It’s movement a kind of flight. Jones watches this impossible thing, it’s long, thin tail passing above like an airplane. The jellyfish are pink clouds that pulse mysteriously, belonging more to outer or inner space than this world we imagine we inhabit. Jones’ face against the aquarium window, his little finger prints visible as he watches a shark move indifferently past. The face is impassive, the blank eyes heartless and never in doubt. It moves through the water a kind of God.

A couple who look like they’ve been together for a very long time sit in a waiting room at the Western Hospital. The man looks anxious and uncomfortable, maybe even angry, and his wife will not intrude upon that. Holding her purse primly– like she was in church– she sits with her knees together staring straight ahead. She will not say a word. She will not move a muscle. They don’t look at one another. The tension in their lives a living thing, a creature that travels great distances and will not go away.

And in the foyer there is a Book and Bake sale taking place. A very skinny woman in a motorized wheelchair is looking at the cupcakes. She’s wearing a pink kerchief on her head, in honour of Valentine’s Day, and she is thumbing through a book called Rogue Angel.

All the donated books there. Books thumbed through on beach vacations, books that changed lives or passed right through them. All these stories moving through time, intersecting, and ultimately reducing to the same story: How will I live, how will I die? And at the kiosk beside, there is a long lineup for the Lotto 6/49. Doctors and patients alike. Pretty nurses are scrolling their phones as they wait, men in hospital gowns clutching IV stands, people visiting loved ones. Each person having a plan for the money, each one hoping for something–a candy apple red Corvette, a promising drug, some safe horizon. Past them and outside, through slush and snow I step into a taxi. I am tired and my oxygen tubing has caught on the door, and as I am trying to disentangle it, the sudden astonishment of a female driver speaking to me. Her accented voice from far away, the subtle trace of her perfume, like light falling on water.

It was packed with children, as you might expect, but still, it remained a sweet and manageable excursion. Jones was an explosion of excitement, running from one tank to the next, his finger pointing, his face animated by the most desperate urgency, “Look, look, mommydaddy, look!!” And a fish would glide mysteriously past, unaware of this constructed universe in which it lived. A world not quite of this world, beautiful and narcotic, it manifested around us like the dream it most surely was. And then we came upon the eels, and something in them sent a shudder into Jones’ soul and he was done with the aquatic for the day. “No more fish,” he yelled, running off to the Christmas tree in the foyer, to the decorative presents beneath, certain in his heart that each one contained a universe constructed for him alone.

Doug Ford, the Conservative Premier of Ontario, is known for many things.

He is the brother of Toronto’s late, fun-loving mayor Rob Ford, is the canny businessman who led Deco Labels, Flexible Packaging and Cannabis Dispensary to a top 12 business ranking in the greater Etobicoke region for three of the last five years, and is an avid hockey fan who coaches a Peewee team in Etobicoke. What follows is the speech Ford gave to his players between periods during a recent game:

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

“Great moments are born from great opportunity. And that’s what we have here, today, boys. This game sits before us like an undervalued property waiting to be bought and turned into condos by an alpha businessman! Do we have the necessary capital to make the purchase? You’re damn right we do! Do we have our mortgage rate advantageously negotiated?

I can’t hear you!

I still can’t hear you!!

I. SAID. DO! WE! HAVE! OUR! MORTGAGE! RATE! ADVANTAGEOUSLY! NEGOTIATED!

That’s better.

You’re damn right we do!!

We have the best flipping mortgage rate in the entire city!

We have all the talent and all the character we need to take this game from the Tornadoes, we just need to stop playing like a bunch of goddamn Midwives out there! You’re were playing like little girl witches out there in the first period. Sweeping your sticks about like ladies with brooms instead of chopping with them like they were axes. It’s like we’ve been cleaning up after the Tornadoes, not dominating them, and the Deco Labels, Flexible Packaging and Cannabis Dispensary Devils don’t clean up after nobody!!

Jesus H. Christ.

