The story I was watching was about Russia being banned from the winter Olympics in South Korea for doping infractions, and it was being told in a very sober, serious manner.
A story for adults, told by adults.
The video footage behind the newscasters voice was of stern Russians with machine guns, scientists doing scientific things, and IOC officials looking like assholes.
These stock images didn’t exactly correspond to the story, but they symbolized it in a recognizable enough manner, which is really all that TV newscast aspire to.
As the story was winding to it’s end, the tone of the announcer changed. The mood was brightening. Full of incredulity, the newscaster said, “And how are they responding over in Russia? Well, Putin is saying that the IOC ban was orchestrated by the USA in effort to discredit him and influence the upcoming Russian election.”
This was said as a joke, the sort of thing that would make you think, “Oh, those crazy Russians!” Most of us, at least over 35, have seen thousands of TV newscasts and unconsciously know the formula—it is the tone of voice that conveys how seriously we are to take a story– and this conspiracy theory was intended as a little bit of levity added on to an information dense segment.
Russia.
What do we know about Russia?
I know nothing, really. I’ve never been there and came of age during the Cold War, certain that I was to die in some Regan inspired volley of nuclear weapons. I don’t have a clue what, or why, typical Russian people think the way they do.
- Do Russians have reason to think the US would act against their interests?
- Do Russians believe the CIA has the capacity and will to tamper with evidence?
- Has the USA ever tried to influence a foreign election? *1
From any sort of “rational” point of view, the answer to all these questions is “yes.” A Russian might have cause to believe Putin’s claim. It is not insane, but it is delivered to us in the exact same way that a skateboarding dog story would be, and because of this we unconsciously dismiss it, even as we hear it.
Strange, that, but there you have it.
The media shapes the message, and I would love to see the last two minutes of all broadcasts to be person-on-the-street interviews with people from foreign nations in the news, more like Humans of New York than a Hot Take on a topical news story. I need this perspective. I want to know what they are thinking, what their faces look like and how they nervously smile when they’re on camera.
They need to be portrayed beyond symbol, and be seen as complex, fully developed people we can understand and love, rather than targets to demonize, mock and bomb.
*1 For those interested, the Columbia Journalism Review has just published a detailed and fascinating article on the impact of Russian Fake News on the US election.
https://www.cjr.org/analysis/fake-news-media-election-trump.php
]]>One of the components of this event was that I was signing copies of my bestselling book A Van Full of Girls. In case the book has somehow escaped your attention, here are a few press clippings:
“ I thought it was fine, but it could stand for less swearing. Swearing doesn’t prove what a big man you are.”
—Barb Murray, Canadian mother
“Although I could not invest in Michael’s book project, I was struck by how courageous he was to put his thoughts down like that and then, in spite of the risk of public embarrassment and the terribly long odds of any sort of success, seek publication. So brave. We need more people with Michael’s spirit in Canada.”
—Arlene Dickinson, star of the CBC hit TV show Dragon’s Den
“ It’s just lie after lie after lie.”
—Doug Ford, Canadian businessman and politician
I have to say, and I’m giving you the straight-up truth here, the book really is a fucking game-changer.
You should buy it.
At any rate, while we were selling off our things, Margaret Atwood, who lives in the same area, happened upon us. I conducted a somewhat adversarial interview with her a few months ago for a magazine called The Knuckler, ( http://michaelmurray.ca/atwood-interview ) and as this took place via phone I was unsure if she knew who I was, but when she saw me at my little A Van Full of Girls kiosk, she approached.
Margaret Atwood: I’ve been surveying all your trinkets here, such a contrast amidst the grandeur of the neighbourhood. So sweet, so hopeful.
Me: Thanks.
Margaret Atwood: It’s like an archeological dig. Sifting through the debris you can see the arc of a life, the enthusiasm and ambition that inevitably crumbles into failure, and then finally the recognition of that failure and the selling off of all that had symbolized your hope.
Me: I’ll let you have the Six Million Dollar Man thermos for a buck.
Margaret Atwood: I don’t think so.
Me: Your loss.
Margaret Atwood: You seem to have an awful lot of unfinished self-help books for sale. Why is that?
Me: I don’t know, why is the Handmaiden’s Tale so much more popular as a TV show not written by you, than as a book written by you?
