These are the text messages I received from my wife Rachelle the other day:

Rachelle: I’m not sure I think that’s a good idea.

Rachelle: Look, if you’re putting a pretend cast on our three year-old boy’s arm in order to attract the attention of celebrites at the Film Festival, you truly are a horrible father.

Rachelle: Because you’re using him as bait!!

Rachelle: You are exploiting a child.

Rachelle: Yes, even if he agrees to “play dress up for daddy.”

Rachelle: Jesus. Don’t ever, ever make me type, “play dress up for daddy” again.

Rachelle: Really???

Rachelle: That was actually your tag on Lava Life?

Rachelle: That is maybe the creepiest thing I have ever heard in my life.

Rachelle: I think I might vomit.

Rachelle: No, really. I cannot continue this text conversation.

( TWO HOURS LATER )

Rachelle: Really??!! You got Hugh Jackman to sign Jones’ fake cast for me???!!

Rachelle: That is the best thing you have ever done in your life.

Rachelle: Way better than that prank you pulled on the restaurant manager!

Rachelle: No, it was a good prank.

Rachelle: Yes, a really good one, I don’t think he saw it coming at all, but this, this is HUGH JACKMAN!! What did he smell like? Did he like what Jones was wearing? What did he write to me?? Jesus, did you touch him, did you put your hand on him at any point? What did he feel like? Did he talk to Jones?!

Rachelle: For the love of God, just try to remember what he smelled like!! Try. Try as hard as you have ever tried at anything in your life.

Rachelle. I know you have seasonal allergies and it diminishes your olfactory sense, but just concentrate, goddamit, what did he smell like? Was it the ocean? Was it the moon and stars? Was it roast beef and pumpkin?

Rachelle: Really?!!

Rachelle: Roast beef and pumpkin, I knew it!!

Rachelle: I don’t know how I knew it, I just did.

Rachelle: Yes, sometimes my friends and I talk about that sort of stuff.

Rachelle: Really?

Rachelle: You truly want to know what my friends think you smell like?

Rachelle: Jesus.

Rachelle: Okay then.

Rachelle: Ottilie said she thought you smelled like the interior of an old airplane, one that still carried the ghost smell of crappy sandwiches and cigarette smoke.

Rachelle: Well, if you don’t believe me you’ll just have to ask her yourself.

Rachelle: Just out of curiosity, what do you think you smell like?

Rachelle: Really?

Rachelle: I have to say, that was a very unexpected answer.

Rachelle: Was Hugh very concerned about Jones? Did he want to know how he “broke his arm?”

Rachelle: Okay then, “fractured his wrist.”

Rachelle: Hit by a pitch?

Rachelle: You told Hugh Jackman you hit our son with a hardball?

Rachelle: Jesus, Pickle.

Rachelle: NO FUCKING WAY!

Rachelle: You got him to sign, “Rachelle, play dress up for daddy, love Wolverine?”

Rachelle: OMG, that is the sexisest thing ever, wait until I post a photo of that in my Annex Parents group! That’ll knock Vivian off the front page for a day or two!

Rachelle: And did you touch him? What did he feel like? Was there any give, or was it all rippling, equine power?

My most recent invention is a dating service called Hater Mater, where people are paired based on the things they dislike rather than the things that they like.
This is the preliminary questionnaire I have written for people using the App:

1. On a scale of 0-10, how much do you hate the sky?

2. Please choose the stupidest fucking sign in the zodiac.

3. Order these celebrities in the sequence in which you would most want to see them surreally injured in a crossbow incident:

Amy Schumer
The Ikea Monkey
Ethan Hawke
The entire cast from Orange is the New Black
Eric Trump
Adam Driver and Terry Richardson

4. On a scale of 0-10, how much do you hate the ocean?

5. Which Margaret Atwood novel gives you the worst stabbing stomach pain?

6. What do you hate more, squirrels or birds? (Please elaborate)

7. Do your parents hate you more than you hate them, or do you hate them more than they hate you?

8. Is you best friend kind of an asshole?

9. Do you find chopsticks to be infuriating and stupid and pretentious?

10. Do you often find yourself fantasizing about making over-rated Canadian author Margaret Atwood cry?

11. Which part of this passage from a celebrated Margaret Atwood novel do you despise the most?

“Who are you? And I mean really. Who are you?”

