Blog: (a) Web site in which an individual or group of users produces ongoing narrative.

Ok, here goes. This is me blogging. I actually remember the first time I ever heard about “blogging”. It was on an episode CSI Miami. Horatio solved the crime using clues from an unknown blogger. I think it turned out to be the young and sexy receptionist, who of course, flirted with “H”…because all young babes think David Caruso is super hot.

Ya, super hot.

Am I doing this right? Something about the fact that I’ve only written one paragraph and already put a picture of David Caruso up seems very wrong. Oh well, moving on…

All I can think about right now is how Shelley is reading this, and critiquing not only the content of this blog entry, but also its grammar and spelling. Awesome.

The good news is I won’t have to worry about my bosses reading this. I think Gord is still too upset about the death of our virtual pooing parrot to log on to the new site. And I’m not sure Peter even knows we have a new website.

So I think I’m supposed to talk about GGRP, but since neither of the partners are reading this I’d like to put a question out there to all you…bloggees, (as if that’s not my new favourite word). I’ve been inspired by Caruso’s pasty pink face.

Who are you most embarrassed about being attracted to? I’ll start.

Bill Murray.

I’d do him in a second. Look at him – he sort of looks like Relic in that picture. And, no, that doesn’t mean I’d do Relic, btw.

Anyway, there’s my first entry. (It’s their own fault for putting me in charge of the blog, don’t you think?)

Meg out.

What is with the preponderance of facial hair on young men these days? I first noticed it on Joaquin Phoenix: the crazy hair, ridiculous shades and something that caused me to coin a new phrase: the homeless beard.

A few months ago on Saturday Night Live I saw a band – I forget the name but it might have been something referring to a German Kaiser or a legume, I have no idea. Anyway, I’m watching them rock out onstage, looking very pleased with themselves, and I just couldn’t shake the idea that something was wrong. Very wrong.

They were all sporting various stages of the homeless beard. Yet clearly they were not homeless. They did not resemble the homeless beards of Vancouver, which sport a kind of futile lushness, a filthy trove of madness that says “Hey, I’m crazy, so you’d better step off. What are you going to do, call the police so they can give me a ticket for jaywalking? Go for it, you self-entitled poser.”

No, these homeless beards are smug, reeking of product and all-too-recent puberty. “Look, mom! I took my mustache to the next level. Check out my homeless beard!” These HBs say to the world: I’m different, I’m an artist, I’m unique – just like all my friends here (who are similarly bearded.)

I have no idea if Joaquin Phoenix’s HB is a publicity stunt or a desperate cry for help. I tend to believe the latter, because he looks like such a knob. Either way, he tires me. I really don’t care if he acts or raps or takes a dump on the sidewalk (that’s actually how you’ll know his homeless beard is the real thing.) Sure, I saw “Walk the Line” and yes, he did a good job. But there are a lot of young, cute, talented celebrities who aren’t super-weird, so I’m much more interested in hearing about them and seeing their movies. Like the Gyllenhaals. I like both Maggie and Jake, although Jake’s eyebrows could use some taming.

I don’t claim to be hip, trust me (witness the use of the word “hip” if you don’t believe me.) But I do know that one of the forefathers of the modern-day homeless beard was Jim Morrison. Remember how hot and yummy he looked before he got all bloated from drugs and alcohol? And we all know how his story ended.

Men: rethink those homeless beards before it’s too late.