The other day my wife Rachelle Maynard posted this on a Buy, Sell and Trade Facebook group she belongs to:

LIKE NEW BLUNDSTONES 7.5 Mens or 9.5 Womens

$150

Don’t spend $250 on a new pair of Blundstones your husband will never wear because they’re just a little bit hard to slip on. No. Don’t be angry he’s only worn them 3 times and doesn’t truly appreciate the kindness of your gift. So just buy these instead. They are in near perfect shape. They come with a box and everything. Pick up near Bloor and Spadina.

Comments:

Sahara: Forgive me, but your husband sounds like a bit of an asshole.

Anne: Nice colours!

Emily: I agree with Sahara, your husband sounds like a real piece of work. He better look like Daniel Craig is all I can say! LOL!!

Sahara: I once heard about a husband who took his wife to a Lord of the Rings movie marathon on their wedding anniversary! He thought if she saw them all at once, in order, then she would love them like he did. CAN YOU EVEN IMAGINE?

Dina: I would cut a bastard if he did that to me on our anniversary.

Betty: My husband is also an asshole. #MeToo

Stephanie: Sounds like he has pretty small feet! LOL!!

Emily: Men are trash.

Jen: You know, I have absolutely no doubt of my innate superiority to my husband, and pretty much all men, in fact, yet I still end up feeling oppressed. How the hell does that end up happening?

Nicki: Smash the Patriarchy!

Robynne: Would it be possible to come by on Tuesday around 4:00 to have a look?

Elena: My husband is also a jerk. #MeToo

Misha: I started to notice that whenever I walked into the room my husband would slam his laptop shut. He said it was fantasy hockey. Turns out he meant porn. Dirty, disgusting porn #MeToo

Treena: I would dump his small-footed ass. You can do better Rachelle. You deserve better. We all do.

Lisa: I swear to God, my husband can’t even figure out how to work the remote. Why are they all so fucking incompetent??? Why do we have to do EVERYTHING??? #MeToo

Beth: The fucker doesn’t deserve boots.

Maria: Make him walk barefoot in the snow. #MeToo

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Rachelle: I’m sorry, honey, that’s just not the way that it works.

Rachelle: Although you identify as a two-lunged person, it does not change the fact that you only have one lung.

Rachelle: Yes.

Rachelle: Yes, I think it would likely disqualify you from being hired as a bodyguard.

Rachelle: Hate speech?

Rachelle: Really? You think that’s hate speech?

Rachelle: Well, yes! You should Tweet about it then!

Rachelle: That will really help get things done!

Rachelle: I like the way you fight for justice, you really are the sharp end of the spear!

Rachelle: Oh Pickle, if it’s of any consolation, there are all sorts of reasons beyond you needing supplemental oxygen that would likely stop a person from hiring you as a bodyguard.

Rachelle: Well, you’re pretty weak.

Rachelle: I know.

Rachelle: That rope hang test back in primary school was hard!

Rachelle: I don’t know what they were thinking.

Rachelle: I agree.

Rachelle: It was biased against those with upper body strength issues.

Rachelle: I’m sure you would have gotten a gold star if not for that test.

Rachelle: Well, bronze for sure.

Rachelle: Regardless, my love, I think it’s time to let that go now.

Rachelle: It was a long time ago.

Rachelle: Okay. If Tweeting about it will make you feel better, you Tweet away!

Rachelle: I’ll wait.

Rachelle: What did you Tweet?

Rachelle: FUCK THE ROPE!

Rachelle: Well, that will show them!

Rachelle: Do you think people will know what that means?

Rachelle: Yes. I am very naive.

Rachelle: I believe you. It probably will go viral.

Rachelle: But look, there are other reasons you might not flourish as bodyguard.

Rachelle: You’re kind of clumsy. You move like a pigeon, all jerky and unpredictable.

Rachelle: Also, you don’t enunciate very clearly. I think people would have a hard time understanding the things you reported into your lapel microphone.

Rachelle: Yes. There could be confusion.

Rachelle: Communication is key for a bodyguard.

Rachelle: You’d have to repeat yourself all the time. Lots of wasted time. A terrorist only needs a second to blow himself up.

Rachelle: Oh Michael, I am not “shitting on your dreams.”

