MOVE OVER MARILYN MUNROE. HERE COMES GEORGE THE DUCK

Why do icons become icons?

What made Marilyn so intoxicating? Apart from her cleavage. And her hips. And her general ability to use them better than any other female in history.

Right, well, I guess I answered that question then.

But what about other icons?

What about James Dean? Elvis? Madonna? George the duck.

That’s right people, George the Duck.

For those of you new to the Hartsyard blog, George was an opening gift from the manager at the restaurant where Gregory and I met in NYC. George is made from styrofoam and yellow plastic, covered in feathers and comes from Duckfat, a fantabulous store in Newcomb which I think is near Geelong, run by Warren the proprietor who informs me he can’t keep up with the demand for fake, fluffy birds, though to be frank, i’m not entirely sure why.

Still, upon reflection, I don’t suppose George and Marilyn are too different after all.

Just like Marilyn, George came from humble beginnings, before being plucked from obscurity and into the limelight when a lovely local turned his vision impairment (the result of an unfortunate altercation with a sharp object on opening night) into a fashion statement by crocheted him a debonair eyepatch to cover his missing eye. (An eye patch I was fixing to George when Terry Durack walked through our door for his second visit, which subsequently became the story in the opening paragraph of his review.)

Just like Marilyn, George has got a good set of hips on him, voluptuous lips and he too changed his name. (He grew up as Duckfat Dave, but changed his name to the more regal George when he left the country and hit the big smoke).

And just like Marilyn had Andy Warhol, George the Duck has Michael The Regular. Turns out Michael is a man of many talents, and at dinner last week, he was struck by the muses and returned on Sunday with this…

George, immortalised forever in print.

Because we are apparently a hipster restaurant (which is funny because Gregory would look ridiculous in tight jeans and I’m not cool enough to be hip) our lighting is rather dim, so I’m not really able to show this painting at its best.

Suffice to say, George has taken on a status unimagined by his humble owners. So we’ve done what we thought was right and promoted him from mascot to Chief Watch and he now resides out of harm’s way on the top shelf of the bar.

So thank you Michael. For giving George the attention he so richly deserves.

And let this give all of you wherever you are…whatever rock you may be hiding under, whatever mountain may be blocking your view…confidence. Confidence that even the most shunned, most invisible of persons can at any moment be thrust into glory.

Be ready people. Always be ready to shine…or quack as the case may be.

Happy Friday good folk. Have a fantastic weekend.

 

 

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