My gut tells me that if I tell her right now, in this moment, it will not be well-received. “A friend,” I say, my gaze lowering to her lush mouth and lifting. “And the man who wants to kiss you. Really kiss you. Can I kiss you, Myla?”

“You’re asking?”

“Yes. I’m asking. After all you’ve been through-”

“He hasn’t destroyed me. He hasn’t beaten me and I don’t like that you think he has.”

“I don’t think he’s beaten you.”

“He hasn’t,” she insists. “I’m not giving him that power and damn it, you better not either by treating me like I’m broken and fragile. So kiss me if you’re going to kiss me or let me go, if you don’t want-”

I cup the back of her head, and slant my mouth over hers, my tongue sliding against hers, stroking, caressing, and the taste of her, one part hunger I welcome, but the other part, the torment, I intend to drive away. I deepen the kiss, my hand pressing beneath her tank top, finding warm, soft skin. My fingers splay over her rib cage, while my mind reminds me that no matter how big she talks, she wants this escape for a reason. She has been abused, used, hurt. “

12. “Everybody loves a parade,” true or false?

13. Is Real Estate for fools?

14. When you hear the word “Mindfulness” do you want to build an attack drone or buy a magic killing sword?

15. What do you hate more, having to use a sink or writing with a pen?

16. Which superhero would you most like to beat-up in a fight?

17. Do you hate it when people say, “Good Morning!”

18. Are relationships insanely unrealistic and entirely impossible?

19. On a scale of 1 to 100, how much do you hate non-Spanish speaking people who pronounce Nicaragua as ‘Knee-ah-rah-hah?”

20. If you heard that Margaret Atwood opened a restaurant and that all the sandwiches were named after her poems, would you immediately vomit?

Dressed in some flavour of active wear, they looked like they were heading off to play Ultimate or maybe run the steps at Casa Loma, something sporty. She was very pretty, while he looked like your average 20 year-old guy still trying to figure out who he might be. Both of them were smiling, but his grin was goofy, almost excited, like he simply could not believe his good fortune at being out with this girl. After about half an hour they came walking back, but this time she was holding a little bouquet of wildflowers that had clearly been picked from a yard just up the street. Their smiles were different now, everything shining. This sunny, spring afternoon will travel with the boy for the rest of his days, a perfect moment when something beautiful started to come alive– a point of light he will always return to.

Falling every November, 19^th, this  day gives me an opportunity to celebrate my masculinity, honour the patriarchy and let my robust heterosexuality roar. It’s a day that I mindfully live to it’s full, manly potential.

This is the journal of my celebration:

November, 19, 2015

6:20 am

Fed the baby and told him stories of manliness.

9:00 am

Had healthy breakfast of granola and a smoothie, as I have a variety of health issues. Told a story about eating bacon to my wife Rachelle while she and the baby played with a “found” rattle (childproof pill container of my anti-anxiety medication) on the yoga matt.

9:30 am

Began to think of myself as somebody named John Steele instead of Michael Murray.

9:45 am

Took Heidi, our Miniature Dachshund, for a walk around the block. Felt good to be out in nature, hunting with my animal. Met two other Miniature Dachshunds, both wearing argyle sweaters. Their owner told me their names were Simon and Garfunkle and to watch out for Garfunkle as he was “crabby.”

10:00 am

Played online poker under the name of John Steele and watched a variety of hockey fights and leaked celebrity sex tapes.

11:30 am

Read “The Littlest Acorn of them All” to my son and then put him down for a nap.

11:45 am

Made my wife a smoothie as she was headed out to a series of womanly afternoon appointments.

12:00 pm

Sampugita, our friend’s nanny, came over to look after the baby. I asked her many questions about her personal life and what dating was like for a young woman in a foreign country. Told her about a few of the sports I used to play. Tennis, in particular.

12:30 pm

Told Sampugita to make me lunch.

