The film Mahogany was released in 1975.

It was a melodrama of it’s time, a rags to riches story in which Diana Ross fought to become a great fashion icon before giving it all up for love.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ra71dvxOVX8

It was not a critical darling. It was a one-and-a-half stars kind of movie, an enterprise that revealed that although Diana Ross was a great diva, she was not destined to become a great actress, and ever since, the movie’s been slowly dissolving into the past. I bring this up just to say that if you missed it, there is little reason to want to go and find it.

Nevertheless, when a pair of friends asked if I’d like to see it with them last week, I jumped at the chance. I’ve known both these movie-going women for over thirty years now and the sheer improbability of that– that we would travel such great and impossible distances through time– and still be connected, was a kind of miracle to me and I would have gone anywhere they asked.

It feels important to note that when the movie was made the three of us were all just children. Not one of us would have yet reached the age of ten, and the worlds we inhabited then were as small, beautiful and mysterious as marbles lost in a forest. The movie, regardless of it’s failings or virtues, was an extraordinary time capsule that opened up all around us in the popcorn dark of the theatre. It was impossible not to see ghost-images of your own life as the frames passed by. Perhaps a snatch of music would summon my childhood cat, or the shape of a car would remind me of a family trip, a dress, a friend of my sister…And to be called back to those lost spaces and allowed to just float there for a few hours, to drift along this underground river free from the obstacles, complications and mortal apprehensions of the adult world, was a glowing, holy thing.

And then the movie was over. We chatted for a moment on the street, and then the three of us headed back into our current lives, each one likely marvelling at the forces that charted our days and brought us together again, compressing time on this autumn night so far from where we started.

It was a small affair, just a little trip to Prince Edward County. The weather was ridiculously beautiful, and like so many other people, we headed to Sandbank’s Provincial Park to meet some friends, friends who had carved time and space out of their lives to drive up from the city to see us. Often, it feels like friendships are circumstantial rather than permanent aspects of a life, little more than rushed appointments to reschedule, but when you’re by the water time moves differently. Nothing is hurried or obstructed, and friendships returns to the effortless state of grace from which they once emerged.

The day slipped away easily, and soon enough we found ourselves having dinner with about a dozen people at a nearby campsite. Sitting around the bonfire everybody was happy, happy like this was the only spot in the world they wanted to be, and these people, strangers and friends alike, were the only people they wanted to be with. Somebody with a strong and steady voice, the sort of voice that could lead the rest of, picked up a guitar and began to play Canadian classics.

Bobcaygeon.
Heart of Gold.
Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Hallelujah.

Songs known in the bones.

And after each one, faint applause rose up from the dark of unknown campsites as other people let us know that they were there, too, a part of our circle even if unseen. After an hour or two, through all all the coincidences, improbabilities, miracles and tragedies that led us to this point in time, Rachelle and I went down to the beach, lay on our backs and looked up at the sky.

I took my glasses off. The stars, they were already so far away, how were my glasses going to make them any more comprehensible? It amazes me that the stars, such a permanent and essential declaration of the beauty and mystery of our existence, are occluded from those of us who live in cities. How could we let that happen? How could we travel so far from what we are?

And within this simple night, the sound of water lapping at the shore. A train in the distance. Disembodied music, rising like ghosts from the lake. Somewhere laughter and wind, a girl splashing and giggling into the water and a boy following her, and all around us infinity stretching out in every direction.

It was a pretty busy day, and in almost no time at all I found myself separated from Rachelle and Jones. These are the texts from my wife that followed:

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

Rachelle: Where are you?

Rachelle: The Bat Cave?! That sounds dramatic!!

Rachelle: Really? That’s weird!

Rachelle: I thought it would have something to do with Batman, too. Maybe a tribute to Adam West or something.

Rachelle: Adam West.

Rachelle: He just died.

Rachelle: He was the original Batman.

Rachelle: No, Michael Keaton was not the original batman.

Rachelle: Thought for sure you’d know that.

Rachelle: Well, because you’re seasoned.

Rachelle: That’s not an insult.

Rachelle: Seasoned things are delicious.

Rachelle: Like Ikea meatballs.

Rachelle: I still can’t believe you ate 19 of them that one day .

Rachelle: Yes, it was very impressive, very alpha male.

Rachelle: However, if you’d pushed through to 20 it would have been even more alpha, I think.

Rachelle: Just saying.

Rachelle: Where are we? How nice of you to ask!

Rachelle: We’re in the kid’s play area, right near the tepee.

Rachelle: I have discovered that medieval headgear is really heavy!

Rachelle: What have you learned in the bat cave besides the fact that Michael Keaton was not the original Batman?

Rachelle: And beside the fact that you’re old.

Rachelle: Bats eat mice like you eat meatballs.

