Imagine, for a moment, that you are in charge of a business.

You decide you need a celebrity to endorse your product or service, informing the public about its virtues in the process.

Which well-known personalities would be on your short list to hire?

Dream as big as you like.

Who has an influential enough presence to trust with the monumental task of creating brand awareness in our crowded global marketplace?

Would it be movie star Will Smith? How about singing sensation Beyonce? Or maybe just-retired soccer legend David Beckham?

Perhaps you’d rather go with song-and-dance man Justin Timberlake? Or serial dater Taylor Swift? Perhaps hottie du jour Kate Upton has the profile you require to sell your wares?

But wait just a second. I have an idea.

What if I told you there was an even bigger name, a celebrity endorser who is recognized around the world in every nation?

You might think such an endorser would charge a lot to appear in TV commercials, viral videos and glossy magazine. But what if I told you His endorsement could be had for free?

Nor will you have to deal with any pesky agents.

I am, of course, talking about God — the all-knowing, all-seeing, omnipotent creator of the universe and all life, who steers the course of all living things by virtue of having unlimited power and knowledge. Who else?

Sure, a celebrity like Tiger Woods is handsome and he’s a great golfer — but does he exist in all living things at all times? Can he control the destiny of every human being, living or dead? Can he alter the course of Earth’s history with the merest thought?

I’ll grant you Tiger is a wiz with a putter, but the truth is he can’t even turn water into wine or make the blind see again.

You don’t have to believe in God to know he’s a worldwide phenomenon.

And I know what you’re probably thinking: Who would have the nerve to use God to endorse something as mundane as consumer wares?

The very idea seems tacky in the extreme.

It would take balls as big as church bells because you’d run the risk of alienating every believer of every stripe. Heck, you might even piss off some agnostics and even atheists.

But there is at least one company that has the requisite gumption.

You might have heard of them — they’re called Christian Mingle and they’re an online dating service for Christians. Their TV and radio spots are ubiquitous.

The fine folks at Christian Mingle don’t use a mere computer to match up their clients with one another; instead, they call on divine intervention. “Find God’s match for you,” goes their oft-repeated slogan.

How could any good Christian resist a pitch like that?

How could anyone at all go with Plenty of Fish or Lavalife, when Christian Mingle purports to do the Lord’s work?

Think about it: Why would you leave something as important as the choice of your life partner up to anyone else, when Christian Mingle has the author of all of our fates working for them? No other dating site has God’s seal of approval.

Come to think of it, it’s pretty noble of God to lower himself to being a pitchman for Christian Mingle. I guess He isn’t happy just determining the outcome of NFL football games, He also wants to make sure you have a fabulous first date.

So other advertisers can have their Hollywood starlets and their high-paid sports figures; I think you’ll agree that they all pale when compared to the endorsing powers of the Almighty.

And perhaps this is only the start of a larger trend.

If He has chosen to shower Christian Mingle with His favour, who’s to say God won’t clear His busy schedule to endorse other products as well. I can see it now — “Find God’s hemorrhoid cream for you.”

You can read his explanation in this blog post.

Let me know if you have any thoughts.

You can check it out by clicking here.

I hope to see you all there on the weekend!

Enjoy!

In my memories, it was a huge affair. Thousands of people parked their cars around the grassy edges of the park at the centre of our town; they came from as far away as London to be a part of the fun.

I’m not sure I can explain exactly why my younger self got so excited. I guess just because it was a sunny day devoted entirely to fun, and I would see all my friends from Valleyview. There was nothing else like it.

If you’ve ever been to a small-town picnic, you already know how the day unfolds.

The races were held soon after the picnic kicked off at noon. There were sprints, potato-sack races, even a three-legged race (two kids tie their right and left legs together; hilarity ensues as they stumble and bump toward the finish line).

There was an afternoon baseball game, with Valleyview students facing off against a team from Parkview in Komoka.

As the afternoon shadows lengthened, we gathered in the grandstand for the main event: the pillow fights. Two teens or young men would climb up on a beam, under which were positioned old mattresses. Facing each other, they would bash away until the feathers flew, then one would fall off — and we would cheer with delight.

One of my favourite events was not on the schedule — the day-long water fight. My friends and I would arm ourselves with squirt guns and bulging balloons, then laugh as we surprised each other, getting a face full of spray in the process. But if it was a hot day — and in my memories, it was always so muggy — the soaking would help to keep us cool.

We’d grab a treat from the concession stand, maybe a Mr. Freeze or a handful of Swedish berries. Syrupy Coke never tasted better.

It all sounds pretty corny, doesn’t it? That’s life in the 1970s in an idyllic Ontario small town for you.

