The Great XMAS Blogroll Induction Extravaganza – Day 5.
This is a very special XMAX blogroll induction. Not that past inductees weren’t special, but this one is extra, extra special… If I wasn’t the eloquent Le Clown, I would say something like this is a special, special XMAS blogroll induction. Today, I’m introducing you to BRENT Waggoner, a friend of mine from the real world… When there’s a baby born in our respective family, we’re on each other’s call list. BRENT will tell you all about it, because he wants to steal the spotlight away from Le Clown, as he doesn’t seem to understand yet how it works on the Clownonsphere™. L’anyway. I met BRENT before WordPress, we had Sufjan Stevens in common… I failed to get him into Animal Collective, but our friendship survived. BRENT is married to a wonderful, an incredible, a magnificent™ woman called Liz, that I equally love. These folks are beautiful people, and talented writers, even if BRENT wasted many years on Blogger. BRENT is a seasoned blogger, but he’s new on WordPress. I’m not keen on nepotism (friend, brother… semantics I say), but you MUST discover BRENT. Can we make this the most successful blogroll induction ever (my apologies to past and future inductees…)… like a massive LET’S FOLLOW BRENT fest? If it was just me, I would rename December 23, 2012 as the DAY BRENT GOT AT LEAST 30 NEW FOLLOWERS, even if today is my mother’s birthday, and my brother-in-law’s birthday… Screw that… Today is the day you ALL FOLLOWED BRENT… Or contracted syphilis—an easy choice… I will ask BRENT… I will be keep count… Remember, remember, the 23rd of December… My intro is officially longer than BRENT‘s post. That’s how much I love him. It’s ALL about
me BRENT, at least… today it is. BRENT is also 6’7”.
I met Le Clown before he was Le Clown. Or perhaps not—was there ever a “before”, or was Le Clown always there, lurking beneath the surface like a circus freak in a sewer grate? The answer eludes me. It is as far from me as a simile is from a metaphor—but I digress.
At that time, I was writing about music, oh fickle art, engorging or belittling artists as the temper took me, and Eric—or Pre Clown—contacted me. His correspondence was meek, Canadian, pitiful in the same way a kitten is—ah, but the claws, the claws. He wished to write, to praise bands whose names were unfamiliar, and I acquiesced, never knowing…
Now Le Clown is. When the metamorphosis occurred, I cannot say—some claim Boxing Day, others Victoria Day. To me, that day, whenever it was, will always be, as the Quebecois would say if they looked up their French on Google Translate, “Le Jour Du Clown.” And things were no longer the same.
Now the music has died, the reviews Pre Clown submitted lost in the ethereal bits like tadpoles lost in the ocean. And yet, a part of me, a tiny part, will always remember him as I knew him before. Canadian Eric. L’Eric. E-Rob. But now—Le Clown.