A Woodsy Centennial (of sorts)

I’ll start this off with a brief announcement. When I eventually press the publish button on this thing, it’ll be the one hundredth post on this blog. Break out the freaking party hats…

Avoiding people at all costs has become the new black, and the deep woods is by far the best place to do that, assuming one is in an area where there are no devastating wildfires to speak of. In my overall pursuit of cultivating my woodland qi, I’ve gotten into the habit of avoiding the chain restaurants and big-box stores almost like they were composed of the Deranging Seed of COVID the Bat-Demon Itself. The money I paid for this item in particular will help somebody feed their (starving?) dog during this arduous period in world history. That’s certainly something I can feel good about. Anything for a dog.

Round-the-clock protection from split ends. It’s like deodorant for your face…

The Soundtrack of SILVER BROWN

Let Your Freak Flag Fly

With the sudden lack of operational salons and barber shops in the world, we’ve seen people employ a number of creative (and no-so-creative) workarounds to the situation. Some people have taken to cutting their own hair. Been there, done that and bought the T-shirt. Others have taken the Karen approach, endlessly whinging like a toddler about how they can’t get their hair done (as if there’s nothing more important), taking to the streets to protest such grave injustice with placards bearing literal Nazi slogans.

This is your brain on Donald Trump. Any questions?

I myself have taken neither of these routes, opting instead to simply let my freak flag fly. Just like I used to in the old days. I reckon when the provincial state of emergency is eventually lifted I won’t be able to get my hair cut for at least another six weeks because of the backlog, to say nothing of the fact that the continued observance of social distancing guidelines will likely prevent the barber from being able to accommodate too many customers at once. On top of that, the people from my former life who exerted the most pressure on me to keep my hair cut short have since become food for the worms. So I thought, fuck it. I’ll go full-on flower child. Behold, a rare (partial) selfie illustrating the progress of said freak flag, followed immediately by a classic tune that relates to the subject matter…

…although at this point it’s more Kramer than flower child. Giddy up!

The Green Grass of SILVER BROWN

Hail Mary Jane

It’s a bummer that the grand communal smoke-ins that typically characterize this particular date on the Gregorian calendar probably aren’t going to fly this year. I’ve been to quite a few of those in my day, and they were always a riotous good time. Mystical, otherworldly, and festive as all shit. Like a rock concert, or that huge pagan festival I went to in Toronto a number of years ago. We’ll experience that again soon, or something like it. Winter never lasts forever.