Interpretation, meaning, and value depend on individual perspectives, emotions, and cultural backgrounds. While the physical object itself is objective, personal and societal reactions to it vary wildly, making “good” or “bad” art a matter of opinion rather than universal fact.

Those are not my words. Though I resemble the remarks. I have always loved singing and telling jokes and stories. Though I confess I can’t sing like Con O’Brien (no relation) or D’arcy Broderick or John Curran. Usually I am off key and flat. Dylan and Cohen have been a big influence on me. I like ballads and songs with a story. Irish Traditional are good for that as well as Newfoundland songs. I love Tommy Nemic. His mom grew up in St Shott’s, the Place where my sister Cee lives.

Telling jokes is a timing thing and knowing your audience helps. I avoid people who don’t like my type of humour. Melded from a crazy uncle who was the Irish Descendant carbon copy of Benny Hill and my years flopping around in the Navy trading jabs with salty old sailors.

My Calgary wife, God bless her, gets annoyed with my Irish sarcasm. You know the kind of questions that demand a serious answer but are so tempting to give a wacky response. I have matured a bit in that area. She will teach me to behave, I knows it will happen.

I think Ron James is my favourite Canadian comic, he is so quick. The late Norm MacDonald, Mary Walsh and Kathy Jones need honorable mentions. Codco, SCTV, those Shows that I watch on YouTube still crack me up. My son who is 37 loves the same kind of comedy and we love Roger Miller songs.

Some of the old writers such as F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway intrigue me. The clock is running out on competing with those guys now. I loved Erma Bombeck. She said once, (drawn from my memory here), ‘Never trust a doctor with dead plants and flowers in his office. If he can’t take care of plants, he can’t take care of you. Then I went for therapy and the guy had dead plants in his office. He put patients through like a conveyor belt. Forty minutes is up, see ya next week.

I do the artsy fartsy stuff for selfish reasons. I feel good doing it and even though I may never receive any Atta Boys.

As Waylon said, “I’ve always been crazy but it keeps me from going insane.” Should be my theme song.

Went on a Coffee date with a Woman once who told me she did not like Waylon and Willie. Right away I knew this was not going anywhere. Don’t insult my role models. I am a person who taught myself how to play drums on five-gallon plastic salt beef buckets and next thing I am playing at Furey’s in Holyrood on a double header with Rick and The Romans. The poor drummer was very gracious to let me use his set for the gig. I was a fill in drummer and only played one night there. Pity. Not too many bands looking for percussion guys with experience on salt beef buckets with rungs of chairs for drum sticks. But I am happy singing karaoke in my powder room once Lola my wife goes out. She is not a fan of my crooning. My two dogs are fans. They join me on harmony and are always pleased with my key choice. Harmonica sounds scare dogs. Try to respect their wishes. No harmonica please.

In closing, I had some friends in high school who started a band. They always had trouble ending the songs with a final instrumental. Feeling that way now. Sorry, no end. Just going on into that cold, frosty Alberta night. Sweet dreams and may your happiness swell.

PS: The first time I saw a Harrison print, I thought ‘what amateur did this?’ I love Keirstead from Ontario and the old brick and stone houses he drew. The Pratts from Newfoundland were not too shabby as well. So long before I get distracted into another tall tale.