Margaret Atwood: Handmaid’s Tale, it’s Handmaid’s Tale.
Me: Oh. Sorry.
Margaret Atwood: This book, A Van Full of Girls? Are you the author?
Me: Yes. You should buy a copy. Support the arts.
Margaret Atwood: So tell me, how does self-publishing work these days?
Me: My book wasn’t self-published.
Margaret Atwood: Really!? How extraordinary. Typically you don’t seen an established author out on a front lawn selling his book from a knapsack. And look, you have so many copies! You must have at least 40!
Me: You know what? I also have an awful lot of Margaret Atwood books for sale over there, but people just don’t seem interested. One woman picked up a copy of Lady Oracle, showed it to her friend and said, “Barf.”
Margaret Atwood: (Gives withering look)
Me: (Imitates withering look)
Margaret Atwood left shortly after this exchange, but not before telling me that I should keep all the self-help books I was trying to sell, and buying, for reasons we can only imagine, a used The Very Best of Chris de Burgh LP.
The site enables people to trade all manner of goods, absolutely anything you have lying around or might want to cook. If somebody likes what you posted, they send you a message and the bartering begins.
This was my first post:
Posted by Michael Murray
Toronto Division
Genuine Sialkot Pro Field Hockey Stick
Made in India, this vintage field hockey stick is a real gem! Nicknamed “Sally,” it was used by high school Goddess Victoria Reid during the season that saw her team, The Lisgar Lancers, win the Ottawa city championship in 1983. Victoria scored a record 36 goals with Sally!
The stick, which feels solid and sure in the hands, is also rumoured to have been used as a murder weapon. So if you’re looking for a little bit of security around the house and are still unsure of guns, this is what you’re looking for, as the stick’s hooked nature guarantees that irregular and jagged wounds would be cut into any invader. I hate to give up this wonderful piece of history, but my wife insists, believing it to be cursed. Ha, ha. Let me assure you, Sally is not cursed, just brutally effective, as many squirrels and at least one homeless man rooting through our garbage for empty wine bottles can attest. It is also important to note that Sally never has conversations with me. I don’t get “different” around her, and you won’t get “different” around her either, just stronger, more violent and a little unpredictable!
All reasonable trade offers will be considered. #Sports #Hockey #Vintage #Murder #Weapon #ProbablyNotHaunted
Response from Dealer Dave
Toronto Division
Bullshit.
I don’t believe your story for one second, but I need something to use for my son’s birthday pinata and your field hockey stick sounds like it would work. I have a Chinese bootleg CD of the U2 album How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb, would that work?
Response from Michael Murray
Toronto Division
No, a crappy U2 CD will not do.
Do you have any wine?
Response from Dealer Dave
Toronto Division
No, I am not giving you wine for a piece of wood. I have a CD by the Tea Party, would you prefer that?
Response from Michael Murray
Toronto Division
No deal!! Sally says no!!!
Response from Cindy84
Toronto Division
Your dog is super cute! I also like your carpet. Would you be willing to trade either one of those instead of the creepy stick? I have gift cards…
Response from Make$2000AWeekFromHome
Toronto Division
I’m impressed, I have to admit. Seldom do I come across a blog that’s both equally educative and interesting, and without a doubt, you have hit the nail on the head. The problem is an issue that too few folks are speaking intelligently about. I’m very happy I found this during my search for something relating to this.
Response from Redrum
Toronto Division
Interested in the weapon.
Do you know what became of Victoria Reid?
Response from Michael Murray
Toronto Division
Heard it was a suicide, but even after all these years there’s still a lot of controversy surrounding her death. Th CBC is said to be making a mini-series on it called, “The Possession of Victoria Reid.”
Sometimes she comes to me in my dreams.
Response from Redrum
Toronto Division
I work at a packing plant and have meat to trade. Lots of ground beef. One pound of ground beef for the weapon?
Response from Michael Murray
Toronto Division
I’m worried about food safety. I got Listeria once and will not go through that again. Do you have any wine? Sally likes you and wants to serve you.
Response from Redrum
Toronto Division
I have a half-full box of Jackson Triggs Merlot.
Response from Michael Murray
Toronto Division
Deal!