The Poplar Hill Picnic wasn’t the same kind of fun as watching a TV show like Dr. Who. It wasn’t fun like reading an X-Men comic book. It wasn’t even the same fun as going to the movies in London and seeing, say, Star Wars or Battlestar Galactica.

I guess it was more of a communal-type of thrill.

I remember things like: A couple of my classmates made me laugh so hard one time, the milk I was drinking from a paper cup came out my nostrils.

And here’s the best part: It turns out some of my warm memories actually stand up. I talked to the organizers last summer for a story I did for The Free Press, and I was heartened to hear them recall that as many as 3,000 people did show up back in the day. I didn’t imagine it.

These days, maybe 350 people show up in any given year. But I’m just glad the organizers haven’t given up. The local Lions Club is now a big supporter of the picnic, and there’s a parade to start it all off.

It goes without saying that no insurer would touch a game as barbaric as the pillow fights today. But I’ll still be there. I love the kiddie lip-sync contest that has replaced them in the grandstand.

If you’re interested in attending, it’s going to be a really big deal this year, which marks the picnic’s 125th anniversary. Will it still be going in another 125 years? I imagine it will; I like to believe small-town picnics will be around as long as North America has small towns.

Which is sort of comforting. For about a decade, I moved away from Southwestern Ontario to work in Toronto. But come a Saturday in June, it comforted me to know people were still gathering in that little park far away.

I guess the bottom line is that it’s a living link — with the town’s past, as well as my own.

The Poplar Hill Picnic is June 8. Admission is free. All are welcome to attend.

“It’s true that there’s not a veto power involved in this process, but we always have to balance the greater good with the local good,” Wynne said. “I hope it meets the needs of the municipality but we’re going to work on it.”

Can someone explain to me the difference between the “greater good” and the “local good?”

Aren’t they the same thing?

Let’s say municipalities across Ontario strive to do “the local good.” Is it not then the “greater good” as well by definition?

How are you keeping cool?

All the talk of secret deals and illicit payments could conceivably eventually lead to one or more of the embattled Senators departing the upper chamber of our country’s Parliament for good.

So, in the event Mike Duffy or anyone else quits their cushy job, I’d like to put in a good word ahead of time for someone I believe would be a worthy successor.

I’m talking, of course, about my dog.

I know what you’re thinking: Why Dan’s dog?

You probably have your own opinion about the person, household animal or inanimate object Prime Minister Stephen Harper should tap as the next in the growing line of appointees he has approved so far.

You’re probably saying to yourself: Why not another dog? Or even a cat?

Hold that thought while I sketch out the case for Dallas, the black lab my wife and I rescued two years ago.

I admit it’s an out-of-box choice.

But think of all the positive qualities he brings to the job — whatever it is that Senators do.

For starters, Dallas would be a fiscally prudent choice. Being an animal, he doesn’t really need the base salary of $132,300. I’m sure he would do all that important tasks our Senate undertakes for a fraction of the cost; in fact, you could probably pay him in kibble and the occasional treat or hunk of cheese. So right there you have a considerable savings.

Secondly, unlike Senators such as Duffy, my dog knows where he lives. He has a keen sense of smell and direction, which means he understands exactly which house is his primary residence. Canadian taxpayers wouldn’t have to worry about this Senator fudging his expenses and accidentally overcharging the government by more than $90,000 on his housing allowance.

Granted, he would need to be walked regularly (we walk him three times every day).

And I realize some of you probably have concerns about a dog disrupting the important business on Parliament Hill. Let me reassure you, most of the time he just sleeps. Rather than being a distraction, he would fit right in with the more elderly Senators and MPs who are given to nodding off now and then (or so I’ve heard).

Most importantly, he’s an eager learner. My dog knows several tricks, so he’d be just as adept as all the other Senators who are used to taking orders from the PMO. If being loyal to the Conservative party is how most Senators get appointed, well, Dallas is as loyal as the day is long. Heck, you could share any secret information with him and he wouldn’t blurt it out.

Long-time readers of this column will remember I once campaigned to get my wife, Amanda, appointed governor general. So some of you may dismiss this idea as more of the same foolishness.

But I couldn’t be more serious.

And while it’s true no one can predict the future of this mess, there was a way to stop it from happening in the first place, and that was for supposed journalists like Duffy and Pamela Wallin to have not accepted their appointments to begin with.

The advantage of having a dog in the Senate is that, unlike mere humans, he would be impossible to corrupt. And he is house-trained, so there won’t be any temptation on his part to pee on the Senate’s hallowed red carpet.