Rachelle: His name is Richard Madden. He’s the star of the tv show Bodyguard.

Rachelle: THAT IS NOT TRUE!

Rachelle: He is not an asshole.

Rachelle: He’s just very organized and knows what he wants.

Rachelle: It’s called confidence and strength, and it can be very, very sexy.

Rachelle: A commanding, strong man.

Rachelle: No.

Rachelle: That’s not hate speech either.

Rachelle: If I was an “Alt-Right Nazi” who wanted to “exterminate” those who lacked confidence and strength, do you really think I would have married you, Pickle?

Rachelle: Yes, it is true.

Rachelle: Your potential was, and still remains great. Very great.

Rachelle: You’re my favourite bodyguard.

Rachelle: No.

Rachelle: Sorry.

Rachelle: I was mistaken when I wrote that.

Rachelle: Richard Madden is still my favourite bodyguard.

Rachelle: He could guard my body any time.

Rachelle: Yes.

Rachelle: Sexually.

Rachelle: Well, as much as it would pain me, if a beautiful actress asked you to be her bodyguard, I wouldn’t stand in the way.

Rachelle: I expect Jennifer Lawrence already has a security team in place, though.

Rachelle: But maybe she’d still hire you on. I hear she has a big heart.

Rachelle: You could be The Littlest Bodyguard.

Rachelle: Maybe get on Ellen.

Rachelle: Yes, it would be the Christmas story the world needs right now.

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

This is an excerpt from our most recent episode:

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Me: Well, that was awfully nice of Ontario Premier Doug Ford to come in for an interview and show us his old shot put from high school!

Heidi: Heidi no get shot put.

Me: What don’t you get?

Heidi: It just metal ball you can’t chase! Why have ball if not chase? Like big circle rock, and if circle-ball-rock not used to crush cat or squirrel or dumb bird, what the point?

Me: Well, as Premier Ford explained, it is a display of both mental and physical mastery.

Heidi: Heidi don’t think so. Heidi call bullshit.

Me: You ALWAYS call bullshit.

Heidi: Heidi calls them as she sees him. Why she respected journalist.

Me: You are a good journalist, it’s true.

Heidi: Heidi know. You could learn thing or two from Heidi.

Me: Like how to eat really, really, disgustingly quickly and spill my kibble all over the place?

Heidi: Grrrr. Grrrr.

Me: Well, it’s a shame that we never got to find out if Premier Ford would have won the gold medal for shot put at the Olympics. He’s right, the boycott back in 1980 really did just punish the athletes.

Heidi: Can’t give communism a foothold anywhere! But still, Heidi think something fishy about story.

Me: What do you mean?

Heidi: Well, if he and famous Ford Pack big part of Illuminati as he say, then they control Olympics. They do what they want!

Sex parties and gold medals and meat fat all the time!!

Me: But if they were part of the Illuminati, that would explain the family’s mysterious rise to power! I mean, his brother, a crack addict, was mayor of the city! How could something like that happen if not for the power of the Illuminati?

Heidi: Heidi know thing or two about Illuminati, and all Heidi say is Ford Pack not Illuminati material.

Me: Am I Illuminati material?

Heidi: Heidi not sure. Heidi very, very hungry. Maybe if she had treat would help her think.

Me: Would a liver treat do?

Heidi: Not ones from Dollar Store, liver treats from Italy.

Me: I said liver treat. Not treats. Singular. Not plural.

Heidi: Give Heidi treat.

Me: Okay.

Heidi: Not Illuminati material. Not even close. Bug Illuminati at best. Maybe dirt Illuminati.

Me: Let’s just move on, shall we? I have to say, I really thought Premier Ford dodged the question I asked him about the #MeToo movement! What did he say? “Shot putters never have to worry about the ladies?” What do you think that means?

Heidi: Heidi don’t care. He use Ralph Lauren Chaps cologne to try to hide smell of lies and anger, but smell too strong.

Can never escape his own stink. He all lies and anger.

Me: So when he said he would rather take barbarism over socialism, you believed him?

Heidi: Two-leggers all so naive. Barbarism only system that works.

My level of celebrity has gotten to the point where people are digging up my ancient Tweets.

