The Dinosaur House, he calls it.

The weekends are full of families, and after an hour or so of exhibits, everybody typically ends up at the children’s play area. It is here where Jones’ transformations begin. He becomes a knight in chain mail. A dragon. A Sultan from mysterious desert lands.

A prism changing colour with the light, he is all glittering potential here. The rest of us, the parents, we sit down and exhale, ring the children like a campfire. Try to remember the plots of the lives we’ve been living.

Dear Santa:

I hope you enjoy your protein shake for your long journey.

I would like to know what it’s like to be Santa Claus.

1. Is it fun to fly?
2. Do you like being in charge of your elves?
3. Do you like delivering presents to children?
4. What’s your favourite hobby?
5. What do you do over the weekend?
6. Do you ever think of moving to a sunny place?
7. Do you go on vacation?
8. What’s your birthday?
9. Do you deliver presents to pets?
10. Do you have a pet?

Love,

Talullah from LA

Dear Talullah:

You should know that Santa is very grateful to you for leaving him a protein shake. You are a very sweet girl. Unfortunately, Santa is very lactose intolerant and suffers acute gastric distress whenever he has a protein shake, so he had to give it to Dasher, his lead reindeer, who is a bit of a hippy and really very experimental in his tastes. Last year Dasher tried Ayahuasca– saw serpents and had diarrhea for two days.

Santa isn’t sure how that “blessed” him with “spiritual advancement,” but whatever.

Santa will now try to answer all your questions!

1. It is NOT fun to fly. It is VERY dangerous, especially with all the drones terrorizing the skies! Santa is only able to do it if he gets gassed up and takes his medication: 3mg of Ativan and a magic gummy.
2. Santa is not in charge of the elves! Santa and the elves work as a team, functioning as a single unit without any hierarchy! Also, the elves are very well compensated for the work they do and the netting that surround Santa’s toy factory are NOT suicide nets like those at all the Apple factories in China! Also, any rumours you heard about elf slavery or elf sex slavery are not true! That’s fake news!
3. Santa has had worse jobs. Working at a poultry farm, for instance.
4. For hobbies Santa really enjoys Cosplay, voyeurism and experimenting with surveillance equipment.
5. On the weekends Santa usually just chills and watches Netflix with the wife. Highly recommends Mindhunter.
6. It is amazing to Santa how ill-informed people are! Little girls like you, Talullah, just live in little electronic silos, never learning anything you don’t already believe! Let Santa assure you, there is plenty of sun in the North Pole!
7. We have been to Mar-a-Lago a number of times. Just the best. Saw Melania changing into her bikini once. Not bad at all.
8. Santa will only tell you that he is a Leo with Pisces ascendent.
9. No. Santa would throw-up if he ever even saw a chicken again.
10. Several elves and a turtle.

There’s always one just-past-middle-aged man– usually with long grey hair pulled back into a pony tail or up into a samurai knot– executing some interpretation of a martial art using a huge wooden stick or some such. Whenever I see one of these men I am forced to imagine their apartment, and I do not like that. I do not like the fabrics and odours and screensavers

that puts in my head, and so I’ve always kept a kind of hostile distance from them.

Our park, the park where we take our son Jones to play every day, has one of these guys. He is pudgy, dresses all in black, and looks like somebody whose life had been taken over by Columbine ninja fantasies a long time ago.

As such, I have not yet chatted with him, and have chosen instead to make fun of him behind his back. However, since my completion of pulmonary rehabilitation I have hired a personal trainer and I now work-out in this park, which brings me in direct competition with the Columbine ninja for the creepiest man in the park. Yesterday, he was stationed, with his collection of magic sticks, by the bench where I now work out.

This is the conversation that took place:

Me: Hey there, what are you up to!?

Columbine Ninja: ( Continues his maneuvers without saying a word.)

Me: I’m about to work-out. Here. By this bench. This one here. Is that okay with you?

Columbine Ninja: (Raises one hand to shush me)

Me: (Begins to pull out resistance bands from a Shopper’s Drug Mart bag)

Columbine Ninja: You must never disturb a warrior when he is training.

