It’s the coldest day of the year and somewhere within, each one of us feels a premonition of mortality shudder our bones. The foyer of the Western Hospital has more homeless people than usual. Mostly men with jagged, unfashionable beards, they curl into the hospital’s available lounge chairs. Shapeless under their winter gear and salvaged miscellany, they appear to be melting—whatever had lived inside, now collapsed and unsupported. These people, so candid, they doze all around us.
Because of the intense cold, my Pulmonary Rehabilitation class was sparsely attended. Pop music, meant to summon our younger, more vital selves, echoed in the mostly empty room. I looked at the cut-out articles on Bristol board that had been pasted to the walls as I walked on the treadmill:
SAVING ENERGY AND MAKING WORK SIMPLE
10 STEPS TO BECOME LESS ANXIOUS
IS IT THE FLU OR IS IT A COLD?
As the class went on, more and more people showed up. People with walkers, people on oxygen, people bent with age and other maladies, each one coming through difficulty. Each one still trying to keep that fire lit. As the class is ending, a video is played where an instructor leads us through a short, cool-down routine. Betsy is sitting in front of me. On oxygen. Perhaps 90 years old. Unaware that the video has ended on a stalled frame, she sits there with her arms outstretched, just like the frozen-instructor on the tv. She just sits there like that, anticipating more instruction. Betsy, she looks like an evangelist taking the stage and greeting her audience. Like an Olympic athlete about to dive off the high tower. Like a bird, waiting for the wind to come up from behind and gently lift her back to flight.
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:
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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 60th 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.”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FRLHro9EPD0
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!!
]]>It hasn’t been going particularly well, as I’m not really qualified for much, but recently I came upon a truly interesting and exciting possibility. A new company called Cudlers is opening up in Toronto, and they offer—for a price of $80 an hour—a platonic snuggling service for its clients, and are currently looking for a diverse array of Cuddlers to make house calls throughout the Greater Toronto Area.
I think I could do this.
I wrote the agency expressing my interest and they requested that I send them a photograph of myself, including my age and height, and a short essay on why I’d like to be a Cuddler.
This is what I sent:
Marcus Agincourt
Age: Younger than Tom Cruise
Height: Taller than Tom Cruise
I have been told that I have an extremely warm and reassuring manner. In fact, during group, I was once told, “Marcus, holding you is like stepping inside of a calming, Brian Eno composition.” I have participated in extensive Hug Therapy (HT) for my PTSD over the years, and the result of this training is that I am a very, very empathetic, sensitive and patient person.
You should know that I am an excellent listener and a natural conversationalist whom people feel very comfortable confiding in. I am, as they say, an old soul, and even if I have a slightly jittery manner and often knock things over, such as drinks, ashtrays and lamps, I’ve been told that I really know how to put people at ease. (I am a Pisces, and although many of this star sign are drinkers, I swore off the hard stuff years ago and now restrict myself to just wine in the evening.)
I dress well, in soft and reliable fabrics, and as I have very little muscle tone, my build, although slim, is very soft to the touch. I am proud to say that I have been compared favourably to Wagyu beef. Also, I do not sweat, so I emit no body odour whatsoever, and out of respect for others, have always kept my nails trim.
The truth is that I just want to help. I understand that in this modern world it’s sometimes easy to feel isolated and disconnected, and that people yearn for some simple, platonic human contact. It may sound corny, but I just want to help people heal, and if I can do that by wrapping myself around them in a non-sexual way for an hour, then I would consider it a privilege to do so.
Hugs,
Marcus Agincourt
PS: I prefer to cuddle to the music of Blondie but would defer to the wishes of the client.
PPS: A short list of dream clients:
Vintage Raquel Welch
An Asian
Jennifer Love Hewitt
Salma Hayek
Tom Hardy
Madonna (I would snuggle the mean right out of her)
Natalie Portman
Janet Gretzky
Paulina Gretzky (I would like to cuddle the three Gretzky’s all at once)
Wayne Gretzky
Stephen Hawking (I think it would be interesting and a possible learning experience, understanding that the cuddler will learn as much from the cuddlee, as the other way around!)
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I grew up in the Age of Letterman, and I have to say that I view his pending retirement as good news. Over the years my encounters with the Late Show have become sporadic and accidental. It wasn’t just the format that seemed dusty, but Letterman himself looked a little bit old, sometimes even disheveled, and his performance recalled a different era, the man having somehow morphed from being the smartest, edgiest guy in the room to a beloved uncle repeating jokes after Christmas dinner. It wasn’t pathetic, just a little bit sad, like noticing somebody you love age and becoming a smaller, more vulnerable version of himself.
Once a revolutionary who brought irony into the mainstream, he now seems lost in time, usurped by all his competitors who have an organic sense and mastery of social media. Of course, when Letterman started, he was the undisputed champion of improvisational videos, bits that would have played brilliantly on the Internet, but the fact that he was both before and of his time, is no matter,
Back then he was a jolt of electricity into very calm and predictable weather and as a teenager I immediately related to him. He had an anarchic, Frat Boy sensibility, and liking him as opposed to another, lamer option, was a defining tribal characteristic. You wanted to wear the Late Night t-shirt the same way you wanted to wear the t-shirt of a super-cool alt band– it meant something about who you were and how you saw the world. Every night, we all gathered in our university residence to watch Late Night before heading off to our parties. It was a cultural drawing point and it sincerely brought us together.