Several of mine, written way back in 2008 when I was only 42, have surfaced. Now that the fires of controversy, anger and hurt have subsided a little, I would like to address these Tweets. First of all, the Tweets themselves:

“More like No Country for Old Mansplaining! Can’t believe that piece of shit won best picture! Tommy Lee Jones was the worst, and there were no nude scenes!!! Zero!! #OscarsSuck!”

“ But it’s true, those goddamn orientals do work like dogs! How can we keep up! I really like the potential of this young buck of a councilor! Look out for Rob Ford, Toronto, he tells it like it is! #Orientaldogs”

“ I wish some great hacker would steal all the private, nudie photographs of hot movie stars and then release them to the general public! #EspeciallyJenniferLawrenceSweetJesusSheismyJesusMySexySweetJesus!

“I don’t know. Just something I don’t like about Barack O’bama. Maybe it’s the ears. Such a Ferengi. And we have no idea where he was born. #WhatAreYouHiding!?

“The blacks sure dominated the Olympics again!” #Beijing2008

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Although it’s difficult to apply the cultural values of one era to another, I categorically apologize for my Tweets and to anybody whom they brought pain. I want to be clear that in no way do I endorse hatred, racism, homophobia, xenophobia or any form of bigotry or intolerance. When I made those Tweets I was young, immature and stupid, but regardless, there are simply no excuses for any of them.

In the fullness of time I have come to realize that No Country For Old Men was a great movie, in spite of Tommy Lee Jones talking an awful lot about weird things and there being no nudity. Women are not purely sex objects. I see that now. I am sorry I didn’t see it earlier.

I had no idea a hacker would take my Tweet as inspiration and that The Fappening would one day occur. I am sorry that I was an unwitting party to this sex crime. In the wake of #MeToo, I have come to understand the constant sexual harassment and intimidation that woman daily suffer, and women out there, I want you to know that not only do I hear you, but I am listening.  Thank you.

The Obama family were exemplars, and I am very sorry to have doubted them, particularly the girls. But perhaps more importantly I want to apologize to Star Trek fans and the fictional race of the Ferengis. It was not my intention to imply anything negative about this great and proud and kind of greedy species. In no way was I trying to say that they were Jews, and by assocication that Obama was a jew. That was not my intent. I was drinking heavily that year. I think Jews are great.

Lastly, I want to apologize to the all the blacks of the world. My words were insensitive and ignorant, and I now understand that not all blacks are good at sports. Just look at the Mets. I want to thank you, black people, for this gift of awakening. You have changed me.

I appreciate all the constructive criticism I have received. I’ve genuinely learned so much about how to be a better person and wish everyone all the best.

Namaste,

Michael Murray

PS: Please buy my book A Van Full of Girls. It’s the only chance I got.

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Heidi like to make short statement.

Heidi only a dog.

Everybody think Heidi perfect because she so cute and strong and smart and sexy, but Heidi not perfect. Heidi like Instagram account, just looks like perfect life you’re jealous of. Truth is, some days Heidi actually a BAD DOG, and Heidi not scared to own it.

Heidi now like to address some of accusations being made on social media.

Heidi has engaged in Nonconsensual leg-humping.

It true.

Heidi now understands that even if told she “SuperAdorable,” and, “OHMYGODICANTEVENBELIEVEHOWGORGEOUSYOUAREYOULITTLECHOCOLATEKISSYOU!!” , even if she picked up and kissed on nose and have velvet ears stroked, still not invitation to leg-hump. Also, Heidi now knows that when two-legger sits down, even if two-legger wearing shorts and smell like cheeseburger, it still no consent. Heidi knows even if cheeseburger or ice cream cone spill on leg, STILL not consent.

Heidi gets it.

Heidi learn from mistakes and now ready to listen.

To really listen.

Heidi very sorry for pain she caused and regrets trying to normalize her attempts to assert dominance in pack hierarchies through leg-humping.

Heidi hopes that over time, and with continued hard work, she win back your trust.

Do you remember them?

Jerry Lewis and whatever semblance of celebrity he could cobble together, would entertain the hell out of you for 24 hours straight, and in return you would pledge money to help fight MD.