Me: Are you a warrior?

Columbine Ninja: ( Does a maneuver with his big stick, strikes the branch of a tree)

Me: Nice.

Columbine Ninja: The true warrior is invisible to those who cannot see.

Me: Yes, of course, I should have known that.

Columbine Ninja: Not all who wander are lost.

Me: Are you a part-time life coach or something?

Columbine Ninja: I am a student, not the master.

Me: Uber driver?

Columbine Ninja: I am a student of Kenjutsu!

Me: I think you work at a weed dispensary.

Columbine Ninja: Anata wa seik? shite imasu.

Me: What was that, Klingon? That doesn’t impress me in the least.

Columbine Ninja: I wonder why it is that you have trouble breathing? Is it because you fear life? I think you are a scared man. In Kenjutsu they teach you how to control your breathing, how to master your fear before it masters you!

Me: I only have one lung.

Columbine Ninja: And all you need in order to live a failed life is one excuse.

And then the Columbine Ninja just walked away and I commenced the most melancholy work-out in history.

Excellent form, though.

These are the text messages my wife sent to me the other day:

*********************************

Rachelle: How’s the pulmonary rehab going, my love?

Rachelle: Oh, I’m so glad to hear that you’re dominating the warm-up exercises!

Rachelle: Yes, you are a natural leader, it’s one hundred percent true!

Rachelle: What’s The Flower Pot?

Rachelle: I see.

Rachelle: So you sit in a chair, and then move one of your legs as if you were lifting it over a flower pot?

Rachelle: What a strange name for an exercise!

Rachelle: Well, I don’t know. Maybe something a little more macho, something like The Grizzly Stomp or The Sumo Crush.

Rachelle: I like The Grizzly Stomp, too. You should write that down and put it in the Suggestion Box.

Rachelle: You already suggested a Cosplay night! Interesting idea, Pickle, but aren’t all the other residents elderly?

Rachelle: I see, that’s good thinking on your part, you can make your oxygen tanks look like rocket packs!

Rachelle: You are very creative, it’s true, and as you say, you are the Wayne Gretzky of The Flower Pot.

Rachelle: Really? The physiotherapist asked you to lead the class yesterday?! How flattering!

Rachelle: Yes, I am sure it was a great honour that everybody else was bitterly jealous of! I’m curious, did you get to choose the music for the work-out?

Rachelle: That’s great! Who did you pick?

Rachelle: Oh.

Rachelle: Well, it just seems like an odd choice.

Rachelle: I didn’t know, Tori Amos just seems weird to me. Complicated, annoying.

Rachelle: Sorry. I am trying to encourage and support you, my love.

Rachelle: Really?

Rachelle: Right in the middle of the stretch she said you had a very small flower pot?!

Rachelle: OMG, That’s hilarious!

Rachelle: I mean nasty, just nasty.

Rachelle: 90 is old, and aging can make people mean.

Rachelle: You’re probably right, that smart-alecky Yvette lady likely had dementia.

Rachelle: Because it’s not your class, honey.

Rachelle: That’s why they wouldn’t let you “expel her from your program.”

Rachelle: Well, I’m glad you put her on notice, anyway, and sorry that everybody is now calling you The Little Flower Pot.

Rachelle: Think of it being like Dear Leader, a term of respect and fear.

Rachelle: Well of course I miss you terribly, but I’m struggling along. Even had a little party last night to fight the loneliness.

Rachelle: Probably less than 25 people, I don’t remember.

Rachelle: He might have been there, not positive.

Rachelle: Oh, you’ll get a kick out of this!

Rachelle: He brought his Porsche over the other day to take Jones for a ride, and Jones just loved it! I’ve never seen him happier! It’s astonishing Pierre doesn’t have any kids because he is just SO amazing with them!!

Rachelle: Yes, you’re amazing with Jones, too.

Rachelle: Sure Jones misses you.

Rachelle: Well, he’s still not really talking yet, so he missing you in a kind of subconscious way, I guess, but I can tell that he really does miss you!!

Rachelle: Tonight?

Rachelle: Oh, Steve needed to take somebody to the magazine awards at some fancy hotel and Jen is out of town, so I have to go as his date. Barf.