]]>
“On Wednesday morning, the public got their first glimpse of disgraced CBC radio host Jian Ghomeshi– who is charged with five criminal offences including sexual assault and choking–as he appeared at a downtown Toronto courthouse.
What are sex criminals wearing this season?
Well, foregoing his signature, I’m-old-but-a-downtown-scenester-who-likes-beating-women-rock-guy style, Ghomeshi went with a black suit, crisp white shirt and subtly pattered dark tie. Standing beside his fearless and brilliant lawyer, Marie Henin, who was smartly turned-out in black with a lurid splash of lipstick across her face, the pair looked evil and powerful, like they had mastered the dark arts and were taking the charges very seriously.
Ghomeshi, who typically sports a youthful, mop of dyed hair that suggested the gentle innocence of a Muppet to his victims, had trimmed it, a clear attempt to convey to the court that he was a serious man, a full grown predator and that these women would have understood that, via his hair, and thus implicitly consented to being attacked by him. His signature five-o’clock-shadow, a reminder of his love and violent fantasies surrounding the sleazy 1980’s TV show Miami Vice, 
was gone, once again suggesting that he was a powerful, business-savvy man of violent and criminal action. “Think Christian Grey, not Ted Bundy, “ Mr. Ghomeshi’s stubble-free face declares.
By not wearing a bloodstained white shirt, Ghomeshi and his legal team are sending a clear message to the courts that he is not always beating women for his own twisted sexual gratification, but is often taking time to try to plot some form of consent from his victims, usually while setting up his video camera and arranging his other props. The tie, dark and respectful, but with a subtle pattern, is a clear indicator of the BDSM interior of Ghomeshi, a bold statement of his violent intentions that not even the most drugged, intoxicated or star-struck woman could possibly have misunderstood.
In court we see that Ghomeshi has decided to eschew the tie and go for a more casual, you’re-relaxed-and-in-my-lair-and-I’m-showing-you-my-record-collection vibe. He’s showing the court that he’s their friend, the voice that they allowed into their home, bedroom, kitchen and bathroom for so many years, and that their relationship is now so intimate that the obvious next step is to introduce a startling, brutally violent, dangerous and one-sided sexual component into their life together.
With Ghomeshi, the safe word is always “style.” “
]]>(https://twitter.com/HeerJeet/status/529749811906764804 )
Impressed by his work and his form, I have also been experimenting with the Twitter Essay:
- Okay, let’s talk about Art Garfunkel.
- He was part of the influential 60’s duo Simon and Garfunkel who were responsible for so many classic hits.
- He had crazy hair that reminded me of big bird.
- Nobody thought he had any talent.
- I don’t think he wrote any songs, he just sang in that high voice.
- Does anybody out there know if he wrote any songs?
- No?
- Nobody knows?
- Okay.
- So, he probably didn’t write any songs, he just looked weird and sang like a woman.
- That was enough. It was the 60’s.
- I wonder if he got a lot of groupies?
- Does anybody know? Did anybody out there sleep with Art Garfunkel?
- No one willing to admit?
- Fair enough
- Does anybody else think Art Garfunkel looks like Rex Murphy?
17. Look at this picture:
18. Now look at this picture:
19. DEAD. FUCKING. RINGERS.
20. I hate Rex Murphy.
21. He talks like Russell Brand writes, and he’s always crabby.
22. CBC should fire him.
23. Truth be told, CBC should just clear the decks and fire everybody.
24. Art Garfunkel turns 73 today.
25. He’s a Scorpio, the sign characterized by being stubborn and insensitive.
26. I had a girlfriend who was a Scorpio.
27. We met on Lavalife.
28. Here’s a picture, she’s the one with the nice smile and headband:
29. She broke up with me that day because I wouldn’t do the nude bicycle run.
30. Didn’t care about my physical insecurities, she just insisted it was a way for me to get over them.
31. I’ve had surgeries and am embarrassed by my scars, okay??
32. I don’t want to ride around naked on a fucking bike!
33. She’s the VP of bank now.
34. Art Garfunkel was an actor for a while.
35. Whenever you saw that he was going to be a guest star, like on the Rockford Files or something…
36. You knew it was going to be a good one to miss.
37. James Garner was a real actor.
38. He was a class act.
39. Just look at him!
40.What a man!