Defranco, please tell me I did not hear you interrupting me with a stupid question asking what a Midwife was. I will bench your skinny ass. Don’t think I won’t. I would welcome the opportunity. You just try me, Defranco. I dare you.

Yeah.

That’s what I thought.

Not so tough now, are you, you pitiful little puck bunny.

Okay, now that Midwife Defranco got his question out of his system, we can get back to strategy. Boys, I want you to think of the Tornadoes as a greenbelt that we are going to raze in order to develop. We are going to chop those little bastards down. We are going to throw their nests from their trees and shit in their brooks. We are going to show them what it feels like to be developed by the Etobicoke Deco Labels, Flexible Packaging and Cannabis Dispensary Devils! We are going to bring the full might of the free market down upon their socialist heads!

ARE WE OPEN FOR BUSINESS?

YES!

YES, WE ARE GODDAMN WELL OPEN FOR BUSINESS, NOW LET LOOSE THE HOUNDS OF WAR, BOYS, AND TAKE THIS MOMENT AND MAKE IT YOURS!!!

As I am a very well-connected person, I was able to secure a statement from the White House Intern who was caught in the power struggle between President Donald Trump and CNN reporter Jim Acosta last week. As you may recall, Trump thought that Acosta was taking too long with his questions and asked the Intern to take the mic away. She tried, but could not complete the task.

https://www.cnn.com/videos/media/2018/11/08/trump-jim-acosta-enemy-of-the-people-midterms-sot-vpx.cnn/video/playlists/business-media/

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

“It’s embarrassing to me that this distraction has taken the focus off of Antibiotic Awareness Week where it should rightly be placed. Antibiotics save lives, and are one of the great tools that America can use to ensure her security.

Nevertheless, “Micgate” has become a central story in our news cycle, and I realize I need to address it. This is the one statement I will make regarding the incident.

Many of you have been asking how this has been effecting me. Well, it has certainly brought me an awful lot of unwanted attention and a vast number of offers from various porn sites. Obviously, most of them involve microphones, as has been widely speculated, but the rumour that Pornhub offered me $300, 000 to star in a video called, “Enemy of the People,” is true. In spite of a more complex, layered plot, one in which I was to be driving alone on a rural road in Mexico when my car breaks down in the midst of a migrant caravan that’s just been refused entry in the US, I will in no way be connected to this venture, as it is not reflective of my values.

I think the most impactful thing that I have felt in being a part of this spectacle, is experiencing celebrity, of being reduced to a symbol. When most people watched the clip of me trying to get the microphone from Mr. Acosta, they saw a poor, helpless Intern caught between two powerful men. There was the President, commanding me to perform a humiliating and difficult task, while Mr. Acosta made sure that the world saw, vividly and clearly, that I could not not complete this difficult and humiliating task because, of course, he would’t let me!

If it wasn’t so mortifying, it might actually have been funny!

I feel I must also point out the irony of me, a young woman, reaching out for a microphone, as if maybe I had something valuable and worthwhile to say in this temple of performative masculinity. But of course, like so many other women, I was ignored and then mocked.

Many of you have also wanted to know if I was a member of the KKK, a nazi or a racist. I am not, nor have I ever been, even if my local Starbuck’s barista has now taken to writing RACIST SCUM on my coffee cup.

That will be all I have to say on the matter. Thank you for your time.”

The elderly husband is in a wheelchair being pushed through the hospital by his elderly wife. They’ve probably been married for 60 years, but he’s presently vanishing before her eyes. No longer the man she met chasing a dog down a street so many years ago. Now he’s frail and stooped, his shoulders curling forward as if some magnet within his body was  compelling them together. But in spite of this, in spite of his immobility, the hospital slippers, IV bag and bruises crawling up his legs, he’s trying to be cheerful, trying to make the best of things. He says something to his wife, but his voice is a whisper and she can’t hear him. He tries again and it’s the same result. And then he stops trying to talk, and the two of them, so bound, move in silence toward whatever comes next.

