Last tuesday evening my good friend A. and i we’re enjoying a pint (we’ll i was drinking a pint, she was drinking a smirnoff green apple twisted sugar watervodka combination) at a nearby patio when we stumbled upon the discussion of ‘the smalltown hick’, or ‘the village idiot’. I believe the story originated when I brought up a story from when I must have been around the age of 8. Growing up in Powassan, Ontario, with a population of 1200, the community would often make up bullshit events for youth to partake in. It most defiently was not a wealthy community, but every child seemed to own a pair of hockey skates, so on saturday evenings from september to may, the town arena would hold open skate nights. I assume this is similar to what would take place at rollerskating rinks during the 70’s and early 80’s, or in certain cities, still continues today. You would pay five dollars at the door and you could skate in circles for a few hours with friends. Very few over the age of 16 would attend, so it was a pretty calm environment.
Except we did’nt have any music, or colorful lights or anything of the like. Just the arena house lights and round and round and round until your tiny legs got tired.
ANYWAYS. There was one older male (who actually was over 16, but surely under twenty) who had some sort of obvious mental disorder. ‘A’ told me its ok to just refer to him as ‘retarded’ , because in all, it was true, but we eventually settled on the term ‘incredibly inbred’, because more than likely ( I never bothered to ask ) that was the case.
The young man would impress the younger, smaller children by doing a quick lap at full speed and sliding the full length of the ice on his kneecaps, spinning and swilling in some sort of redneck ballet, pumping his fists with excitement then popping back up to continue the preformance the next lap around. All in all, the generally influenceable youth were impressed by this until my friends and i discovered that ‘willie’ ( his real name, no joke, although ‘dougie’ or ‘jimmy’ or ’ - + y or ie anything could have worked) was wearing rollerblade kneepads underneth his acid washed jeans.
When we broke the news to the other children that willie was a big fucking fraud, or cleverly, a ‘willie vanilli’, he was extremely upset, as impressing us with his assbackwards no - effort hillbilly gymnastics technique seemed to be the only thing he was good at (other than trailing the police horses and ‘cleaning up’ at the yearly Fall Fair).
I even recall him threatning to beat us up, years and years (and inches and pounds) younger than him, until the zamboni guy’s told him if he did he would not be aloud to return next saturday.
This discussion led to ‘A’ saying that back when she was younger, her parents had a cottage in a smaller town in northren Quebec, and that town had a ‘willie’ too. Also named ‘Willie’. Who was incredibly and amazingly inbred beyond proper employment or use, and who, just like Powassan Ontario’s Willie, somehow managed to knock up some poor attention desperate teenage girl a few years later.
At this point of what im typing now, Im listening to Morrissey’s Alma Matter’s and thinking of how much of a great music video they made for it. Save for young twenties, poor and depressed flower weilding moz, the late thirties, very very short coiffed, beck t-shirt wearing stephen patrick NEVER EVER looked better. This video makes me smile always and the song makes me cry almost everytime everytime i hear it. It is one of the quintessential bi-polar triggering peices of music i own. I adore it.
ANYWHO
We got into further discussion about how every community of >15,000 people must have a Willie to legitamately be considered a community. When i was in Kirkland Lake when i was 16 years old on tour selling merchandise for my older friends bands, im pretty sure we saw one there too.
I (or we) wonder if Willie’s are all around us, but just arent given the oppertunity to be so noticed or eccentric in a much larger community, or maybe if theyre encouraged less to run and roam and main drag after 6pm.
I know this entery if about as un-pc as you can get, and probably is as un-pc as I DO get, but i lived it, and im sure if you were raised in the same kind of environment, you would, or do, understand where im coming from.
Its sunday evening now and i am exhausted from working the weekend. Loverboy, i understand.
I have not had a night by myself in my apartment for over a week now, and i quite enjoy it, although i can think of a few people who i wouldnt mind knocking on my door and helping me drink this big bottle of peach vodka i have in my fridge RIGHT NOW. come , before its gone.
Quick list for self - reference of things i need to do..
- go to the gym. really. you’re getting hefty.
- buy a suit. ‘a’ informed me that every man needs a suit. and while its arguable that i am a man, i do need a nice suit for occassions. something classic and simple and black.
- sign up for a internet connection. this stealing ‘whatevers’ available isnt working too well anymore. really.
- go to bed. soon.
