I first became aware of the young man known to the world as Snicks a few years ago, when I subscribed to my first ever blog (see link section for Snicks!) after meeting him at a secret lodge (the Concilium Campus Foculus) where we are both initiates. Truly a modern renaissance man, his stellar example of blog Godhood led me to abandon MySpace and xanga for Blogspot in the first place. His take on pop culture, his tastes in 80's New Wave and other music, and his wit are legendary. Although I miss his Snick's Lost 80's, Snicks (a High Priest of WhiteWingedDovism) has been spreading his white wings a bit further these days stimulating brain cells and humor at the same time.
He's been writing for AfterElton, has assembled a playground with his family, (an eerie yet sublime dreamscape, certain to inspire the kiddies of today with a view of the world through a funhouse looking glass, darkly), monitored truly heinous plastic surgery disasters and political candidates, exemplifies the perfect role-model for uncles and pet-lovers, Tilda Swinton promotion, and male-enhancement expose's, yet still manages to keep us apprised of the most interesting reflections of the world around us, supplying the most interesting pop-culture apocrypha available on the web.
One might ask, then, who is Snicks...and how does he do it?
Some say it is his devotion to WhiteWingedDovism, a modern offshoot of the ancient Keltic Traditions following Rhiannon, Goddess of Horses in the Welsh Mabinogian. Growing up, young Snicks led a somewhat sheltered life. Although young Snicks dreamed of a career in wrestling, and simply being in the lockerroom caused his red american blood to throb in his veins, he was dismissed as too "bookish" by many of the young men he dreamed of challenging "on the mat".
One night, alone in his room, Snicks was dancing in his underwear with the lights off. The light of the full moon cast his dancing shadow on the wall as a haunting sound reached his ears... whoo, baby, whoo, baby, whoo... Grabbing his robe, Snicks ran to the hall "Me, baby, me, baby, me?" he cried aloud, thrown back by a blast of salty welsh air and a fluttering of white wings.
Snicks, his robe in tatters, slowly turned, and a vision of the Goddess Rhiannon loomed above him.
" Well I see you doing... What I try to do for me With the words from a poet... And a voice from a choir And a melody... nothing else mattered"
"Believe in your dreams", she cooed. "Carpe Diem, joke' em if they can't take a fuck, and get out there and have fun!"
"It's like I always say...just like the white winged dove... Sings a song... Sounds like shes singing... Ooo baby... ooo... said ooo Just like the white winged dove... Sings a song... Sounds like shes singing... Ooo baby... ooo... said ooo.
and, umm, take this gift and spread the word, Snicks, my favorite child.....
"Ummmm, What?" Snicks said, grabbing a handful of Funyuns. Then, suddenly, the light faded and Snicks stood standing in the hall, his tattered blue robe draped artfully from his desklamp, and a faint scent of Gypsy Rose perfume and onion powder lingering in the air. Snicks looked everywhere, but the only lamp left on in the house was his desk lamp, a blue lamp.
And indeed, Snicks has carried the message of the white winged dove in his heart, demonstrating it in his actions each and every day. The guys in the locker room notice the twinkle in his eye, the spring in his step. And though he masquerades as a mild mannered library consultant by day, he entertains the world by night and weekend at who knows what by night. Snicks, wherefore art thou?
