Our son Jones is almost two and a half years old, and he is positively electrified by the creatures.

The idea of them are the current that runs through his body. His sun and moon. His east and west. They are spinning and shining and thumping and roaring through his days, they are everything he wants his universe to be. And so, on a cold morning in the disorienting limbo between Christmas and New Year’s, we took him to the Royal Ontario Museum.

Standing there as we entered, Jones twisting in his jacket to get free from my grip and and run to the “BIG DINOSAUR!”, I was hoping that my son might grow to love museums. I imagined him retreating into them over the course of his life the way he might a lake, emerging nourished and restored after each encounter. Sanctuaries of rich, wide spaces and cool tile. All the marvels of history respectfully arrayed before him, and always, he would have the sense of being somewhere else, a place just outside of time, and of being suspended right before a great mystery that was both his life and not his life.

And then he spun free and ran out into the great hall.

He was just so excited.

He tore from one wonder to the next, identifying each one as best he could. It was astounding to watch. He was a fever. A pinball. A waterfall. A million monkeys typing. I swear to you that he was glowing, he really was.

Watching, I wondered why our children, all so innocent and vulnerable, were attracted to the creatures we consider the most terrible and dangerous? Why run into the jaws of a dinosaur? Why the darkness? And all of the parents there, each one smiling through whatever weight it was their burden to carry, were likely pondering some variant of the same question as they watched their miracles of light streak so beautifully through the museum.

As it turns out, fortunes are being made reviewing consumer products on-line, and with that in mind I have launched a site ( The Sanitarium) which I hope will dominate the Hand Sanitizer Review landscape and make my family obscene amounts of money.

This is my first review:

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Welcome to The Sanitarium!

How do you think you’re going to die?

Terrorism?

Sex accident?

Wasting disease?

Climate catastrophe?

The truth is it’s possible you might die from any one, or any combination, of the threats listed above, but according to science we are most likely to perish from some super bacteria that will come like a thief in the night and kill all of us who had not been properly eliminating infectious agents from our hands.

It’s no stretch of the imagination to say that not only is choosing the right hand sanitizer a matter of national security, but it’s also a matter of life or death.

Choose carefully, my friends!

Sanzer Hand Gel

Wow!

The first thing I noticed about this hand sanitizer was just how amazing the ad is! It’s almost as if Sanzer isn’t promoting good hygiene at all, but is instead offering serial killers some great and fresh tips on how to dismember and store victim parts. It really makes you wonder what it would feel like to chop off somebody’s fingers and put them on display, you know? No matter, regardless of intent, Sanzer sure knows how to get your attention, but still, I had to find out, is the product as good as the ad?

Experiment:

Remove the raccoon that is trapped in the garbage bin in the alley with my bare hands, apply Sanzer hand gel, and then wait 48 hours to see if I get sick.

Notes:

1. Sanzer Hand Gel really stings when it comes in contact with any open wounds.
2. Sanzer Hand Gel does not remove the choking stench of raccoon and blood from your hands, clothes, hair, memory or glasses.
3. Sanzer is flammable, and if squirted while holding a lit barbecue ignitor directly in front of it, will work as a kind of flame thrower. Unfortunately, fire is of little use in deterring raccoons, so Sanzer’s effectiveness as a weapon is not universal. ( This product may not meet your Apocalypse Bunker Hand Sanitizer needs)
4. Fourty-eight hours after the application of Sanzer Hand Gel, my hands and arms were still swollen and oozy, but my fever was under control and the violent and dark thoughts had begun to subside, thus earning the product a solid 7 out of 10.

As a child it’s a time of unquestioned magic. Delirious with excitement, we charged about like maniacs while wonderful things fell all around us. Time had no meaning. Everything and everybody was imperishable and glowing, weightless.

As adults, now visited by disappointment and loss, sidetracked and mortal, Christmas has a depth that often feels like weight. Everything ages– we miss people and sometimes, we miss the people we were, too. Vulnerable in ways we never quite imagined, we watch the children now, and knowing that all things change, a subtle undercurrent of nostalgia and melancholy runs through the holiday, and even as we’re living the moment, we’re aware of its passing.

