CHRISTMUSE RISING by Jaimie Vernon

One thing the nine months of The Eternal COVID Darkness has given us is a short reprieve from the rampaging assault of shopping mall music. Without the frequent stops at the McMall a few times a week to lose hours of one’s life jockeying for parking, hitting the food courts, and indulging in one’s fetish for window shopping at stores no one can afford, we have been spared music dialed in from Satan’s radio station itself.

MUSIC IS DYING…AND IT’S YOUR FAULT by Jaimie Vernon

Now that I have your attention, let’s talk about music in the time of COVID, shall we?
In the Before Times (March 2020 or sooner) the music industry was teetering on the brink of obsolescence as concert tickets had skyrocketed to the price of, well, a moon-landing, and venues were closing down at a rate equal to Nortel distributors. The music itself had been co-opted by the tech industry through streaming platforms, leaving artists wondering how they got robbed so badly (here’s a hint: you’re the cow, the music’s the milk…insert cliché about not buying the former if you can get the latter for free). On a scale of economics, you’re either a starving creator or a billionaire exploiter. There is no middle class in music. And given that most weasels in the music industry aren’t clever enough to become billionaires, they turn to low hanging fruit and pick the pockets of performers and songwriters for pennies on the dollar.

Peter and the T-Ball Tutorial

Last week I outlined some of my exploits on the baseball diamond, in Orillia, in my youth. This week, I take you behind the bench as you are made privy to the secret life….of a T-Ball coach!

My daughter wanted to play T-Ball and, as a result, I took her to register. As I said last week, operations like this rely on so many volunteers. (I had no idea how intimately I was to become acquainted with that concept.) I paid the fee and the registrar looked at me and said “You know, Mister Montreuil we are always in need of coaches.” The fact that he pronounced my surname correctly should have warned me. I nodded a) and the registrar smiled up at me from behind his table.

Peter Gives Thanks

I am not ashamed to say that the time since my Dear Lois passed has been the bleakest of my entire life. I never knew that misery such as I am experiencing now was even possible. But it is, sadly, as I am sure those of you who have lost their loved ones are more than tragically aware.

Peter – Lois: The Anniversary and Her Celebration of Life

Today is a hard day for me to get through. 18 years ago, I met Lois Forbes for the first time. I miss her terribly, while admiring her courage as she battled cancer. We made each other try to be better people, and I think that’s a pretty good achievement. I know I would  have rather made her angry than disappoint her. I will always hold her in my heart and I miss her terribly.

JAIMIE VERNON – THE RETURN OF THE REVENGE OF VERNON

Did you miss me?

Long, long  ago in a social media black hole that time forgot I wrote spiffing weekly diatribes for his Bobness. Then life got in the way and drove a spike through my frontal lobe preventing me from rational thought and interesting story arcs. It was 2016 and Donald Trump had yet to destroy the United States of America.  Maybe I should have stuck around and fought the good fight on the political frontier. But that’s not really what “Don’t Believe A Word I Say” is all about. What it’s actually about is filtering pop culture through the collective experiences of its writers. By 2016 my pop culture experience was all pooped out. I was burnt out and wallowing in my old-man-ness. No one was more tired of the “get off my lawn” screeds than I was.  One needs to know when to stop wandering into to traffic with no pants on.  I decided to focus on my newly minted granddaughter and getting a real day job.

Lois and Reg and Peter and Coco

As you know, I am still dealing with Lois’ passing. Last week, I had to have my little buddy Reg put down. Depression has been prevalent in my life over the last while, often pinning me into bed until 1:00 P.M.

I dream about Lois and I think of things that I should have said to her, ways that I could have made her feel even more loved than she was… I finally got Lois’ apartment cleaned out and I have a lot of her things at my apartment, so it sort of looks like a submarine before setting out on patrol, with every surface covered with boxes.