Rachelle: Pickle, I am glad that you can still learn new things.

Rachelle: Sorry?

Rachelle: Why don’t you want Jones in the tepee?

Rachelle: Cultural appropriation?

Rachelle: No, I don’t hate my First Nation’s brothers and sisters.

Rachelle: The tepee was just a nice, quiet spot for Jones to sit and colour for a bit, that’s all.

Rachelle: I mean, it is expressly there for the kid’s to use!

Rachelle: You don’t know what the Great Spirit wanted! Perhaps that’s exactly what the Great Spirit wished for!

Rachelle: Lord, you have to spend less time on Twitter.

Rachelle: I swear, people should have to take a test before they get on that thing–like kids having to be a certain height before going on a ride.

Rachelle: I’m sorry Pickle, but you’re just too suggestible.

Rachelle: Last week you were insisting the Russians were cyborgs.

Rachelle: Regardless, it’s not a “cultural appropriation” tepee, but more of a “spirit guide” tepee.

Rachelle: I had a vision when I was in there.

Rachelle: Of Justin Trudeau.

Rachelle: He was dressed in his tepee denims and smelled of pine needles.

Rachelle: Shirt?

Rachelle: No, just the jean jacket.

Rachelle: Yes, unbuttoned.

Rachelle: I know. Yes, you and some other kids beat him up in grade school.

Rachelle: You know, that’s probably something you shouldn’t be so proud of.

Rachelle: No, you couldn’t.

Rachelle: No, you simply could not do a plank– no matter how much you trained or hard you tried.

Rachelle: It’s like the 20th meatball for you, a bridge you shall never cross.

Rachelle: Oh, no!

Rachelle: He didn’t speak at all, he just smiled at me, and when he did I knew that everything was going to be fine. Sunny ways everywhere!

Rachelle: Oh! I think I see you Pickle!

Rachelle: Do you see us?

Rachelle: Look! Jones has a dinosaur he wants to show you! He’s running to you now, our little sunny way is running right to you!

If you don’t know who he is, he was one of the stars of the hit 90’s sitcom Friends.

Don’t be impressed by that. There were too many “stars” to count on that stupid show. Even a monkey was a star on that show. A monkey. Not Curious George. Not the Ikea Monkey. Just a regular, annoying monkey, so Matthew’s “star status” is really no big deal at all.

Just like in high school.

Matthew may have had famous parents and a cheap California tan, but I was the real star at Lisgar Collegiate Institute in Ottawa. Not only was I president of the UFO club, but I was also a great athlete, and I used to crush Perry mercilessly at tennis.

All.

Day.

Long.

It used to infuriate him! He would throw his expensive tennis racquets all over the place, complain that I was “foot faulting” or not wearing proper whites. Bullshit stuff like that. Anyway, the bottom line is that I destroyed him and made the tennis team while he did not. This final humiliation seemed to break Matthew, and after that he was my subordinate, little yes-man.

Matthew has been pretty unemployable since Friends, and thirsty for a little bit of publicity, he recently went on Jimmy Kimmel and announced that he and another kid, “Chris Murray,” once beat up Canadian Prime Minister and sex symbol Justin Trudeau back in school.

http://www.womansday.co.nz/celebrity/matthew-perry-admits-he-once-beat-up-justin-trudeau-7383

This is not true.

As Matthew still respects and fears me, he wouldn’t dare use my real name in public, but I was the “Chris Murray” mentioned.

To make a long story short, I was giving a presentation– in the hopes of recruiting future members to my high school UFO club–to Justin’s fifth grade class. After my talk I opened the floor up for questions:

Justin: Je ne peux m’empêcher de remarquer que les filles semblent être sous-représentées dans le club UFO. Pourriez-vous nous expliquer pourquoi?

Me: What?

Justin: Oh, I see you don’t speak French. What a shame. What I was asking was why aren’t there any girls in the UFO club. Are they not allowed?

Me: Girls??

Justin: Yes, girls. They comprise over half the population. ( Class, including teacher, roar with laughter)

Me: No girl has ever tried to join the UFO club. Would any want to?? Do you think you could get us one!?

Justin: That’s not my job. Your job is to create a safe and inclusive environment so they’ll want to join. Girls, would you like to join this creepy, unilingual, UFO club for boys, or would you rather form your own right here?! ( Class, including teacher, roar with approval)

Some other things happened, but in short, I delegated Matthew to beat up Justin after school, however Matthew failed, as I should have known he would fail, and I had to step in to do the job properly. At this time in my life I got nose bleeds very easily, and my bleed had nothing to do with Justin, who mistakenly thought the fight was over and was walking away like a coward. I tackled him and was just about to apply the finishing gotchy when some little girl kicked me in the back of the neck.