Letterman has had a massive influence on our cultural landscape, his style and intolerance for the pieties and hypocrisies of celebrity culture– even though he lived within it– have pointed the way for so much of the comedic culture we currently revere. Now in his late 60’s, it is time for him to go, and it’s very bittersweet. He was a giant, one with a unique gravitas and ability to cut through the bullshit, and I will miss him– as I miss the days of my youth–more than I can say.
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has done his time on reality TV, served as a columnist for Vice Magazine, has been to jail, shares all his late night “inspirations” on Twitter and completely loves cars. In short, he is a 12 year-old boys idea of what the American dream could be, and for a moment that dream was to become mayor of Toronto.
Last week as Canseco was Tweeting his New Year’s resolutions, which included, “Fight Shaq in MMA cage match,” and “ help people getting screwed wherever I can,” he also enthused about running for mayor of Toronto—the city where he hit 46 home runs for the Blue Jays back in 1998. This was pretty much the best thing that I had ever come across on Twitter, and I immediately Tweeted back to Canseco in an effort to help.
@josecanseco: Don’t worry about any Citizenship issues in Toronto mayoral bid, I will gay marry you!
@josecanseco: But first you should try to become one of the Beauties on The Price is Right—they are now accepting men!
@josecanseco: It would make our union credible and be good PR!
@josecanseco: Secure the downtown Grinder vote.
@michaelmurrayca: Jose swings for the fences, not with other dudes!
@michaelmurrayca: I am having my people look into citizenship issues.
@josecanseco: But weren’t you in prison?
@michaelmurrayca: I called it Jose’s Castle, and I was in charge.
@josecanseco: Got it, I hear you!
@josecanseco: I have some campaign ideas for you, I am an idea factory!
@josecanseco: The Ikea Monkey will be your campaign signature, always standing on your flexed bicep– like a fetish.
@josecanseco: Open up Jarvis Bike Lane and make the Ikea Monkey municipal symbol.
@josecanseco: Ikea Monkey everywhere!
@michaelmurrayca: Ford too much trouble to be effective. Gotta fix budget, traffic, get new $ not from taxes, get more businesses, and help schools.
@josecanseco: The only thing that can help schools is a casino!
@josecanseco: A monkey themed casino!
@michaelmurrayca: I’m listening. Contact my assistant.
@josecanseco: And forget about Shaq, you must challenge mayor Rob Ford to an MMA fight. All proceeds to go to the monkey casino for the children!
@josecanseco: Ford is slow and easily confused.
@michaelmurrayca: I will throat punch him.
@josecanseco: He will die if you do that!!!
@josecanseco: Hey, did you ever have sex with Madonna? I bet she was pretty aggressive.
@michaelmurray: Just heard from my assistant and I can’t run for Toronto Mayor.
@michaelmurrayca: Will now just work harder on my anti-aging drink Ponce de Canseco.
@josecanseco: Nothing gonna keep you down! You are my hero. Can I have an autographed photo?
@josecanseco: You remind me a bit of Fred Flintstone, but in a good way!
July 1st, and on Bloor Street some people were dressed to celebrate Canada Day, others to support Italy or Spain– who were to clash later in the afternoon for the Euro Cup final– and even more were dressed for the Pride Parade, an event that would see 1, 000, 000 lining the streets of the city on a scorching hot day.
Near Bloor and Yonge a young beggar sat on the sidewalk beneath the shade of an awning. He had his shirt off and he was pale, bruised and unpredictably tattooed. He seemed messed-up, and as people passed by he reached out for each one, as if taking a swipe at their legs. People were avoiding him like the plague, but a beautiful woman in provocative red hot pants with a Canadian Maple Leaf on each ass cheek stopped in front of him and bent over as if posing for a Page 3 shot. She then put both her hands on his face and kissed him.
The Time Warp blared from a float and a riot of middle-aged men in tank tops and red pom-poms exploded in front of us. Joyously performing a carefully choreographed dance number, their teeth could not have shone any brighter. Teenaged girls, their bodies covered in glitter, wove through the crowds as the scent of pot wafted by indifferent, happy police officers. Drag queens, like Barbie Dolls melting in the sun, smiled bravely from their flotilla perches, waving past us like the celebrities they’ve always known themselves to be.
The palest Goth girl in the world sat in a wheelchair that was being pushed along the sidewalk by a large Indian man in a kilt. All in black and wearing a Hijab, a small woman with bony, root-like hands squeezed through the crowds smiling and taking photographs.
A hopeful young man wandered about armed with two massive water guns. As if performing a public service, he asked everybody, “Free water spray? Free water spray?” He delighted when an elderly couple declared that they wanted one. Smiling and still holding hands, they raised their arms and closed their eyes as if on a roller coaster, and the young man sprayed them cool, the nearby crowd cheering encouragement.
A mother was taking a photograph of her daughter standing beside a wall of Pride Posters. The girl was perhaps 18, and both she and her mother were wearing the convenient, floppy hats of tourists. The girl held a Rainbow flag and even though she was smiling, her eyes were inflected with a touch of melancholy. Who knows what journey led the two of them to this place in time? The song Like A Prayer rolling down Bloor Street, the two of them walking away now, arm in arm.