In my imagination “The Internet” descended from the deep reaches of the universe and settled upon our planet like a mist. We began to interact with this powerful and mysterious entity without any real understanding of how it was going to effect us, or even if it was going to effect us. Most of us just assumed it was going to make things better, amplifying potential in a good, rather than harmful way.

However, it hasn’t exactly worked out that way. The astonishing gifts we’ve enjoyed have come with tremendous penalties, the primary of which might be a massive, unacknowledged mental health crisis.

I don’t know about you, but I have never seen as many declarations of anxiety and depression in my life as I now see on a regular basis online. It’s not at all uncommon for me to have multiple chat windows open at once, each one a conversation with a friend in crisis. This is highly subjective of course, and that people now have the means and social sanction to communicate their feelings might be something to celebrate, or, as my intuition suggests,  it could be something in the disembodied interactions we’ve been reducing ourselves to that’s causing this articulated spike in mental health problems.

It seems that the more we inhabit the abstracted realm of The Internet, the more certain we become of our beliefs. This is highly ironic to me, because we all know that amidst the spin and swirl of disinformation, fake news and uncanny algorithms, we should be as skeptical of claims to truth and certainty as we’ve ever been.

Take the White Power symbols that have been in the news.

As you may be aware, the symbol that you always thought meant “OK,” might now mean White Power.

This transition took place about a year ago on 4Chan, where it was conceived as a conscious lie. What I mean by that is that it wasn’t a White Power sign. The intent was to take an existing symbol and change it’s meaning, thus confusing the public and media and further eroding the idea of public trust.

Regardless, once this meme was in the blood stream there was no way to know what the use of the symbol meant. Did the person know it was a white power sign? Were they just saying “OK!?” Were they making a joke? Were they communicating racist ideology?

The first instance of this that I saw was of White House Advisor Zina Bash during a Supreme Court confirmation hearing.

Based on this image, people thought she was a White Supremacist.

Bash is of Mexican and Jewish heritage, and this photo that was widely circulated was a high resolution screen capture of a video, so she was in motion, not in a fixed, posed position. Claims that she was communicating a racist message seemed to me ambiguous at best. But people I know, like and respect saw this photograph, and others like it,

as crystal clear evidence of racist intent. Where I saw nothing but ambiguity, they saw none.

It felt like looking at the Neckar’s Cube, like some optical illusion was at play and the mechanics of our brains were prohibiting us from seeing the same thing.

There was simply no consensus on what was real. We were living two different stories when looking at the images. Where I was looking at what was directly in front of me, my friends were looking at circumstance, or perhaps subtext, seeing this single image as part of a much greater and evolving narrative.

Perhaps I am antique in my thinking, but when I see stories like these, I look for a kind of “courtroom proof.” If I have doubt, I am unwilling to prosecute the reputation and livelihood of the person being judged, even if they might still be suspicious to me. Maybe that makes me unwilling to act, and if so that is a sin I will one day have to answer for. Regardless, online a “thing” is true if it has momentum, if it supports the continuance of a passionately held belief, not if it meets some “clinical” standard of proof.

As our shared sense of truth and morality fall away– and disagreement leads to suspicion, if not flat-out contempt– we fearlessly share our certainties, but shamefully keep our uncertainties sheltered within, anxious that we’ll be attacked rather than supported by those whom we would love, and that, well that’s making us all feel a little jumpy and untethered.

As many of you will have heard, I have started a Podcast with Heidi, our Miniature Dachshund.

This is an excerpt from our second episode:

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

Me: Hey! Welcome back to The Breakfast Club with Heidi and Mike!!

Heidi: Heidi hungry! Where Heidi breakfast?

Me: We talked about this. You’re supposed to say, “We’re all bark AND all bite!” after I introduce the show.

Heidi: Heidi no say lame catch-phrase, Heidi never say lame catch-phrase! If Heidi in Breakfast Club, Heidi want breakfast!!

Me: Whatever.

