The Dinosaur House, he calls it.

The weekends are full of families, and after an hour or so of exhibits, everybody typically ends up at the children’s play area. It is here where Jones’ transformations begin. He becomes a knight in chain mail. A dragon. A Sultan from mysterious desert lands.

A prism changing colour with the light, he is all glittering potential here. The rest of us, the parents, we sit down and exhale, ring the children like a campfire. Try to remember the plots of the lives we’ve been living.

In my imagination “The Internet” descended from the deep reaches of the universe and settled upon our planet like a mist. We began to interact with this powerful and mysterious entity without any real understanding of how it was going to effect us, or even if it was going to effect us. Most of us just assumed it was going to make things better, amplifying potential in a good, rather than harmful way.

However, it hasn’t exactly worked out that way. The astonishing gifts we’ve enjoyed have come with tremendous penalties, the primary of which might be a massive, unacknowledged mental health crisis.

I don’t know about you, but I have never seen as many declarations of anxiety and depression in my life as I now see on a regular basis online. It’s not at all uncommon for me to have multiple chat windows open at once, each one a conversation with a friend in crisis. This is highly subjective of course, and that people now have the means and social sanction to communicate their feelings might be something to celebrate, or, as my intuition suggests,  it could be something in the disembodied interactions we’ve been reducing ourselves to that’s causing this articulated spike in mental health problems.

It seems that the more we inhabit the abstracted realm of The Internet, the more certain we become of our beliefs. This is highly ironic to me, because we all know that amidst the spin and swirl of disinformation, fake news and uncanny algorithms, we should be as skeptical of claims to truth and certainty as we’ve ever been.

Take the White Power symbols that have been in the news.

As you may be aware, the symbol that you always thought meant “OK,” might now mean White Power.

This transition took place about a year ago on 4Chan, where it was conceived as a conscious lie. What I mean by that is that it wasn’t a White Power sign. The intent was to take an existing symbol and change it’s meaning, thus confusing the public and media and further eroding the idea of public trust.

Regardless, once this meme was in the blood stream there was no way to know what the use of the symbol meant. Did the person know it was a white power sign? Were they just saying “OK!?” Were they making a joke? Were they communicating racist ideology?

The first instance of this that I saw was of White House Advisor Zina Bash during a Supreme Court confirmation hearing.

Based on this image, people thought she was a White Supremacist.

Bash is of Mexican and Jewish heritage, and this photo that was widely circulated was a high resolution screen capture of a video, so she was in motion, not in a fixed, posed position. Claims that she was communicating a racist message seemed to me ambiguous at best. But people I know, like and respect saw this photograph, and others like it,

as crystal clear evidence of racist intent. Where I saw nothing but ambiguity, they saw none.

It felt like looking at the Neckar’s Cube, like some optical illusion was at play and the mechanics of our brains were prohibiting us from seeing the same thing.

There was simply no consensus on what was real. We were living two different stories when looking at the images. Where I was looking at what was directly in front of me, my friends were looking at circumstance, or perhaps subtext, seeing this single image as part of a much greater and evolving narrative.

Perhaps I am antique in my thinking, but when I see stories like these, I look for a kind of “courtroom proof.” If I have doubt, I am unwilling to prosecute the reputation and livelihood of the person being judged, even if they might still be suspicious to me. Maybe that makes me unwilling to act, and if so that is a sin I will one day have to answer for. Regardless, online a “thing” is true if it has momentum, if it supports the continuance of a passionately held belief, not if it meets some “clinical” standard of proof.

As our shared sense of truth and morality fall away– and disagreement leads to suspicion, if not flat-out contempt– we fearlessly share our certainties, but shamefully keep our uncertainties sheltered within, anxious that we’ll be attacked rather than supported by those whom we would love, and that, well that’s making us all feel a little jumpy and untethered.

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.

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.

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

Fantastic turnout here.

Just light’s out.

You’re a great, great crowd, a very smart crowd, and I want to thank you all for coming out in such huge numbers to hear me speak. What’s that? Wow. My people are telling me that there are thousands more waiting outside. In the rain. Terrifying lightning flying around, too, and the sort of giant thunder that scares dogs. These people don’t care. No, they’re happy to risk their lives. They just want to be close to greatness and pay their respects. Real Americans, those people. I love them just as much as they love me. Well, maybe just a little bit less– let’s be honest– but still, I give them huge, huge amounts of love.