Rachelle: He was nominated in two different comedy writing categories.

Rachelle: It is a shame none of your work was nominated!

Rachelle: No, I have no idea why Steve won’t accept your Facebook friendship.

Rachelle: The world is mysterious.

Rachelle: Never mind that though, what are you up to tonight, my Little Flower Pot?

Rachelle: Fish stick night! Yum!

Rachelle: You’re my favourite fish stick, you know.

Rachelle: It’s true.

Rachelle: Don’t ever doubt that!

Rachelle: You will always be my favourite fish stick! xo

He made this comment a couple of weeks ago after Kanye had said something Kanyesque about books. This was the quote:

“Sometimes people write novels and they just be so wordy and so self-absorbed. I am not a fan of books. I am a proud non-reader of books.”

People, primarily white, middle-class people, as far as I could tell, rushed to their social media channels to denounce and mock Kanye yet again, portraying him as an illiterate, entitled child who lacked the intellectual capacity for long-form reading. However, in so doing they completely over-looked the fact that what he said wasn’t stupid at all, and could easily apply to the vast majority of the population.

Novels were once the castles in which everybody wanted to live. To write one was considered the highest artistic and intellectual aspiration, and all that was profound in culture and human experience was transferred– as if by holy passage– through them. Well, that’s simply not the case any more. The world has changed and we consume our culture and entertainment in very different ways than we did 50 years ago.

The experience I used to get reading a novel, I now typically get following specific TV shows. For me, the scope, intellect and cultural penetration offered in shows like Breaking Bad or Transparent (you could name dozens more), and the continued richness of experience and evolution of circumstance they present, simply outstrips what is available in novels. Other people will make similar arguments using graphic novels, Blogs, gaming communities, sports or more traditional forms like cinema, dance or music as examples. (I would also argue that we are much more participatory, almost partnered, in what we consume now and much less the passive receptacles we were in the past.)

Novels, particularly literary novels, have traditionally been written by a very specific group of people, and it’s never been a diverse group. The expression “Dead White Males” might pop to mind here, and although there’s much greater diversity in writing than there ever has been before, it still speaks loudest in the privileged, virtually aristocratic fields of MFA’s.

Naturally then, the experience of reading novels is an alienating one for the vast majority, and with so many other, and superior options available, why on earth would somebody like Kanye spend his time reading books that don’t speak to him, instead of creating art and pursuing his passions?

Earlier in the week a video purportedly made by bored hacktivist group Anonymous was released targeting Kanye. It was ridiculous– like a Prog Rock video from the 80’s. In it, a Guy Fawkes masked figure, in a condescending British accent, chided Kanye for all manner of untoward behaviour. It really sounded like the gripes of a 15 year-old who was angry with the cool kid in school who got all the attention.

What people want with Kanye, I think, is to keep him in line.

They want him to remember his place in the hierarchy, and every time they raise their voices to ridicule something he says or cry foul at a taboo he’s broken, they remind us not of his boundless ego, but of their inability to live in a world– now so different from the one they grew up in– where a man like Kanye might confidently assert himself and speak for an unheard majority that they’re no longer a part of.

Team Leader: Okay, I guess we’ll just wait another five minutes to see if Noor shows up, but if not we’ll just start without her.

(AWKWARD SILENCE)

Me: Well, I think it might be a nice way to kill the time if we each told one another a little bit about ourselves.

Team Leader: This isn’t required so nobody has to participate.

Me: My name is Michael Murray, I stand nearly six feet four inches tall and live in Toronto with my wife and our Miniature Dachshund. When I was a boy Iron Fist was my favourite superhero. He could summon and focus his chi into one amazing punch and was teemed with the super awesome Luke Cage, who was known not to take any jive.

Person #1: My name is Cindy and I live in Ottawa.

Person #2: Tom, in London.

Person #3: My name is Beth and I live in Kingston where I’m a student, and I guess I my favourite superhero would be Lara Croft.

Me: She’s not a superhero. She’s a video game character.