12:45 pm

Got text from my wife Rachelle, telling me that making lunch for me was not one of Sampugita’s responsibilities, and that there was left-over quinoa in the fridge.

I AM SURROUNDED BY FEMINAZIS!!!

1:00 pm

Went outside and threw rocks at the stop signs. A few of the kids from the Frat House down the street joined in and for a brief, shining moment, we were a beautiful Northern European tribal pack fighting the enemy. Hail Odin!

1:15 pm

Went home and played with my electric train set while listening to Gordon Lightfoot and slow drinking Jack and Coke.

3:30 pm

Posted my feelings, under the name of John Steele, on a men’s group message board.

4:30 pm

Watched Mike Tyson knock-out videos from the 1980’s, noticing that the boxers all had perfect, gleaming bodies, sweat-slick, they were tangles of beautiful male ferocity under the hot lights.

5:00 pm

Stumbled upon a video called “Johnny Rapid Goes Bareback.” Watched it while finishing my bottle of Jack. More posting on men’s message board under the name of John Steele. And then a little more.

6:00 pm

John Steele then went for a very long, confusing walk alone.

I don’t believe that this crime was committed by a hacker collective known as The Impact, as has been reported, because The Impact can be nothing other than the name of a (white) B-Boy dance troupe from back in the 80’s.

At any rate, I think that the bloody-minded terrorist group ISIS, who really knows how to tear at the fabric of Western society, was responsible. They want to expose our corrupt ways and force our children to watch us shriek at one another while washing dishes after dinner. But no, no, I am not going to let terror win. When our leaders called upon us to shop in order to fight terror, I shopped, and now, when it is clear that we must continue our adulterous ways in order to stave off terror, I will be adulterous. I am for the troops, and with that in mind, I have just joined Ashley Madison.

This is my profile page:

RaccoonDrumCircleSexMachine

“Renaissance man”

Age: 36 (Leo)

Location: Toronto, Ontario, Canada

Height: 6’0″ (183cm)

Weight: 190 lbs (86kg) – Average/medium

Languages Spoken: English

My Limits are: Undecided

Status: Attached Male seeking Females

Gender: Male

Ethnicity: Caucasian (white)

Smoking Habits: Not specified

Tell me more about yourself:

I love puppies and animals in general, although I have never cheated on my wife by using them as sex slaves. By the way, raccoons are my favourite animal, and I am pretty sure they’re my spirit guides. Sometimes, I like to dress up as one for sex.

Besides that I do martial arts; extreme martial arts. And Parkour. I also play the drums, and it’s like I play the drums better than Satan, it’s like I’m having sex with those drums, it’s like a drumgasm! ( LOL!!) I’m also taking some college classes, one on zombies in popular media, because I love zombies and meeting young women who would normally be outside of my sphere. I work as an Uber driver (another great way to meet women and find out where they live) whenever my wife starts screaming at me about whether the forks are clean enough or some other bullshit.

Preferences and encounters I am open to:

I am on a quest– not just for sex with a female partner who is not my wife, but for all things. I will do and try anything. Some people say that I am fearless, as fearless as an urban raccoon. Would somebody who isn’t fearless spend just over a week in the woods searching for Bigfoot? I don’t think so. A person with fear would cringe from that challenge, but not RaccoonDrumCircleSexMachine! I went to the woods. Will you go to the woods with me?

What really turns me on:

Honesty would have to be number one, and a close second would be to see a Bigfoot man and a Bigfoot lady going at it.

What I am looking for:

I like chicks who dig passionate drummers, as well as submissive Goth types who are into role playing, but mostly I just like really hot babes. Here are some examples:

No Asians please.

(https://twitter.com/HeerJeet/status/529749811906764804 )

Impressed by his work and his form, I have also been experimenting with the Twitter Essay:

1. Okay, let’s talk about Art Garfunkel.
2. He was part of the influential 60’s duo Simon and Garfunkel who were responsible for so many classic hits.
3. He had crazy hair that reminded me of big bird.
4. Nobody thought he had any talent.
5. I don’t think he wrote any songs, he just sang in that high voice.
6. Does anybody out there know if he wrote any songs?
7. No?
8. Nobody knows?
9. Okay.
10. So, he probably didn’t write any songs, he just looked weird and sang like a woman.
11. That was enough. It was the 60’s.
12. I wonder if he got a lot of groupies?
13. Does anybody know? Did anybody out there sleep with Art Garfunkel?
14. No one willing to admit?
15. Fair enough
16. 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.