41. Art Garfunkel was the son of a traveling salesman.
42. Well, now is probably a good time to wrap up.
43. In sum, Art Garfunkel’s impact on popular culture has been negligible and certainly subordinate to Paul Simon and James Garner.
*I will post this on Storify for those who wish to save a copy for future reference.
]]>
Ford has submitted an audition tape with a number of sample interviews he’s conducted, and this is a small selection:
Doug Ford interviews Deepak Chopra (Indian-American author, public-speaker, businessman and physician)
Doug Ford: So, what do you like better being a doctor or being a businessman?
Deepak Chopra: Well, we are more than just the labels that society puts on us. Yes, it is true that I am a businessman and doctor, but I, like all human spirits, am many things, and everything that I do nourishes my soul equally.
Doug Ford: I’m a very successful businessman. We make labels. We’re called Deco Labels. Three different locations, two in the GTA and one in Chicago. Deepak, let me ask you, you ever been to Chicago?
Deepak Chopra: I have been many times and will be there next week to promote my new book, Why is God Laughing: The path to joy and optimism.
Doug Ford: That’s great. You should take in a Blackhawk’s game and go to Michael Jordan’s steak house. Jesus, those are some good goddamn steaks. Do you eat steak in India? I mean, you folks worship cows, you’d think you’d know and appreciate how delicious steak is. By the way, I’ve always admired the Indian people, you guys are great, very colourful and polite.
Doug Ford interviews Suzanne Somers (comedienne, actress and businessperson)
Doug Ford: Let me tell you, thirty years ago you were just about the hottest thing I ever saw. Chrissy Snow. Jesus Christ. Hot. And let me tell you, Three’s Company, that was a real comedy. Classy.
Suzanne Somers: Thank you.
Doug Ford: So, you write poetry in your spare time?
Suzanne Somers: I’ve always felt the need to express myself creatively.
Doug Ford: I like to box. Sometimes shot put. Okay, my producer wants me to read one of your poems. It’s from a collection called Touch Me: The poems of Suzanne Somers. I bet you have a lot of takers when people hear you say, “touch me,” eh? Right for the boobs.
Suzanne Somers: I mean it spiritually, not physically.
Doug Ford: Yeah, whatever. So it’s called “Organic Girl,” and it goes like this:
Organic girl dropped by last night
For nothing in particular
Except to tell me again how beautiful and serene she feels
On uncooked vegetables and wheat germ fortified by bean sprouts
Mixed with yeast and egg whites on really big days
She not only meditates regularly, but looks at me like I should
And lectures me about meat and ice cream
And other aggressive foods I shouldn’t eat.
Nice. Okay, I got a two-parter for you. So, what’s the theme of this poem and you ever have any work done? You still look pretty good.
Doug Ford interviews Tanya Tagaq (award winning throat singer)
Doug Ford: Sorry, I had a real hard time there with your last name. If you’re in show business you might want to change it so that it’s easier to say and remember. Just smart business.
Tanya Tagaq: I like my name as it is, thank you.
Doug Ford: (Stares at her, a burning silence for 20 seconds.) Are you saying you don’t care about business?
Tanya Tagaq: No, I’m saying I care about my name.
Doug Ford: You’re First Nations, right? Am I right? Yeah, look, don’t you think if maybe you guys were better at business you wouldn’t have signed all those treaties where you gave up prime real estate for bracelets and you wouldn’t always be asking tax payers for hand-outs? So maybe business is important, okay? You get it? (Aggressively bangs question cues cards on table) Alright, so what the hell is throat singing anyway?
It’s a complicated and unresolved situation at this point, but in short, Ghomeshi, a popular radio personality in Canada, was fired from his job because his BDSM sexual proclivities– and the serious allegations stemming from them– were brought to the attention of his employers who decided, upon careful reflection, that they could no longer work with him as he damaged the brand. It is more intricate and terrible than just that, of course, and crisis management teams, wounded parties and insane lawsuits are now a part of the sex storm, but one thing that has happened with absolute certainty is that I now know way more about BDSM and the laws governing it than I ever imagined I would.
As I am a very adventurous and sensual person, I have suggested to my wife that we experiment with some BDSM in our life and she readily agreed. This is the BDSM Journal that I have been keeping.
Day 1
Submissive role: Rachelle
Dominant role: Me
Me: I DON’T WANT TO WATCH NASHVILLE TONIGHT!!