Person #3: Oh, I didn’t realize that Iron Fist was a real person. I’m surprised I haven’t heard more about him.

Team Leader: Hopefully Noor will be here very soon. We’ll just give her two more minutes and then we’ll get into the material.

Me: Team Leader, is there any sort of dress code we have to abide by when we’re doing our work?

Team Leader: Well, as you’ll be working from home, of course not.

Me: Great, because it’s a straight up fact that I do my best work when I’m not wearing a shirt.

Person #1: Gross.

Team Leader: Michael, we don’t need to know that. You’re over-sharing and making us all a little bit uncomfortable.

Person #1: Look, I’m not a difficult person, but I think this is sexual harassment.

Me: I think you hear what you want to hear, Cindy.

Person #1: What does that mean?

Me: You sound like somebody who maybe wants to get sexually harassed, you know?

Team Leader: Okay Michael, you are way out of bounds here and if you don’t apologize immediately and stop this conduct, you will be terminated from the project.

Me: Our Dear Leader makes a persuasive argument. Cindy, I am very sorry, I was just making stuff up and trying to be funny, lighten things up a bit while we waited, but I see that I was creepy and inappropriate, and I am really, truly sorry for that.

Person #1: Fine, but I still feel like I need a shower.

Person #2: I think we all do.

Noor: Hello! Sorry I’m late, did I miss anything?

Me: We were just talking about taking a group shower.

Team Leader: Michael, you’re fired.

The Leafs are on TV, but they’re losing again and nobody much seems to care, instead, they focus on the consoles in front of them, concentrating on the trivia game unfolding on the monitors above the bar.

“Which film features a man living the same day over and over again?”

The guy to my right, who is still in his FedEx uniform, is startled to attentiveness by this question, “Groundhog Day, Groundhog Day!” he shouts as if sounding an alarm.

The other men, slowly and silently, reluctantly even, nod—tell them something they didn’t know.

To my left is a man who smells like cigarette smoke and is wearing the sort of sweater that invites fascination and curiosity. How old is that sweater? Was it a gift? If not, what was it that attracted him to it? He’s the most animated person in the bar, giggling nervously and speaking quickly, his eyes always darting. He and the bartender, an efficient but world-weary bald guy, have a rapport, a banter, and they’re trying to stump one another with arcane Simpson’s trivia and forgotten players from the OJ trial.

Mark Furhman!

Nicole Simpson’s dog was a white Akita!

Can I borrow a feeling by Kirk Van Houten!

All night the conversation jumps about in this way. They’re no longer the people that they became, but are now floating free, inhabiting a nostalgic landscape where they remain limitless and ascending. O, there are just so many details to untangle and isolate, to cherish… Episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation, what country was the best to build your base from when playing Risk, and later, the naming of all the Replicants from Blade Runner, each one uttered with tenderness and respect, as if each one a kind of miracle, like a love from the past who was never to be seen again.

Your Highness:

You ever have one of those days?

I was very nervous about meeting you, because I’ve never met anybody who was a direct descendent of God. That must be so cool. I come from a long line of sheep thieves who have always fled debt, not Gods. At any rate, I really wanted you (A GOD!!!) to like me, and in spite of taking an Ativan and drinking two glasses of wine before going to bed, I had trouble sleeping. When this happens I often listen to a calming CD of rainstorms,

which is what I did, and to make a long story short I ended up sleeping through my alarm and missing my opportunity to meet you. I had my blue suit laid-out on my bed and everything.

I had studied you in a completely non-invasive and totally not creepy way, and was going to make some pretty dazzling conversation, I think. I honestly do believe that we would have become best friends, likely participating in the same fantasy sport’s pools, attending Illuminati meetings together, texting one another about Game of Thrones and partying on boats with supermodels.

The One percent rules!

Do people make a lot of Hamlet jokes to you?

I bet that they do.

People are stupid.

Ninety-nine percent of people, in fact.

The rich are not stupid–especially not the rich who are descended from Gods.

I see from Wikipedia that you married a commoner, run marathons, are an expert sailor, have been on expeditions to Mongolia and Greenland, have extensive military training and care about the environment. It’s pretty amazing how much we have in common, as I also care about the environment. I really can’t stand that every summer is getting more and more humid, and I have to say, if it weren’t for my AC, well, it would be pretty tough slogging.

