Bill's Musings

A little over twenty years ago, my future wife Anne and I were sitting at Carl’s, minding our own business, quietly enjoying one of his famous Caesar Salads, when the unthinkable happened. A lady in the next booth started getting excited, almost crying, and exclaimed, ‘Are you Bill Gingras? THE Bill Gingras from the Tribune? Oh my God!!!’ After assuring her that I was indeed the same Bill from the paper, and sending her away with an autograph and assurances that I would father her next child, we got back to eating. Okay, that last part didn’t happen, but after twenty years, you tend to remember things somewhat differently.

All the same, it was a bit awkward. At the time, I was writing stories about my cat, Max, and the readers of the day followed the day to day adventures of a neutered cat that had a knack for causing trouble and eating catnip. I was new to town, had lots of time on my hands, and had just survived three years of isolation in the arctic. That alone might explain my twisted sense of humour, but sadly, there’s so much more to blame than that. So, meeting this lady at Carl’s was a bit of an eye opener for me. While it was humbling to see that some of my articles were actually being read, it also demonstrated to me that I had to be careful about what I wrote, in case I offend the general public, such as they were.

And this is why I’m so responsible today. *cough* cough*

Flash forward twenty years, and we have Bill Gingras 2.0. So much has changed for me. I’m married. We have two kids. We have three dogs. I’m a business owner. I’m a respected local celebrity. *HACK* Sorry, I couldn’t say that last line without choking. Yes sir. We’re working on version 2.1, and it should be in stores shortly.

My point here is that you can’t take yourself too seriously. Sure, I write some pretty sensational stuff, I get fan mail by the truckload, and am adored by the millions of West Nipissinger’s….but, let’s be frank. I still put my pants on one leg at a time. I still pass gas. I still have 7 square meals a day just like everybody else.

My wife is having difficulty with all this fame. Not so much the fortune, but the fame is tough on her. She’s had to enhance her wardrobe to step out with me. All the paparazzi upset her. It’s gotten to the point that she can no longer shop in her curlers anymore, for heaven’s sake!! Trust me, I would like nothing more than to go to the local mall, and shop incognito. But, alas, it is not to be.

I’m starting to feel like Charlie Sheen. Without all the drugs and dirty stuff, mind you, but still…..perhaps I should have thought all this through and written my articles under a pen-name, so that I could retain what normalcy I had. I could have called myself ‘Ringding Galloway’ or ‘Cheezwhiz Kazoo’. These are such catchy names that would look better on my t-shirt and fragrance products. At least, better than Bill Gingras.  We could even name a poutine after me…. The Cheezwhiz Poutine…. Available in small, medium, large, and ‘artery clogging’. Oh, the opportunities I’ve missed out on!!

Okay, so maybe I’m not THAT famous. At least my dogs think I’m some sort of celebrity. I’m ‘Snack Guy’ to them. I guess that will have to do.