This year, our families were with us, intact and safe.

It’s a stunningly beautiful thing, that, and to consider for one moment all the small, unseen miracles that took place in order to keep us together through the years, distance and unimaginable fires is to be filled with respect and gratitude.

At any rate, all families are miracles, and on this Christmas there were probably around 20 of us sitting around a long, make-shift table. Our two nephews are about 11 and 13 now, and we’ve had the privilege of being close to them and watching them grow.

They look like angels. Talented and mysterious, they hover on a periphery as if a beautiful visitation.

Their parents told us that they wanted to do a small performance after dinner, and when the time came they quietly, shyly, even, stood at the end of the table– one wearing the fur hunting cap that he got for Christmas, the other with bracelets of candy on his thin wrists. Then, after glancing at one another and nodding, they began to snap their fingers in rhythm and sing.

I had never heard them sing before. I’d never even thought about it. And so, right there, something I had never considered, something I had never imagined, was taking place before me. And they sang beautifully. It was utterly stunning, as dislocating and awesome a discovery as if suddenly finding a majestic snow-capped mountain where the 7-11 had always been. It was, I thought, magic.

They were singing the old John Lennon song “Beautiful Boy,” and they were singing it to Jones, our four month old baby boy. They weren’t up there looking for attention or validation, they weren’t pushed by their parents. They were self-directed and acting out of love. It was a pledge, I think, a rite of welcome. Jones would always be protected and loved by everybody in that room and the family beyond. It was such a pure and astonishing moment, so holy, that it felt like time expanded in all directions and was really just one big circle that contained us all.

It was not an easy year for us, but Lord, we were so lucky, and there was Jones, sitting on the lap of his beaming mother, and all around him, for as many years as could be counted, family, each one a loving star in his cosmos.

This week I told her students about the Guardians of Peace, the agency that hacked into Sony, spilled all the gossip on the movie stars and Hollywood executives, changed international policy and held a movie hostage. They were duly impressed, and in accordance with the way I described the group, they thought of them as a combination of God, Santa Claus and G.I. Joe. I asked each child to write a letter to the Guardians of Peace, and these are a few of my favourites:

Dear Guardians of Peace:

Are you related to the Guardians of the Galaxy??

My mother took me to that movie in the summer and it was AWESOME! There was a raccoon that shot a machine gun and a tree-person! It was the best. If you haven’t seen it, you should go as soon as you can! Anyway, do you think you two could work together, and if not, perhaps you could fight against one another and it could be made into a movie? I would buy all the action figures.

S. Age 9

I have a cat named Tinker. The other day she caught a mouse! It was disgusting and cool at the same time! I felt bad for the mouse but I also felt excited! Is that what it’s like to be a terrorist? Is Tinker a terrorist?

M. Age 8

Dear Guardians of Peace:

This year I asked for a cape for Christmas but I did not get it. I was good all year long and really deserved the cape, but still, Santa forgot it. I think he’s getting old and is slipping. It’s time for him to go. You seem to be very powerful, would you consider taking over Santa’s job? If so, I would like a cape for Christmas, the game Grand Theft Auto and to be allowed to watch Game of Thrones.

W. Age 10

Dear Guardians of Peace:

Why did you say the bad things about Angelina Jolie?

She’s pretty, and all she wants to do is adopt babies and make the world a better place. My father says that you are terrorists and cowards, and that everybody in North Korea is short. I have included a drawing of a short person.

S. Age 9 ½

Here is a quote from his column in the Sun newspaper, “… if some old bigot from a backwoods village in Pakistan or Somalia doesn’t want to respect Canada, that’s where our schools come in and teach those bigots’ kids and grandkids what it means to be Canadian.”

I will now provide you with a collection of holiday messages (quotes from columns) from Ezra Levant over the course of the last year:

Christmas Day: “ Look, I get that Muslims and atheists and homosexuals might not have it in them to honour the sacrifice that Jesus Christ made on the cross for THEIR sins, but the least they could do is get into the spirit, buy a few things and keep this damn economy growing! You’re in this country now!”

