EPISODE I - THE PHANTOM MUSICIAN

This story takes place in a galaxy far, far away. In a little nightclub on Queen Street West - Tattoo Rock Parlor.

This first time I heard of said bar, I was very quickly informed of the psuto-celeb presence working the bar. Now if you know me (and you don’t!), you’ll know I’m probably the least star struck person on earth. In fact, when seated at a Hollywood restaurant next to one Paula Abdul after a raping of America’s taste for good music, I almost felt like Paula should be awe-struck by MY presence. Certainly I was not even mildly enamored by her fifty-something self and her 3-5 twenty-something boyfriends.

That in mind, the “celeb” (and I use quotes because this man deserves no such distinction from moi) that everyone was buzzing about… a famous Canadian actor? Alan Thicke perhaps? No…

EDWIN

You read correct my young pups, Edwin! If you’re not familiar with this pompous ass-hat, don’t be ashamed. He sang in a semi-popular (and by popular, I mean playing-in-high-school-gyms popular) band by the name of I Mother Earth in the 90s and left that half decent band to record several shitty, mellow-dramatic records under the solo moniker Edwin.

Now at the time, I think “okay, so what?”. But after arriving at Tattoo, I begin to overhear the conversations of multiple douche-rod fembots and the occasional star-struck male equivalents telling their friends in their most excited voices about this “celeb” working the bar.

So after a long night of this non-sense and about 500 vodka/soda’s later, we retire to our swanky downtown hotel and call it a night. I didn’t run into Mr Edwin, but I knew this is the start of something awful.

EPISODE II - REVENGE OF THE DICK

Fast-forward a few weeks (okay it was the very next week - very lame, I know… actually - fuck you!). We arrive at Tattoo and have the pleasure of being seated for bottles in the basement (which is far less cool than the upstairs, don’t be fooled). After a long descent down the stairs, I enter the room, look to my left… my old nemesis - EDWIN.

We make eye contact… the stare down begins… silence… then music…

“I know this song… I know this… no, couldn’t be…”

You can’t write that kind of shit!! He looks away with the smirk a bratty kid gives you when he’s got away with pissing in your Nintendo. I laugh… and laugh… and laugh…

No doubt my nemesis thinks he’s still as bad ass as he ever was. Sir Edwin probably felt THAT was his crowning moment, as he no doubt felt I was in awe of him and his former glory. In fact, the truth is… his life couldn’t be anymore pitiful. FOR SHAME EDWIN!

Unless of course, he had the dubious distinction of having penned this cheesy Canadian rock ballad…

Oh wait a second…

EDIT:

After I wrote this, before I published, I discovered that my friend Edwin has a MySpace account! (turn your speakers off right about… NOW!)

Could my life possibly get any better?