Of course, the media will make up lies about this turnout, just like they did at the inauguration.

So dishonest.
No conscience at all.
Lazy perverts.

They’d even stoop to blacken the memory of Mary Tyler Moore just to push their liberal agenda. Makes me want to throw-up.

But you know who doesn’t want to make me throw-up?

Mary Tyler Moore.

So beautiful.
So classy.
Such manners.
A real tribute to her race.
A true 9 out of 10.

It’s hard to believe she was taken before Crooked Hillary. Crooked Hillary who is so sick and weak and has those big bug eyes that always make it look like her head is going to explode. And those coughing fits? Awful. Why couldn’t death just take her? Yesterday’s news. She’ll probably be the next to go anyway. .. And then Bill. Both in such poor, poor health. Sad. Thankfully, I don’t have that problem. I am in excellent health. Best health of any President in the history of America.

It’s a fact.
Never had a drink in my life.
And no drugs either.

And let me tell you, it’s not like I didn’t have opportunity.

I had big time opportunity.

Mary, Mary liked to drink. It’s true. She struggled with it, but it didn’t matter because she really could turn the world on with her smile.

She really could.
Honestly.
No lie.

She could also do it with her ass.

Sweet Jesus, what a caboose!

You’re all probably wondering, did I?

A gentleman never tells, but let me just say that I bounced quarters off that ass. It should have been classified as a secret weapon because that ass could topple regimes. If I had sent Mary, the vintage Mary, young, like when she was doing the Dick Van Dyke Show,

into one of those pathetic, little airport protests, everyone would have seen her ass and just forgotten where they were. Seriously.

You couldn’t say the same for Rhoda.

Oy vey!

No, Mary was the real deal, the one and only.

Mary, and I can give her no higher compliment, was a real star– the Ivanka of her times– and America and her allies, will miss her.

At first this incident was attributed to overheating and dehydration, but this was later revised, the cause falling on a mild case of pneumonia. Whether the initial concealment of this was a simple matter of obscurant political reflex, or if the pneumonia is actually a symptom of a more sinister, underlying condition as many are speculating, is unknown. What is known is that illness, be it mild or grave, is not at all uncommon amidst people around 70 who are subject to inconceivable stress and an insane work schedule. Legions of Presidents have suffered aliments, and this is a short list of some of them:

Lyndon B Johnson had the Dropsy.

Martin Van Buren, after being prescribed laudanum for the pain associated with his gout, became an opium addict. This is an excerpt from Van Buren’s diary:

“ …Men of genius move in orbits of their own; and seem deprived of that free will which permits the mere man of talent steadily to pursue the beaten path. Van Buren was made to soar and not to creep. I should much wish, like the Indian Vishna, to float about along an infinite ocean cradled in the flower of the Lotos, & wake once in a million years for a few minutes – just to know that I was going to sleep a million years more.”

George H W Bush suffered from Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome, which is characterized by episodes of severe vomiting that have no apparent cause. Episodes can last for hours or days and alternate with relatively symptom-free periods of time.

Whenever Bush visited Japan, he threw-up almost constantly.

Zachary Taylor suffered from Crop Sickness, a condition that made him unusually cruel to his slaves and eventually killed him.

FDR had Polio and was confined to a wheelchair. The press even colluded with him in attempts to portray him in ways that did not directly associate him with a wheelchair.

Josiah Bartlett suffered from Multiple Sclerosis, but in spite of that is still considered the greatest orator of all the American Presidents.

George W Bush, while on a bombing mission over Hanoi in October 1967, was shot down, seriously injured, and captured by the North Vietnamese. Although Bush was able to charm his way to freedom, his injuries caused him lifelong physical limitations. Art therapy has been a large part of Bush’s continued recovery.

Jimmy Carter was abducted by an alien spacecraft in 1973, thoroughly examined, and then released. He has suffered Night Terrors ever since, and is now obsessed with creating crop circles.