New Year’s Day: “ The First Nations People never had any sense of time. They didn’t have a calendar! Everything was just “now” with them. Have you ever tried to have a meeting with one of them? It’s next to impossible, they just don’t “get” time, so why on earth should they get this holiday?”

Family Day: “ Gay couples cannot biologically create families. End of story. This is not a holiday for them. They and their rainbow tattoos are not wanted, and for the record, I have never had gay sex, never even been curious, not even when I was alone in that bus station in Minnesota and it was just me and that Mormon missionary and the light above us, swaying slightly in the summer breeze, kept flickering, as if a suggestion.”

St. Patrick’s Day: “The Irish are awesome. Nobody can drink like them, not even the Russians, and especially not the Indians. If there was a drinking Olympics, and there should be, the Irish would win every year. They deserve three holidays. I had an Irish girlfriend in University, Shelagh, and she was a wild one, if you know what I mean.”

(Shelagh looked like a combination of these two)

Easter: “ And now the Vegans and Vegetarians want to take away our Easter eggs. They can suck my dick.”

Canada Day: “ Canada is a truly beautiful country. Have you ever seen a good-looking Muslim woman? I have not. That religion is not producing any Kim Kardashians, that’s for sure, and if they are, they must hide them up in the hills with all the other terrorists.”

Labour Day: “It’s a statistical fact, black people rarely work and they shouldn’t get any of the benefits of the holiday until they get their numbers up. We’ve been carrying them long enough!”

Thanksgiving: “The Feminazis would have you believe in something they call “White Male Privilege.” Well, it was white males who built this country and provided the sperm that made your families, so I want to say that I am thankful for them and if they have a little bit of privilege, it’s because they earned it!”

Me: You coming to Barbados for the big surf competition, Soup Bowl?

Man who looked like Chomsky: What?

Me: Barbados. The surf competition. It’s like their version of the Super Bowl, only in water.

Man who looked like Chomsky: No, I have other business, although I do like the beach.

Me: I’d like to surf but I’m scared. I used to be scared of sharks when I was a boy but now I’m scared of jellyfish. They’re taking over the oceans.

Man who looked like Chomsky: (Said nothing)

Me: Are you Noam Chomsky?

Man who looked like Chomsky: Yes.

Me: WOW!! I thought so!

Chomsky: (Nods)

Me: So, what’s up with Occupy Wall Street?

Rachelle: (In a whisper-hiss) Pickle, be quiet, for the love of God!

Chomsky: I don’t know what you mean.

Me: I hear they’re buying up debt from collection agencies and then forgiving it. I would LOVE it if they bought some of my debt. Do you have any sway in that?

Chomsky: No, I don’t.

Me: You know, you’ve really shaped a lot of minds over the decades. I bet a lot of college kids name their pets after you. Thousands of dogs and cats named Chomsky.

Rachelle: I’m sorry, my husband is dehydrated and only slept for an hour last night. Please forgive us.

Chomsky: I see.

Me: If I was an anarchist like you I wouldn’t wait in line. I’d just charge right through, upset the system and start a revolution by hitting the beach!

Chomsky: You do like the sound of your own voice, don’t you?

Me: I’m just social and maybe a little nervous meeting you, I guess.

Chomsky: I’m sorry, I just need to be alone with my thoughts, okay?

(Several minutes pass)

Me: You’re going to be really hot wearing that corduroy jacket on the island, you know.

Chomksy: (Ignores me)

Me: (Whispering to Rachelle) I can’t believe he has a corporate logo on his laptop bag. Adidas? Really? They must have paid for his trip.

Rachelle: (Whisper-hiss) Just find your passport and shut-up, okay?

(Awkward silence for the rest of our wait to customs)

I wanted to stop, too, just to see more than help I think, but obviously we’d only be getting in the way, and so we proceeded slowly past, reverently bearing witness. The tone in the car was suddenly very different, the music playing now all wrong, an insult. We drove by the other vehicle involved in the accident (the mathematics of the crash mysterious and vast) and saw a young man, just as white as the moon, wide-eyed and breathing hard. The blanket wrapped around his shoulders gave him an oddly spectral appearance, and his friends stood around him as if surrounding a miracle– frightened to either be present or to step outside of the moment.

They were all so young.