The shows always took place on Labour Day weekend– when absolutely nothing else happened– and since it was the only thing on TV we watched it like it was a seasonal tradition. Staying up with Jerry was a both a dare and a way to extend the summer. Still, the telethons felt like artifacts from another era, something that was owned by a generation previous to mine.

The Academy Awards have this feel, too, and I watch them mostly for the comforting, predictable sense of nostalgia they always conjure, but I found this year’s edition to be, well, confused. Was it a self-congratulatory ad for a dying industry, or was it stationed at the forefront of a social revolution? Was it about fashion and beauty or was it about it not being about fashion and beauty?

It proved complicated to decipher.

Host Jimmy Kimmel made an opening #MeToo friendly joke about the absurd irony of Mel Gibson starring in a movie called What Women Want.

It was a safe joke, one that picked a target everybody could agree upon, and it got what was almost relieved laughter. It might be hard to imagine now, but Mel Gibson was once a beautiful dream of potential.

Now he is an unredeemable laughing stock.

What was ironic was that in 2000, the year What Women Want came out and made tons of money, Jimmy Kimmel was co-hosting The Man Show. At the time, the slim and woke Oscar host was less slim and less woke, and The Man Show was all about tits. It was about grabbing them by the pussy. It was a white boy frat party.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cl3wioLmNNY

And yet there was Jimmy Kimmel on Oscar night making jokes about Mel Gibson’s pernicious attitude toward woman while a bejeweled and admiring audience laughed their approval before him.

These moments of dissonance happened throughout the broadcast, the most vivid occurring when Wes Studi, a Cherokee actor you probably recognize but could never name, introduced a montage of military movies.

Clearly the depiction of violent masculinity in this particular climate was considered iffy, and as if to soften that potential for controversy and loss of market share, the production team got a member of an under represented community to introduce this unpopular, but tactically necessary segment. It was calculated, and when Studi opened by saying he was a proud veteran of the Vietnam War, the crowd’s confusion at how to respond was palpable. They no longer knew whether Studi stood for something good or bad, they could not interpret the symbol they were being shown. After the montage ended, and Studi uttered a dose of Cherokee– which at the time could have been either a blessing or curse– the audience opted for a shallow, incoherent applause.

You could also see the once unassailable Meryl Streep– who many believe did not do enough to stop Harvey Weinstein—giving way to the meme-friendly Francis McDormand as moral force and American exemplar. When once beloved comic Dave Chappelle came on stage to a spattering of applause, he found that the comedic power he held as an oppressed minority had been overshadowed by his criticism of #MeToo. The omnipresent and eager Ryan Seacrest, who somehow manages to emit a vibe that simultaneously suggests a Bro and a gay man, found himself snubbed on the red carpet by all the stars in response to an accusation of sexual misconduct levied against him. They were only too eager to nourish themselves on his fawning, promotional interviews before, but now?

And when Annabella Sciorra, Ashley Judd and Salma Hayek took the stage, glittering and beautiful and gazed upon from so many different points of view, it was hard to interpret all the mixed messages that were being sent out into the world.

Were these women brave activists or part of an exploitive one percent? Were they complicit in creating unrealistic expectations for women by  opting for cosmetic surgery, or were they victims of an industry that demanded it from them as if it was a tax for being a woman? Could everything be true at once?

The Jerry Lewis Telethon ended just a few years ago. Over the course of it’s lifetime it raised over 2.5 billion for those fighting MD, but it also did so in an often self-serving and patronizing, if not wholly lurid manner.

In the end, were all those telethons a good released into this world or an evil?

It’s impossible to know, I guess, but it strikes me that nobody is all good or all bad. Each one of us is a riot of contradictions, often engaged in actions that elude our articulation or even understanding. Our lives and character are much more circumstantial and precarious than most of us would care to admit, and we would all be well served to save a little empathetic space in our hearts for those we don’t necessarily understand or agree with.

Everything, really, depends on that.

What stunned my class most about the book was the casual attitude the characters had toward slavery. I mean, how could they not know that slavery was an evil? Nothing could have been more clear to us, nothing. Slavery was pretty much the most evil thing we could think of, and it was mind-blowing to imagine that this wasn’t vividly reflected in the experience of our ancestors.