Look, Your Highness, I really hope you can find it in your gracious heart to forgive me for sleeping in this morning and that we can still become the friends that God wants us to become. By means of apology, I would like to invite you and your commoner wife over for Game’s Night on Thursday. We play a Star Trek version of the Settler’s of Catan and it’s an awful lot of fun– some people even dress in character for it!

Looking forward to seeing you soon,

Michael Murray

Dear Bitter Writer:

What are writers really like?

Ansell Pitt

Dear Mister Pitt:

Writers are the worst.

I’d be hard pressed to think of any single grouping of people, be they bound by profession, religion, ethnicity, sexual fetish or disease, that are worse than writers.

Writers are grubby, small, aspirational and hateful people.

The only thing that they loathe more than themselves are other writers. The success of other human beings, even in some cases animals, is toxic to the writer. If you happen to fall into conversation with one about something that is “good,” or something that you “like,” the writer will quickly, as if in a panic, change the topic to something that is “not good,” or something that they “don’t like.” They will do this in the way that a squirrel might scurry off up a tree when it gets startled. Writers feel diminished by light and joy, and will seek to suck as much of it as possible out of any given day. Never, ever ask a writer to make a speech at a wedding.

Think of this way:

If all the writers on the planet were jammed into one insufferable country, it would be torn apart by civil war and terrorism.

And then likely bombed by every other county in the world, too.

It would just be that bad a place.

Dear Bitter Writer:

Hello, love the very helpful blog! My question is book cover designs. What would go on it? Should the character be on the cover or should the cover relate to the content in the story? Thank you.

Samantha Bell

Dear Ms. Bell:

Are you some kind of a moron?

Look, if some other moron is willing to publish your stupid book, you should let them put whatever the fuck they want on the cover!! As a writer it is essential that you learn to be a sycophant. You must shamelessly align yourself with whatever the prevailing tribe is, and ceaselessly, but with as much elegance and perception as you can muster, lather all editors and associated “literati” (gag!) with compliments. Tell them how much you love the little, European scarves they’re always wearing and how cool their frames and tattoos are, and for God’s sake, if they want you nude and fully penetrated on the cover, you let them know how much you love their “edgy vision” and ask how many orifices they want penetrated, damn it!

This is my response:

“ What a wonderful and interesting opportunity for a cultural exchange! I think that Rachelle and I would be very keen in such an arrangement, as working at home alone as freelance writer while Rachelle is off at work each day, has left me lonely as I have nothing to keep me company but my masculine energy.  I sure could use somebody to talk to, and as you know, I really do like to talk! All sorts of talk, in fact, and you should know I would be really happy to engage in role-playing talk if it were to help Emiko with her English!

Does Emiko like anime and manga? I do.

And shy is cute. But tell me, does shy also mean submissive? Although I love Japanese culture and the women who populate it, I have to admit that I am not up on a lot of the culture nuances. I think submissive is a good quality, as well as a complete lack of confidence and a slightly frightened deference to age.

As you know, Rachelle and I have a Miniature Dachshund named Heidi. All the Japanese girls go crazy when they see me walking her on Bloor. They run over in beautiful Asian waves, squealing and bowing and cooing and stroking our dog with their curious fingers, and it’s so beautiful I feel like I’m in a heavenly nest made entirely of Japanese girls! Anyhow, what I mean to say is that I am sure Emiko (can I call her Iko?) would just love her. However, our dog does not obey me at all, nobody does, and it would be really great if Iko was obedient in nature. (Not a condition, just a statement.)

We have a spare bedroom, but there is no door on it, and you have to pass through that room in order to get to our one washroom. I make several trips to the bathroom each night, but I am quiet and very discreet, so I’m sure that Iko would have no problem with my shadowy, forbidden, paternal presence.

In shorts (Ha! I meant to write in short!) I think we have a perfect set-up for Iko and would very much look forward to tutoring her over the summer!

Let us know if this works for you folks!

Michael Murray