There was an incident today.
Don’t worry. It’s wasn’t the incident to end all incidents, like we’ve talked about.
It was a different incident.
And whatever you do, don’t worry about Jones. He is fine. More than fine. He is brave and compassionate and beautiful. And happy, so, so happy. He’s as happy as he is healthy, and right now he is benevolently glowing at daycare. Not a thing wrong, everything right.
He had nothing to do with the incident.
Okay.
The incident.
When Dave and I went out for lunch today there was a misunderstanding over an order and I got kicked-out of the restaurant. Banned, actually. What happened was that I accidentally ordered the Chicken Supremacist from the server.
I meant to order the Chicken Supreme, but for some reason I did not say that. It was like a Freudian slip, or something. Instead, I said, “You know what I’d like? I’d really love some good, old fashioned Chicken Supremacist like my nana used to make, can the kitchen do that for me?”
I did not mean to say that.
I was fucking mortified.
I immediately apologized, explaining that I was on Twitter too much and had probably unconsciously picked up the language used there, and that it was a verbal slip-up that was NOT EVEN REMOTELY reflective of my views. I hate all supremacists, all of them! I don’t care what they think they’re superior to, I hate them!
The server, who was white, nodded and I thought everything was okay but it was not okay. The manager came over next and I began to panic and broaden my apology, this time starting with a land acknowledgment and then ending with claims of disability. It was not a good look for me, and if you care to see it for yourself there were several people videotaping the incident on their cell phones, so I am sure they are up on YouTube by now. Anyhow, the manager clearly thought I was unstable, and I am now banned from La Grenouille, and about 12 other restaurants ( INCLUDING THE KEG, FUCK!!!) owned by the same group. They actually gave me a card listing all the places I was not welcome.
Media has begun to call.
I am so sorry.
PS: Nana was not a racist either!
, you know, the spot where you see www.michaelmurray.ca and type in “ Men can” followed by a space, the autofill will provide you with these five suggestions:
Men can get pregnant
Men can have babies
Men can have babies now
Men can have periods
Men can cook
I then tried “Women can”
Women can fly
Women can vote
Women can do it
Women can do anything
Women can be drafted
I then tried “Women are”
Women are from venus
Women are beautiful
Women are some kind of magic
Women are the future
Women are funny get over it
It’s a little bit of social engineering, this. Google hopes to suggest new ways for us to think about, and shape the world before us. I tried this search for a few other things to see what other suggestions were being made:
Science is fun
Science is real
Science is magic
Science is fiction
Science is wrong sometimes
Japan is attacking
Japan is a radioactive island
Japan is known for Godzilla
Japan is dying
Japan is overrated
Jennifer Lawrence is not your girlfriend
Jennifer Lawrence is talented
Jennifer Lawrence is related to Abraham Lincoln
Jennifer Lawrence is fragrant in ways that cannot be described
Jennifer Lawrence is not scared of ghosts
is now trying– for the third time– to become the Democratic candidate for President of the USA. The man must like power, I guess. At any rate, he has espoused all the political views at one time or another, and now, at 77, he must truly believe it is finally Joe time. What follows is a list of alternate jobs, other than President of the USA, that Mr. Biden might fill:
Greeter at a prestigious riverboat casino
NHL Ref
Dr. Joe, marriage counselor and TV personality
Gourmet hot dog street vendor
Permanent host of The Academy Awards
Mayor of Caramel-by-the-sea, California
Colour commentator on Monday Night Football
Private detective who lives in Hawaii
Head barber and owner of Joe’s Man Cave
Prince of Whales
The crowd outside the stadium in TO is wild! Can you hear the cheering?
I could not hear it, but I could hear the occasional whoop coming through the open window as people made their way up or down the street.
Sitting in the dark, listening, it felt like a blackout had washed the city free. Everyone was experiencing the same thing. Everyone was happily displaced, vibrant.
In the wake of the victory some of the broadcasters have been anointing the Raptors Canada’s team, but I’m not sure that’s the case. The Raptors are Toronto’s team, reflecting a sensibility in league, sport and composition that is unique to the city. The players in the NBA, much more partners than faceless subordinates, are a revolution unto themselves. And in Toronto where the culture wars seems to burn so much brighter and hotter that the ROC, the Raptors embodied not just the demographic of the city they worked in, but the aspirations of the people who lived there, too.
For awhile now, particularly amongst people younger than me, the Raptors have served as connective tissue, the casual language spoken at parties and bars. This is not your father’s corporate sports team. This is something else. It’s youth, it’s velocity, it’s progress. The Leafs and Jays were institutional legacies passed on from bygone eras, but the Raptors were not, they were the living present of the city.
And last night there was such joy and hope. People were experiencing things they would never experience again. Their lives were being written, histories formed. They were young and beautiful and united, and the world was changing not just before them, but from within them, and everything was cresting, limitless and glowing.
]]>If you cross the borders and enter into this swamp-nation, you will instantly be transformed into a pitiless ideological zombie. You will be shouting at everything. You will be angry, sunrise to sunset, and then into the night. Even under your blankets and the ominous, blue glow of your phone, you will still be furious, your brain in terrible flames. Twitter knows this and is now trying to encourage civil behaviour, both by cancelling offensive accounts, and nominating “well-behaved” people for “Sainthood.” Sainthood is nothing more than a halo emoji that appears beside your name, but Twitter is hopeful it might catch on and help put out the still burning swamp fire. Here are a few of the people who recently received a halo emoji:
Saint Bobby D of Oshawa
“Somebody had posted a photo of a guy sitting on the subway with his legs slightly apart under the heading, ‘THIS IS AGRESSIVE MANSPREADING!!! SO SICK OF TOXIC MASCULINE ENTITLEMENT!!!!” I was going to point out that the author had spelled aggressive wrong, but she already seemed pretty worked up so I decided not to contribute to the anger storm.”
Saint Heather of Trent
“ I came across a headline on Twitter that said, “Trump’s limo driver of 25 years confirms the President has always been an asshole.” I was just about to Retweeet it when it occurred to me that I should probably read the article before propelling it further into the world, and so I just let it go.
Saint Brad of Midland
“I had been hearing a lot about the Syrian Civil War and the truth is that I really didn’t know much about it. To be honest, I had never even heard of Aleppo, thinking it was the name of a Finnish hockey coach, not a besieged city, and so I read a Vox Explainer about the situation and consequently felt pretty confident of my understanding of the complex predicament. I was about to engage in a robust argument about what was best for Syria and Syrians in general, when it struck me that I had never been to Syria. I had never read any Syrian press. I didn’t speak Arabic. I didn’t even know any Syrians. And geez, I couldn’t even work the new remote we got with our subscription to Crave TV, so it dawned on me that maybe I wasn’t the guy to solve “the Syrian problem,” and I just kept my opinion to myself.