signal.

Or do they instantly recognize it as music, one of our more highly evolved forms of entertainment?

I like to think that they turn to themselves and in whatever fashion they communicate, whether it be psychically or guttural grunts, they echo the thought I have every time I hear that song.

“These Mother Fuckers know how to rock.”

. . well to call it a brush might even be a stretch. Maybe it is some new sort of celebrity encounter that needs another name.

Any way, the Reader’s Digest version of the story is that unbeknownst to me, a friend of mine encouraged a celebrity to begin following my feed on Twitter. And he did.

Now this is a celebrity who I happen to be a big fan off, and whose work I tend to admire, so on one level it is pretty exciting.

Why? I’m not sure, but living smack dab in the middle of a celebrity culture as I do, I do find it exciting. Really, I should probably be just as honored when a random stranger begins following me. But this thespian has more than 17,000 followers and is only following about 40 people. I’m not going to lie, it feels pretty good.

But in recommending me, my friend pointed out that I often post snippets from Bob Dylan songs on me feed. This is something I do, but not everyday, usually when the mood strikes. Now I feel like I need to do this more and more. Possibly exclusively.

Because as exciting as having a celebrity follow your feed is, I can only imagine the heartbreak of the same celebrity hits “unfollow” is exponentially greater (in my head anyway). I am fully aware that this is ridiculous and stupid and a more rational person might be above it all, but I’m not.

No more random musings on subjects such as the origin of the Narwhal (pushed off the ark)? No more sarcastic ramblings on the politics of the day? I’m not sure if I can do it.

There’s a lot of pressure there.

Who is the celebrity you ask? I’m not one to brag (blatantly at least) so I’m not going to say. But there are some clues in the words above. They do not use their real name on their account. I am now following them and just started doing so yesterday. Any Sherlock Holmes types should be able to make the deductions.

In the 1980’s Willie Nelson starred in a movie about a country music singer, big stretch, entitled “Honey Suckle Rose.” It doesn’t look that great, but I love the part at 3:01. A scene in which Nelson is drinking and driving in a bus while singing “Whiskey River.” Like to see someone do that now. Even as a character. This is after he is nearly shot by what appears to be a friend.

This movie does not look good but I’m a big fan of Willie and hope to round up a copy somewhere.