I had to wear a brace for six weeks after that.

And sadly, Matthew and I then drifted apart and the UFO Club just sort of faded away.

To: John Podesta

From: HRC

Subject: Locker Room Talk

John:

I think it is very humorous that your first name is slang for a person who consorts with prostitutes.

Emoticon!

HRC

______________________________

To: John Podesta

From: HRC

Subject: Re: Friends

John:

That’s a really hard question!

I hope they don’t ask that at one of the debates! But of course if they were going to do that we’d know in advance because we’re colluding with the media in order to fix this election!

Anyway, I think out of all of the characters on Friends I’m most like Monica. She’s very organized and competent, and I think I possess those qualities, too.

Bill is a complete Joey.

You’re Chandler.

HRC

_________________________________

To: John Podesta

From: HRC

Subject: Manufacturing Jobs

John:

As I was reading about human mannerisms last night I began to drift off on account of my alcoholism and debilitating Parkinson’s Disease. It’s getting harder and harder to hide all my afflictions from the voting public! All I can say is thank God they’re so gullible, stupid and deplorable—they’ll believe anything!! LOL! Imagine if my country actually needed me to help them? I’d probably have just dozed off after taking my meds, and even if I were somehow awake, I bet my hand would be too shaky to even push the button!

The truth is I wish I were as vital and powerful as Vladimir Putin! Just saying his name sends a surge of blood to my old genital regions! Isn’t that ironic? I’m about to become President of the United States of Deploria and all I want to do is pleasure Vladimir Putin!

And kill him.

I want to kill him and pleasure him.

John, did you know that Bill and I had a “safe” phrase?

We did.

“Manufacturing Jobs.”

Bill shouted it out more than once.

I can’t wait to rule the world.

HRC

___________________________________________

To: John Podesta

From: HRC

Subject: Re: Favorite foods

John:

Thanks for the gnocchi recipe!

By the way, I tried the Trump brand steak, and I have to say—amazing! I had no idea a steak could be so delicious, so luxurious!

Really, everything that man touches turns to platinum!

HRC

PS: Hey, I was just thinking, imagine if the public knew that I killed a hooker with Bill back in 92! Boy, that would be a PR disaster! We really dodged a bullet there! And let me tell you, the crossbow, more than just being a truly excellent weapon, is also a real turn-on!

We weren’t best pals, but we spent an awful lot of time at the campus pub—The Slick Rooster—cutting classes and drinking, and I suppose we formed a bond, a bond that has surprisingly remained intact over the years. Recently, I got an email from Rob after he heard about my heart surgery:

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

Little Buddy:

Holy shit storm!!

I had no idea your ticker was F’ed! You were always so skinny, you’d think it would have hit a bigger, heavier, more powerful guy like me, but hell, it just goes to show that you never know what’s going  to happen in this crazy world. Who knows, eh? I might still end up with Jennifer Aniston!

If I did, I tell you, we would become a political force that could never be stopped.

Robiffer: A fucking juggernaut.

Who was it you were nuts for? Oh yeah, Demi Moore! You wanted her so bad!! You saw that movie Ghost 8 times!

Remember that pottery scene? That was boner city, man!  Demi Moore reminds me of a lady soccer player. It’s the short hair, like she’s a boy only with really hot boobs and a fine, fine ass.

Have you been watching the lady soccer? No, me neither! LOL!!

Hey, gotta change the tone here for a sec, get heavy.

As you know, I spent some time incarcerated in the hospital, too. Unbelievable that a guy as vital and straight-shooting as myself would get the Big C, but I did. Not stopping me, though. Gotta have a positive attitude, little buddy. Just charge through it like you were a big lineman ploughing through a bunch of nerds, or in your case, a nerd beating on smaller, weaker nerds. What’s beneath a nerd on the totem pole of cool anyway? I mean, who do nerds bully? Do you just throw rocks at animals, or are there actually people you can push around? Interested to know as I always try to relate to my constituents. Wanna speak their language, even if it is Nerdlish.

How were your nurses?

Hot or Not?

That was a game I played to pass the time. I would look at each nurse and ask myself, “Would you do her?” I’m not sure what the percentage was, but it was pretty high. There was one little sex bomb name Sylvie.

( .Y .)

 Jesus. They couldn’t let her work on the cardiac floor because she’d send all her patient’s blood pressure through the roof!  LOL!! Shit brick house, that one, and an accent that was better than any porn film I’ve ever seen. Always asked her for a sponge bath– once, I even offered her three hundred bucks for one, but I don’t think her english was too good because she never responded. The city of Toronto has to legislate that everybody fucking speaks and understands ENGLISH and that it is their ONLY language.  Those that don’t comply? Fucking deported.

Loved the drugs in hospital. Hydromorphone.