This accident was just an arbitrary swoosh, something that could have happened to anybody or nobody with equal measure. And the day itself was so vivid and beautiful— surrounding us like an indifferent God, emitting an inexhaustible palette of autumn colour and sun that so clearly, so urgently required our attention and investment. It was such an odd transit that all we could do was give quiet thanks as we passed through, grateful and lucky to have home still waiting.

As we were waiting, two people inside the exhibit started to pound desperately on the wall. The security guards manning the installation jumped into action and opened the door, and amidst a spill of balloons a guy and girl emerged, each one in a panic, shaking and pawing at themselves as if covered in worms.

Rachelle looked over at me, “You’re going to freak-out, aren’t you?”

“No,” I said quietly.

“It says right there on the wall that people with claustrophobia shouldn’t go in. You can’t see at all in there. It’s nothing but black balloons, and if you’re prone to anxiety, it might not be the best experience for you.”

“I’m not prone to anxiety,” I whispered.

“Pickle,” Rachelle answered, “you have sweat on your upper lip and your left eye is twitching, just like when you have a good hand in cards. Are you sure you want to go in?”

I went in, dissolving into the balloons.

The acoustics were muffled and you really couldn’t see anything but the latex exterior of the black balloons. Dislocating rather than threatening, it was still an uncomfortable feeling. I moved slowly about fanning the balloons away as best I could, but they immediately reconstituted around me as if trying to attach and feed–an assembly of   jellyfish clustering. It was disorienting and as I inched along the perimeter the room became denser and hotter, the air feeling remote and less accessible. I had no idea how to get out or how large the room was and I was starting to feel a little anxious, and then  I heard somebody softly crying. I thought it might be part of the exhibit, but I wasn’t sure.

“Is somebody crying?” I asked.

“I’m fine, “ a woman said,  “sorry.”

I shuffled along the wall toward the voice, eventually coming into contact with somebody slumped to the floor.

“Do you need any help?”

“No,” she answered, “I’m okay, thanks. I’m not panicked or anything, just a little emotional. My mother died recently and whenever I was feeling lost, she was always there to help guide me, you know?  It’s a silly thing, but this just brought her right back to me. I’m really fine and sorry for the little scene.”

And then I heard her get up and move off into the balloons.

At any rate, at this reading I brought a guest book and asked all of the attendees to please leave a comment critiquing my work so that I might work on improving  my performance.

These are the comments that were left:

1.You are easily the bravest person that I have ever met.

2.Funny??

3. I used to be very nervous speaking in public, too. When my friend Sandra was getting married and asked me to be Maid of Honour I was terrified. Honestly, I could not imagine standing up in front of all those people and speaking, so I really know how you must have been feeling! My heart went out to you, and that heckler, even though he did get off some good ones, was way out of line. So what if you look better in ladies jeans? It doesn’t mean you’re not a man! Anyway, what worked for me and might work for you is signing up with Toastmasters, it’s like a crash course in confidence! Anyhow, better luck next time!

4. Really appreciated the open bar, but why only from 8:00 to 8:30?

5. Your teeth are very distracting. I couldn’t stop looking at them and didn’t hear a word you said. You should really look into getting veneers.

6. Wasn’t expecting the Karaoke, never heard such a plaintive version of Working 9 to 5, so thanks for that, sort of. I thought you were pretty funny. I’m not sure exactly what it is you’re aiming for, but it’s a very disquieting stage presence you have. Interesting.

7. Jesus, Mike. Didn’t you learn your lesson at Mark and Julia’s wedding?

8. I couldn’t hear you. You have a thin and raspy voice and I think you might have asthma. You need to stand up straighter if you want to speak into the microphone.

9. Oh, Michael.

10. First of all, your fly was undone and you had what looked like (I hope) toothpaste stains on both your sweater and shoe. I know that people who get stage fright are told to imagine the audience in their underwear, but you went creepy overboard! I actually saw you licking your lips at one point when a college student bent down to pick-up some change she’d dropped. Gross!! Also, your feelings about the Olympics and 9/11 Conspiracy theories were not welcome– you were like the sleazy, drunk uncle at Thanksgiving dinner.