Here is one of the columns I just found while cleaning out an old box:

Q: There’s a girl in my Latin class who I’m absolutely nuts about. Should I tell her?

A: NO, THERE IS NO WAY ON EARTH THAT YOU SHOULD TELL HER!! (Is it Marie-France Lapoint? She is CRAZY hot, especially in those green cords!!! Drool!!!)

Look, this girl who may or may not be Marie-France Lapoint, is probably completely out of your league and dating a guy who lives in Europe or goes to university in the States. You should spare yourself the humiliation of rejection and just wait for her to notice you and your totally cool sweater.

It’s not always easy to do this, but it’s ESSENTIAL that you try. Look at her all the time, but pretend like she’s not important to you because you’re popular and your family is rich. Your indifference will make her think there’s something wrong with her, and this insecurity will probably make her try to be nice to you, and when this happens you should still play it really cool, like you would never have a crush on somebody like her but you’ll talk to her in boring, old Latin, and then when she gets really, really hammered at a party you should make your move!! The master has spoken.

Q: My parents want me to take Computer Science but I think it’s a stupid waste of time. What do you think?

A: First of all, parents are useless. They’re completely embarrassing and don’t understand anything! Of course Computer Science is a waste of time!! Fortran and Cobol?

They sound like robot names! Only nerds take that class and they’re not learning anything important or fun. Rest assured, the world is not going to be run by Cobol and Fortran. However, I do think that computers are going to be really important, one day giving us instant access to pictures of naked women (Kim Basinger and Jamie Lee Curtis!!) and sports scores.

Computers will be like libraries, only they’ll be small and with you all the time, like on Star Trek, but things are going to move so quickly in the future that studying something like Fortran in 1983 isn’t going to do you any good at all. Ignore your parents and take gym or something cool and remember, don’t hangout with any phonies!

Q: If I want to appear of age in a bar, what drink should I order?

A: A Screwdriver. And wear a Harris Tweed hat.

The master has spoken!

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

I figured this out, too little, too late, but I figured it out. And so we stopped communicating, and it was in those spaces that I imagined her, and then she just appeared, as if conjured. Her grandmother’s ring on her left hand, the powder blue jacket that was bunched in the middle, her hair not quite the way she meant it to be for a Saturday night. She saw me sitting there in the corner of the bar and she did not know what to do. A current ran through her body and she panicked, I think. I called out her name and she looked at me like I was a ghost. I was a ghost. She wanted movement, she wanted to be running through a field or diving off a cliff, she wanted the plane to be landing in a new city, and the guy she was with, gesturing to the open table just a few over from where I was seated, he had no idea who I was or what my presence might mean for his unfolding evening.

As Rachelle and I move through the crowds and against the grain, a jittery man with hair that had been cut out of an imposed, institutional necessity rather than the luxury of seduction, falls in step with us. He’s in his late 30s and he’s asking me for money, telling me that he hasn’t been with a woman in five years and wants to take one out. Pleasepleaseplease, he begs. He’s almost hopping with want, his eyes pleading– the unfairness of the universe written deeply into his every gesture.

Walking toward us is a heavy, young man who looks like might work in a video store and along beside him is the most beautiful girl in the world. His body language is a little bit separate, like he knows he’s not supposed to get too close, and there’s a kindness, a sensitivity to the way that his heavy blonde hair falls and curls to his shoulders. He’s shy, you can see that, and suddenly the most beautiful girl in the world grabs him by the hand and pulls him in to her and begins to neck with him right there in the middle of the sidewalk. It’s the final scene in a movie, and time stops as we all fade like ghosts into the background and they glow, the radiant center of this moment that will never be forgotten or repeated.

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.