Heidi: ( Growling sounds)

Me: Here’s a liver treat, okay? Now let’s just do this, dammit. Alright! Well, that sure was nice of Madonna to stop by to chat with us on her 60^th birthday! She’s quite the woman!

Heidi: Madonna big influence on Heidi. Very big.

Me: What do you mean?

Heidi: Madonna help Heidi discover her feminine power. Help Heidi be sexually liberated.

Me: I have to say, I was really suprised to find out you’ve had more sexual partners that she has.

Heidi: Heidi very cute. Heidi always very cute, but Madonna help Heidi understand power of cuteness and unleash sex beast within. She gave Heidi Big Dick Energy.

Me: How many partners did you say you had?

Heidi: Heidi no say, but Heidi not finished. Heidi still counting.

Me: You have to respect that.

Heidi: Heidi Alpha. Pack always respect Alpha. Madonna understand. Pitiful four-eyed two-legger like you never know feeling of Alpha, never understand.

Me: Well, maybe we should move on.

Heidi: Heidi not saying Vanilla Ice. Not saying not Vanilla Ice.

Me: You had sex with Vanilla Ice???

Heidi: Heidi no say that.

Me: What are you saying?

Heidi: Heidi mysterious. Only see Heidi through glass darkly.

Me: Whatever.

Heidi: You stupid face.

Me: Personally, I thought Madonna was kind of dull and I was really suprised by how weak her handshake was! That’s what struck me the most. It was creepy.

Heidi: You creepy fart head!

Me: Moving on.

Heidi: Creepy fart face!!

Me: Moving on.

Heidi: Creepy fart brain!

Me: Bad dog!! Bad, bad dog!!!

Heidi: Ha! Heidi good dog! Heidi Alpha dog! You bad dog! You very bad dog!

Me: Whatever.

Heidi: You like when Heidi talk to you like this. Heidi know. She see history on laptop.

Me: I was researching Madonna for this interview.

Heidi: Not naked interview.

Me: ( Sigh)

Heidi: You no have Big Dick Energy. You have stinky fart face energy!

Me: ( More sighing, a few seconds pass) So, what’s your favourite Madonna song?

Heidi: Heidi like “Don’t Tell Me.”

Me: “Just Like A Prayer,” for me.

Heidi : Should be “Like A Virgin.”

Me: Okay, well it looks like we’ve run out of time, thank you all for tuning in to The Breakfast Club with Heidi and Mike!!

Rachelle and I took our son Jones to Ramsden Park on the weekend.

It was another very hot day and everybody there was looking forward to letting their kids loose in the splash pad, but it wasn’t quite ready when we got there. A worker dressed in a full body orange hazmat suit waded through the water carefully pouring chlorine, while the children, confined to the perimeter by their parents, twitched like racehorses, desperate to get out of the gate and into the world. When the All Clear sign was given, the children ran screaming and dancing into the fountains of water, and the goodness and fortune in that moment was a living, profound thing. The parents happy and relieved, receded into shade, and the worker in the hazmat suit stepped out of that second skin revealing her astonishing, natural beauty as if a slow-motion scene from a movie. All afternoon, all summer, perhaps, similarly aged teen boys hung about, trying to think of winning things to say.

Jones played hard for about ninety minutes. Everything urgent and happy, everything expanding. And when it was over and we started to walk up the street to the car, we came upon a home that was being renovated. A worker was operating a digger, and to Jones this was a Bigfoot sighting. Jones was born under the sign of The Digger, you see. The Digger is his spirit guide. The Digger is everything. And the man driving it saw the impossible wonder in Jones’ face and offered to let him come into the cab and sit on his lap for a minute while he worked. And Jones did, his little hands on the levers, his life now something he was dreaming as much as something he was living.

Jones, an inch away from three, glowing like a little sun. And I am thinking about memory and when it begins, and as he was smiling out at Rachelle and I, everyone so proud and happy, all I could think was, “Let it be now, please Lord, let this be the first waking memory of his life in this world.”