I love calling Cambridge-Narrows home, but if some crazy man held a shovel to my neck and said 'you gotta leave this town', then I know exactly where I'd go.
You might be surprised to learn that my three choices wouldn't be Tahiti, the British Virgin Islands or Minto. In fact my top three picks are Nackawic, Shediac and Maugerville. These may seem like peculiar choices at first glance, but if you think about it, really think about it, then you might realize that these three places have something in common...and it's not something that's shared with Cambridge-Narrows.
Need a clue?
Okay, I'll give you three clues, because I'm a generous man. Here they are:
So now you understand...these places are home to iconic figures: a giant axe, giant crustacean and the over-sized tuber. Cambridge-Narrows, for all its natural beauty (think about the the lake, Bill Jeffrey in shorts, and the 'pants down' pig) lacks something that, in my opinion, would turn this humble little village into a tourist mecca.
Think BIG, people!
I feel that Cambridge-Narrows needs a giant statue, and what better than a statue of the newly crowned Village Idiot. A shocking thought...not the suggestion of a statue, but the fact that I'm no longer the Village Idiot. Yes, it's true, I've been de-crowned. Readers of theleisurologist.blogspot have overwhelmingly voted in favour of naming Ken Appleby as the new Village Idiot. I'll be delivering my tiara to Ken later this afternoon.
In honour of Ken, I say that we start fundraising on Monday. Let's gather together a pot of loonies and build something of which we can all be proud...a twenty-five foot high likeness of our very own Village Idiot.
Very few people know the true story behind the Cambridge-Narrows Village Idiot. In the early days of Cambridge-Narrows, back when school boys were whipped for insolence, there was a character called Paul Murray who kept a summer home in the village. He was an intelligent man, a musically gifted organist, and a bright, fun loving guy with a great sense of humour. He summered here for decades, perhaps centuries. What really caught my eye about Paul was the ratty old t-shirt that he loved to wear. In big letters on his shirt were two magical words...Idiot Boy. Paul was immensely proud to be called Idiot Boy, and I was extremely envious.
I wanted to be Idiot Boy the second.
When Paul died a few years ago, I unilaterally decided that I would become the new Village Idiot. In deference to Paul, I didn't call myself Idiot Boy because Paul took that name to the grave with him.
"Hey, Idiot Boy, get me another coffee. And this time, use cream and not milk."
"Sorry about that, God, it won't happen again. By the way, God, you promised that you'd supply me with a Casavant organ here in heaven."
"Paul, Paul, Paul, surely you realized that I was kidding. Heaven is no place for organ music. Here, take this Celine Dion CD and FedEx it to the devil...he said that the William Hung DVD that I loaned him wasn't aggravating the damned as much as he'd hoped. They're actually starting to like it!"
So that's the story of Idiot Boy and the Village Idiot.
If you're in favour of erecting a massive, twenty-five foot high uranium and sheet metal statue of Ken Appleby on the front lawn of the Municipal Building, then please click on the word 'comments' below, and then give us some feedback. If you're scared that you might be stalked by some crazy, shovel wielding madman, then choose 'anonymous' from the drop-down menu.
Let's all get together and put Cambridge-Narrows on the map. Let's do it by using and abusing our greatest natural resource...people.