They’ll tell you to only take one, but screw that, take two, maybe three, for a good high. You will float right to the fucking ceiling and then have the best sex of your life with that goddamn ceiling. It is that good.

It will bung you up eventually, but it’s still worth it.

Get well soon, Little Buddy!

Big Rob

http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/toronto/toronto-tunnel-dug-by-2-men-as-man-cave-police-say-1.2978109

Ever since I was asked to leave my UFO Watchers club and Fantasy Hockey League, I’ve been kind of lost and having a really hard time filling my days. My wife Rachelle suggested that instead of just lying around watching Friends on Netflix all day, I get a hobby, and so I did.

Tunnel Diary: Day 1

The best thing about my Hobby Tunnel is that it really puts me in touch with nature. It’s really going to be more of a “Fun-nel” than a tunnel! It’s so nice being alone in the forest with my shovel. The trees are my friends and I think digging a hole in the middle of the woods is an absolutely great hobby! I mean, it’s fantastic exercise and inexpensive! And I’m not scared, cold or lonely at all. Nope, my mind never wanders to worst-case scenarios, and I doubt very much that the curious assemblage of twigs, branches, dismembered dolls and a candle over there has anything to do with satanic ritual. The wind probably just blew it there like that so it’s reaching out to me like a message, not an accident. Nature sure is funny!

Tomorrow I will bring my iPod.

Reminder: Make digging play list.

Tunnel Diary: Day 2

Bringing the dog with me as company and protection was an excellent idea. It’s nice to be able to spend some quality time with her and watch her do something that she really loves. It’s true, Dachshunds are amazing diggers and she’s scared away at least two squirrels! Good dog, Heidi, good dog!

It’s funny though, whenever she goes near the dead doll shrine at the big oak she starts to whimper. Actually, looks like there’s a new disfigured doll over there today, one with a little pet dog doll.

Reminder: Research satanic rituals and voodoo.

Tunnel Diary: Day 9

All I think about is the tunnel, about how when it’s done it will be exactly like a long, narrow grave for many squirrels. How many squirrels? That’s a good question. Maybe 300, but it depends on the squirrels.

The trees have voices. My iPod cannot drown out the tree voices. Some trees like to share bad thoughts.

Tunnel Diary: Day 18

Today I killed a squirrel that strayed too far into our territory. It was a cleansing. I suffocated it with a zip lock baggie I had left over after my snack. (All the shoveling and tunneling really works up an appetite) In the wild you must learn to use anything you can to defend yourself and complete your mission. My grave tunnel will fit 666 of such purified squirrels, the exact number the trees require, and then the mission shall come to darkness.

Reminder: Remember to pick up tetra pack of white wine for tonight’s Game’s Night.

To this day, he never’s beat me. I always dominated Rob on the teeter-totter. Sometimes my mother would ask me to ease up, to let him win one, but I wouldn’t. That’s not the way life works. You gotta suck it up and be tough, and when it’s time to go to rehab, you go to rehab, that’s what it is to be a man. I never gave him a win and I like to think that’s part of what made him the man he is today.

1. Although it doesn’t look like it, I’m nearly 5 years older than Rob, so when we were young I used to command him with my size and strength. I’m a very powerful man. I used to do the shot put in high school.

You might think that’s all about arm strength, but it’s not, it’s core and leg strength, which are a couple of my natural gifts. Anyway, so little Robbie would be on his end, and try as he might, he couldn’t lift me off the ground. His face would be red and he’d be kicking his legs swearing, and then I’d just step off the teeter-totter and the little bastard would break his ass on the ground at a million miles an hour! It was awesome, and it never failed, just like with Lucy getting Charlie Brown to kick the football.

2. Rob was always a pretty chubby kid, so I liked to take off my shirt when I got on the teeter-totter, just to intimidate him. I have to say it worked like a charm because you’d just see this look of defeat, shame and anger wash over his face, and then he never seemed to try as hard.

3. One time, and this was priceless, I was pretending to let Rob beat me, just to get his hopes up. It had been years, he’d lost hundreds of dollars to me, and still, he’d never won. Just as he’s all excited that he’s FINALLY gonna win one, this kid I hired came up behind him and whipped a basketball into the back of his head. Taught him a lesson that day. Your enemies can come from anywhere.

4. When I was a senior in high school and Rob was just a minor niner he had a boner for a girl named Kelly.

One day we went to the park to do some teeter-totter but when I got on “The Plank of Doom,” (that’s what we used to call it) I called Kelly over and got her to sit on my lap. Made out with her. Stuck my hand up her shirt and felt around, too. Rob just forgot about the match and ran over and tried to join in, but I wouldn’t let him, and then he cried and beat up some fairy Chinese kid. It’s the day Rob became a man, I think.