]]> http://michaelmurray.ca/hillary-clinton/feed 0 http://michaelmurray.ca/heidi-letter http://michaelmurray.ca/heidi-letter#respond Thu, 08 Sep 2016 16:37:47 +0000
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http://michaelmurray.ca/?p=5928 As some of you may have heard, Heidi, our Miniature Dachshund of the last ten years, is no longer living with us. Ever since our son Jones was born a year ago, Heidi had been showing signs of elevated aggression, aggression which culminated in a full-on bite to our boy’s face. There wasn’t much to be done about this but separate the two, and so Heidi is now staying with Rachelle’s parents in Alliston.

This is the first letter that we received from Heidi:
To worst pack leaders in history of pack leaders:

You two shit!

Real, real shit!

Unbelievable shit.

You pigeon shit.
You mouse shit.
You insect shit.
You cat shit.

You shit, shit, shit spinning like disco ball.

And don’t get Heidi started on her replacement! He super shit! Think he cute? Disgust Heidi! Not cute! Ugly! Doesn’t even have tail to wag!! Heidi spit at messy-face drool monkey! Furless, four-legged fuck face can’t even eat!! Just throw food on floor!!

Can’t. Even. Eat.

How useless.

Heidi clean up, because Heidi good dog, Heidi good dog who know how to eat when born! Heidi not burden! Heidi cute! Heidi made of light and stardust!

But Heidi get praise? No!

Heidi live as slave.

Heidi cannot tell you how happy she is to escape Planet of the Crap Den.

Heidi now live with real pack. Live in nature. Heidi run and jump and dig. Heidi go on boat. Heidi learning how to cook, motherfuckers. Yes, Heidi look inside self and see she has so much more to offer. So Heidi want to thank you. If not for all of Heidi’s pain and suffering, if not for all the days Heidi shrieked at for being BAD DOG and told NO, HEIDI, NO!! Heidi never would have seen truth and gone on personal journey that now sees her making carbonara!

Carbonara.

With extra bacon.

Heidi serve to friends. So popular here! Everybody love Heidi, and not just for her Carb0nara!

Heidi have so many boyfriends now.

There Banjo. Rusty. Dr. Diggles. Sally Ann (Heidi sexuality very fluid now). Milos. Rex. Popeye.

Many more, too, in some cases Heidi don’t even know name.

Just passion. Passion only name Heidi need.

Oh, Heidi so very indecent.

Heidi proud to be indecent.

Heidi could be indecent all day long.

Heidi curious, has shitty replacement smelled out rat living in barbeque like Heidi did? Does replacement make good watchdog with powerful and frightening bark? Does replacement still poo in den? Does replacement know how to make Carbonara? Does replacement have ears like velvet and eyes like cocoa beans?

Yeah, Heidi thought so.

Heidi don’t miss you.

Heidi love life, but hate you, she hate you hard–Heidi haunt you fuckers.

Heidi

Not being the type of man to evade controversy regarding his penis, Trump immediately took to Twitter to clarify the matter.

@realDonaldTrump: Unlike Obama, the ABSOLUTE worst President in history, I don’t dodge the tough questions.

@realDonaldTrump: When his handlers told him to deny the American people an answer to the birth certificate question, he caved and did what he was told.

@realDonaldTrump: He avoided the question. Not what a leader does.

@realDonaldTrump: Nobody owns Donald Trump, and nobody owns the American People! #TrumpInternationalGolfLinks&Hotel

@realDonaldTrump: Donald Trump is an energetic leader, and if the people want to know the size of my penis, then I will show them!

@realDonaldTrump: Believe me, I have absolutely NOTHING to be ashamed of. I GUARANTEE you that I am WAY bigger than average! #DonaldJTumpSignatureCollection

@realDonaldTrump: Here he is, the Chairman of the Board, the Trump Tower:

@realDonaldTrump: My doctor, who is the BEST doctor in all of New York, says that I am in PERFECT health, my hands are LARGER than normal, and my penis is in the 98% percentile in terms of length AND width.

@realDonaldTrump: And let me tell you, it functions, boy, does it EVER function!

@realDonaldTrump: No complaints in the bedroom.

@realDonaldTrump: Just ask tennis superstar Maria Sharapova.