Rachelle: Pickle, I don’t think you’re supposed to yell, I think it’s more a tone thing.
Me: Oh.
Rachelle: Don’t worry. This is new for both of us, just try again.
Me: Okay.
Me: (Clears throat and delivers line sounding like Clint Eastwood) I don’t want to watch that damn Nashville tonight.
Rachelle: No honey, you sound like an old man
Me: Is that good? Does it turn you on?
Rachelle: No, not really. Let’s just watch Nashville, okay?
Grade of experience: 6 out of 10
Day 2
Dominant role: Rachelle
Submissive role: Me
Rachelle: We’re going to Ikea today to find some storage solutions and maybe a runner for the dining room table!
Me: I’m not feeling well.
Rachelle: OBEY ME, SLAVE!!
Me: Coldplay! Coldplay! Coldplay!
Rachelle: Honey, that’s not the safe word.
Me: I forgot it. What is it?
Rachelle: I’m not allowed to tell you. GET IN THE CAR, WE’RE GOING TO IKEA, MAGGOT FACE!
Me: Cold sore! Cold sore! Cold sore!
Rachelle; No, slave, that’s not it either! Put on your leash and get in the car, I COMMAND THEE!!
Me: Are we taking the dog with us?
Rachelle: YES!!
Grade of experience: 0 out of 10
Day 3
Dominant role: Me
Submissive role: Rachelle
Me: Please pass me the salad!
Rachelle: Yes, master.
Grade of experience: 9 out of 10
Day 4
Sadistic role: Rachelle
Masochistic role: Me
Rachelle: I have made bulgur for dinner tonight! It is an excellent source of fiber! Eat it now, worm!!
Me: I have been feeling a little clogged up lately. I deserve to be punished, master.
Rachelle: (Takes my glass of wine away)
Me: Hey! What the fuck???
Rachelle: You are forbidden from having any more wine this week! You drink too much and it’s bad for you, my cockroach!
Me: Cold war! Cold war! Cold war!
Rachelle: Pitiful fool, you’re not even close with the safe word! Teaches you for not listening to your master, now eat your bulgur!!
Me: Is there any Sriracha, at least?
Rachelle: NO! YOU FORGOT TO PICK UP AT THE GROCERY STORY! NOW, SILENCE! (puts on the soundtrack to Dirty Dancing)
Grade of experience: 0 out of 10
After this, as a means of contrast, Rachelle and I watched Commander Hadfield’s return to Earth. For those of you who are not Canadian, Commander Chris Hadfield is a Canadian Astronaut who has spent the last 5 months on the International Space Station. It was here, through his use of Twitter– where he accumulated nearly one million followers—that he became something of a folk hero.
Avuncular, proportional and competent, Hadfield seems like a really, really nice guy. A Canadian guy. His moustache is friendly, like the sexually non-threatening moustache of a well-liked high school teacher, and his manner is sincere, thoughtful and fun, but still, you know this guy is operating at a very high level. You want him as your next-door neighbour. He would know what to do when the power went out and you thought you heard something funny in the basement.
Attached to a parachute, the Soyuz space capsule drifted down from space into a field in Kazakhstan like a child’s toy. A bunch of unofficial looking Russians then went over, as if farmers inspecting something that had fallen from the past rather than the future, and pulled the astronauts from the capsule. This was done without the least trace of urgency, like something they were practicing for in their street clothes rather than the main event.
The first out was the Russian and he looked hale, hearty and ready to start tossing a Kettlebell around. The next to follow, the American and Hadfield, looked small, pale and a little worse for the wear, like space travel extracted a physical toll.
They were all put on what looked like unmatched lawn chairs and gave the cameras the thumbs-up. Our CBC commentators were giddy, gushing about how robust and great Hadfield looked. It was surreal, like watching some weird variation of a Soviet propaganda film.
Regardless, what Hadfield did on his mission was utterly wonderful. From his photographs, videos and tweets, he shared with the public a suggestion of what might be considered the divine. The world is stunning in its beauty, and by extension we, all just brief, tiny organic outcroppings of the same living entity, are beautiful, too.