And so we figured that people back then must have been hateful and stupid monsters, willfully acting in their own best interests at the cost of others. And so we judged everybody in the book, imagining ourselves morally superior to the louts, trolls and insane people who populated the past.

But this didn’t make any sense.

There was absolutely no reason for me to think I had a more finely developed sense of morality than anybody who came before me. There must have been some decent people who participated in slavery and had no idea that what they were doing was wrong, no? They were simply living in the world into which they were born, and to them slavery, like the weather or landscape, was an unexamined fact of life rather than a conscious act of moral will.

This seemed clear to me. I was not unique. I was like everybody else, and that, of course, is a very scary thing to admit to oneself.

Technology has accelerated and amplified our culture in ways that are inconceivable.  Every year it seems that the world has changed more than in all the previous millennia stacked before it. It’s dislocating, and I often think of technology, in particular our online lives, as an emergent dimension we don’t yet understand or know how to interact with. Whenever we’re uncomfortable or bored with our physical lives, however briefly, a smart phone serves as a magic wand we can wave to take us to this other realm, and put in that context, none of us should be surprised to find discontent, even anger there.

Our desire for social justice has far outstripped our ability to deliver it, and in many ways I see ideological conflicts as dimensional clashes rather than moral ones. By the standards of today, so much of what we as a society did just ten years ago seems appalling, but as we judge it’s worth remembering that ten years ago we had no idea what we were doing was wrong or unfair. We were just operating within the framework of time and place. So how then to police this if every generation, indeed, every person, is going to be witlessly complicit in ghastly acts ?

Of course, revolution is not about justice, it’s about change.

And as the future and the past battle for supremacy in a ruined present, it seems that the only way it can end, the only way it has always ended, is like in a Shakespearean tragedy—everybody on stage dies, and then, the world purified and laid bare, is seized by those, now done with watching, who had been waiting in the wings.

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Me: No, I haven’t heard back from Nancy.

Me: Well, I can’t think of any reason why she wouldn’t want to do it. It’s an awesome idea!

Me: She owns a cheese shop, so me setting up a grilled cheese booth in there is a no-brainer!

Me: It’s win/win, baby!

Me: Well, I thought I’d pick up one of those Instant Pot things and cook them in there.

Me: Oh.

Me: Really?

Me: The Instant Pot can’t make grilled cheese sandwiches?

Me: Why isn’t that on their advertising?

Me: Well, that sucks.

Me: Thought it could do practically everything.

Me: Yeah, I guess I did kind of imagine it like a robot.

Me: No, not like that.

Me: A benevolent robot, one that serves man, AND is capable of making a grilled cheese sandwich.

Me: Well, if it can’t make a damn sandwich, why the hell was it named Time Magazine’s Person of the year??

Me: Oh, I thought it was.

Me: The Silence Breakers were?

Me: I don’t know who they are.

Me: Oh.

Me: Yes, they are very brave women. #TimesUp

Me: I am an ally.

Me: Look, we’ve been through this before.

Me: Feminism is many things, many voices–and my collection of vintage Raquel Welch memorabilia doesn’t make me a “Bad Feminist.”

Me: It makes me an ally.

Me: No, not a creep, an ally.

Me: Well, let me tell you, I’d be delighted if she exploited me back.

Me: I really would.

Me: Oh, don’t act so innocent!

Me: You know you want to be exploited by Colin Farrell.

Me: I saw how many times you watched that Miami Vice movie, and I saw the way your eyes got all weird and intense whenever that greasy Crockett came on screen!

Me: I can’t believe you just wrote that!

Me: You’ve stopped going to your low carb support group, haven’t you?

Me: You were very high in agreeability when you were eating carbs.

Me: Now, not so much.

Me: The Rachelle Maynard I know (and love!) would never have said something like that to me if she was properly managing her carb withdrawal.

Me: Yes.

Me: Yes.

Me: I can see that now.

Me: I am sorry.

Me: I love you way more than I could ever love Raquel Welch.

Me: If I had a poster of you, I’d put it up over the fireplace. I’d wallpaper the entire apartment in you if I could!

Me: No, not like a serial killer.

Me: Like I’m your Crockett and you’re my Tubbs.

Me: We mustn’t let Trump divide us, my love.

Me: It’s what he wants.