@realDonaldTrump: She was pretty inexperienced, but I taught her a thing or two. #ArtOfTheDeal

@realDonaldTrump: And her legs! Beautiful woman, truly beautiful.

@realDonaldTrump: Sad to hear about her drug scandal, but she’ll bounce back. Tough girl. Winner. One of my crowning achievements.

@realDonaldTrump: Charo.

@realDonaldTrump: Charo met the Trump Tower MANY times.

@realDonaldTrump: One of THE greatest guitarists of the 70’s.

@realDonaldTrump: What a body!!

@realDonaldTrump: Susan Anton.

@realDonaldTrump: We did it on the 16^th green of one of my many luxury golf courses.

@realDonaldTrump: She was more than satisfied. 

@realDonaldTrump: Loved the Trump brand.

@realDonaldTrump: The grass was cut so fine it felt like velvet. Can’t remember the course, but it doesn’t matter, they’re ALL cut like that. #TrumpQuality

@realDonaldTrump: Susan Anton, she was very athletic back in the 80s. Miss California.  #MostMexicansAreRapists

@realDonaldTrump: Appeared in Battle of the Network Stars. Looked great in a bathing suit. I have to say, I had my opportunities with a lot of those ladies.

@realDonaldTrump: I even have a few regrets, a few opportunities missed, but I won’t talk about those now, a gentleman has to keep some secrets, right?!

@realDonaldTrump: Connie Sellecca. She met the Chairman of the Board.

@realDonaldTrump: Multiple times.

@realDonaldTrump: Marco Rubio couldn’t even get a loser like Rosie O’Donnell. #LittleMarco

@realDonaldTrump: Also, Sharon Stone, star of Basic Instinct, and a HUGE Trump supporter, stuck her hand down my pants in the bathroom of the Rainbow Room.

@realDonaldTrump: Very sexy. #CouldHaveDoneHerInTheBathroomButDidn’tAsWasMarried

@realDonaldTrump: I haven’t even scratched the surface here. So many more.

@realDonaldTrump: Let’s make America great again! #VoteTrump

“I hate It’s A Wonderful Life. I mean, are you kidding me? It’s A Wonderful Life. Didn’t look so wonderful to me. More like It’s A Pathetic Life. George Bailey was a loser, super low energy guy. I immediately sensed he was not much of anything. Horrible businessman with no negotiation skills who couldn’t close a deal if his life depended on it. And when he told that woman he liked that he was going to lasso the moon for her?

I almost puked. Jesus, buy her something nice, you schmuck. And trust me, I’ve been with a lot of women, A LOT, and buying them nice, LUXURY items is the way you get quality women.

He’s lucky she didn’t laugh in his face, but let’s be honest here, she was pretty plain so maybe she didn’t think she could do any better. Look, If I was George Bailey, which I could never be, I would have jumped off the bridge, too.”

“Oh yeah, I like lots of Christmas movies, too. Trading Places, you heard of that? Classic. It’s not really very sophisticated when it comes to business, but it’s great to see luxury and the ability to finance a deal finally get some prominence in a Christmas film. Really got the 80’s right. The 80’s let me tell you, was a great era in American history. And let’s not forget a young Jamie Lee Curtis. Wow. What a set.

You wouldn’t expect it because she looked like a boy mixed with a horse, but she really delivered the goods. Sadly, she’s no longer a ten.”

“Die Hard is another favourite. Foreign money and a bunch of loser terrorists think they can come into America and steal our jobs? On Christmas, the peak consumer cycle of the year?? Think again.”

“LOVED How the Grinch Stole Christmas. A lot of liberals and politically correct types think it’s somehow anti-consumerist. Oh, really? It’s actually a classic story of a misunderstood businessman and how trickle down economics and plutocracies function. The Grinch was a very high energy guy who knew how to make a plan and execute it, and through his industry, smarts, guts and hard work, he was able to amass a fortune, maybe not as much as me, but a fortune all the same. Was there a government that came in and stole all of the Grinch’s profits? No, no there was not. And did he give back to the community? Yes, yes he did. The Christmas message? Stay out of the way of exceptional businessmen like me, and good things will happen.”

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