There are many who think that the International Space Station is a huge waste of money, one that doesn’t provide sufficient scientific benefit, but Hadfield, (his Space Oddity video was the most watched on YouTube Monday) showed us that data is perhaps secondary to the opportunity to see ourselves through eyes never imagined.
Lebowitz is in possession of a verbal brilliance that’s brusque and clarifying. Without hesitation or doubt, she can distill complex matters into weighty yet witty gems that are so elegant you want to wear them as if jewelry.
Massey Hall, which is as beautiful as an old movie, was about half full of her acolytes, and we all awaited her arrival in happy anticipation. Unfortunately, the talk was a brief, superficial and epigrammatic “Show.” I suppose I’d been hoping for something more along the lines of a conversation, an organic flowering of thought that wasn’t bound by subject, time or convention, but what Lebowitz delivered was more like a greatest hits, as if she was a tribute band of her own best material.
Ghomeshi, who was affable and charming, was little more than a straight man, with Lebowitz, like some Vaudeville comedian, delivering the punch. There was nothing that she said on Friday that I had not heard her say before. She was the Fran Lebowitz persona throughout, and that was kind of exciting in itself, but overall it was a thin and disappointing experience, leaving me feeling the way I usually do after leaving the Ex.
Taking the subway home, I couldn’t help but feel kind of sorry for Lebowitz. She burst onto the New York cultural scene back in the 70’s, amidst much fanfare and expectation, and has been unable to produce a written work (she considers herself a writer, not a Hollywood Square wit) since 1981, when she published a collection of essays called Social Studies.
Now 62, she complained– with customary charm– about other people’s children, how suburban New York had become, our impoverished arts culture, and information technology—a revolution she’s heard about rather than participated in. It was stellar cocktail party chatter, but not very sturdy, lacking in any desire toward self-awareness or examination.
When I think of her now, I imagine a ghost living in a timeless, self-created limbo. Pacing the same 15 Manhattan blocks, too frightened or unsure to realize her genius, she remains in the golden age of her potential, locked in a glittering city that will always be bigger, better and more real than any subsequent iteration. It’s ironic that New York, a city defined by velocity and constant change, is the place that Lebowitz, who seems the very opposite of these qualities, has chosen as a professional avatar.
]]>They were about the same age and had a host of similarities, none more striking than that they were both deeply engrossed in a book. Held up in their palms right before their faces, their other hand clutching a railing, the books seemed like silver trays from which they could just blow a puff of words into the other’s face. It was kind of comical, actually, to be so intimate, so open in posture, to be in the midst of so much ready potential, yet to be willfully oblivious and inward in the face of it.
Buffeted about by this train, I will stand and try to read snatches from my book instead of making eye contact with you.
I found them magnetic. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them. They were made for one another! Why couldn’t they see that? Why did they deny it? They were practically in the same sleeping bag!
I could contain myself no longer and said to them, “You two have a lot in common.”
The woman ignored me and the man looked at me the way you’d imagine a man would look at a stranger saying something weird and inappropriate on a subway.
“I just mean the books,” I continued, “you’re both reading so intently, so close together, it looks like you’re sharing the same book. Really, you may as well just hook-up.”
The man looked nervous, shaking his head in the face of a crazy, but the woman seemed amused.
“Thank you, Dr. Phil,” she said.
I shrugged, “ I just call ‘em as I see ‘em.”
The man looked up from his book and at me, “Maybe you should just mind your own business.”
And then from three seats over a guy piped up. “Dudes right, man. It’s like you two are married, just lying back in bed before going to sleep, reading your stories. Shit, you should be together, you won’t find anything better on no eHarmony.”
It was a slightly awkward, if validating situation, and I wasn’t sure what to do so I introduced myself to everyone.
I then asked the man what it was he looked for in a partner. He sighed through his nose.
“I like intelligence and an open-mind. I need loyalty.”
I then asked the woman.
“Oh,” she said, “ I hate those qualities in a person. All I want is somebody who’s a Scorpio!” And then she smiled the smile that would bring the man out of his shell.
“Well that’s funny,” he said, “because I’m a Scorpio!”
The guy from three seats over then said, “Yeah, yeah, and you both listen to CBC radio and like animals. Just go on and fall in love,” and then he motioned to me to come and sit with him and leave them alone, and so I did, and when I got off the subway a few minutes later, they were still talking.
