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

This is an excerpt from our most recent episode:

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Me: Before we start today’s Podcast I have an announcement to make. On our last broadcast Heidi made some remarks that were very hurtful to some beloved members of our community.

The appalling statements she made might even be considered an act of violence in and of themselves, and let me say unequivocally that we here at The Breakfast Club have always, and will always be, great allies to all of our friends in the SCBDB community. Your struggle is our struggle, and we will not tolerate any sort of hate speech, calls to violence or prejudice against you and those that you love. You are our family. We love you and stand beside you. I want to take this time now to formally apologize to all Squirrels, Cats, Birds and Dumb Birds who were wounded by Heidi’s words. We are profoundly sorry.

Although Heidi has been a mostly loyal dog to my family for nearly a dozen years, I simply cannot excuse her behaviour, and so she has been removed from the Podcast, effective immediately, and sent to live up in the country with my wife’s parents where she will undergo prolonged sensitivity training.

Taking her place will be Margaret Atwood, one of the supporting actresses from the hit TV show The Hand Made Tale.

Atwood: The title of the show is the Handmaids Tale, and I was the author of the novel upon which the successful TV show was based, not a supporting actress in it.

Me: Please don’t interrupt.

Atwood: You have more important things to say, do you?

Me: Nuts! Now I’ve lost my place!

Atwood: Yes, of course you have. A straight, middle-aged white man with no discernible talents suddenly adrift in a changing world. One day you wake up to discover that you’re not one of the good guys at all, but are actually an enemy of the people, an enemy to all those you never heard, saw or even thought about in all the decades you stomped so blindly through this world. Now that the shell of your status has been cracked open to reveal your mediocrity and fear, it must be so very difficult for you! And how have you responded to this sea change, Michael, to being revealed so nakedly to all whom you ignored? With hostility and defensiveness, of course, with a desperate attempt to portray yourself as a victim rather than a victimizer. So yes, I can see how you might feel that you “lost your place.”

Me: I WAS PATROL OF THE WEEK IN GRADE SIX!! I WAS AT THE BARRICADES KEEPING THE WORLD SAFE FROM TYRANNY, GODDAMNIT!! NOBODY CAN TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME!!

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:

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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!

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Me: That’s not true.

Me: I hate Donald Trump.

Me: Yes, I do.

Me: I really do.

Me: What on earth makes you think I don’t?

Me: The way I’ve been shaking hands?

View post on imgur.com

Me: Look, I’ve always had a strong, Presidential handshake. It’s one of the things that attracted you to me, you know that!

Me: Oh C’mon, Justin Trudeau didn’t beat him! The media, so many lies! So unfair!!

Me: Trudeau was just trying so hard to be macho. Sad.

Me: Fake. Not true

Me: I am not talking like Trump now.

Me: Trudeau’s a bad hombre.

Me: Bigly.

Me: You see the way he was ogling Ivanka?

Me: Disgusting.

Me: An embarrassment to Canada.

Me: No, you’re an embarrassment to Canada.

Me: You are, too.

Me: Hell, I don’t even think you root for Canada during the Olympics.

Me: You’re not a patriot.

Me: You’re not helping to Make Mike Great Again.

Me: You’re a disruptive technology.

Me: Sorry????

Me: My Google Autofill?

Me: That’s a sacred precinct!

Me: You shouldn’t be poking around in there!!

Me: Well, I really don’t know why “Trump Anime Sex Fantasies” showed up there.

Me: Probably some keys Jones hit by accident.

Me: That little nugget gets into everything!

Me: What?

Me: He did what?

Me: Fuck!

Me: That was a gift from my sister.

Me. Sentimental value. Huge sentimental value.

Me: Don’t have a clue where I’m going to find another The Apprentice: The Board Game.

Me: Jesus. I feel sad.

Me: That was a fun game.

Me: Better than fucking Catan.

Me: Who wants to buy goddamn wheat?

Me: Really, you think you can make an night of it with friends “buying wheat?”

Me: Please.

Me: My attitude is fine.

Me: Anyway, we’ll see how he feels when I destroy his dog toy.

Me: I swear to God, that dog is evil.

Me: It is, too. The tail wags for no reason.

Me: No!! There was no battery in it!

Me: Really!

Me: It was creeping me out so much I removed all the batteries, but it still barked and tilted its head!

Me: Oh.

Me: I just thought there was the one spot for batteries.

Me: Who ever heard of two spots for batteries?!

Me: That’s insane!

Me: Whatever.

Me: Still think it’s possessed.

Me: Gonna murder us all in our sleep.

Me: I am going to build a wall around that dog and make Jones pay for it.

Me: No, watching Poltergeist hasn’t poisoned me against a toy dog!

Me: Well, maybe.

Me: Yeah, I guess you’re right.

Me: I had forgotten how scary that movie is.

Me: Netflix should be more careful with the types of movies they broadcast.

Me: Yes, I was.

Me: Have you ever watched Poltergeist stoned?

Me: Fucking terrifying.

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

From @realDonaldTrump:

Ron Glass died! Black guy on Barney Miller. Very fussy and wordy. Maybe gay. Easy to overlook. Just 71. Still in the prime of his life. Sad.

From @realDonaldTrump:

Florence Henderson died! America’s original MILF. Did I? Wouldn’t be classy to tell, but as Flo is dead– yes, many, many times. Once with Marcia, too.

From @realDonaldTrump:

Leonard Cohen died! Think it was a nut allergy. Might have to ban nuts. We’re losing too many of the good ones to them.#WarOnNuts!

From @realDonaldTrump:

I am in perfect health. No nut allergy. Can eat nuts by the handful. Shame about Crooked Hillary’s health. So very sick. Tired all the time. Crooked Hillary next to die?

From @realDonaldTrump:

Jose Fernandez died! Great, great pitcher for Miami. Un hombre sincero. Had box seats for his last start. Great service. Stunning waitresses. They love me in Florida.

From @realDonaldTrump:

Sharon Jones died! Pancreatic cancer. Nasty. I stand with the black people, who love me, love me so much, during this sad, sad time. I will fix your broken inner cities!!

From @realDonaldTrump:

Pat Harrington Jr. died! The janitor guy on One Day at a Time. Decent show. Maybe not the best. Preferred Three’s Company. Chrissy? She was a 9, for sure. Body and face.

From @realDonaldTrump:

Actress Suzanne Somers played Chrissy. Blonde and jiggly. I won’t lie to you, I had sex with her many times. So many times you wouldn’t believe.

From @realDonaldTrump:

One time we did it in the linen closet of a 5 star restaurant. She was a great piece of real estate, that lady. Outstanding. #WomenLoveMe.

From @realDonaldTrump:

Muhammad Ali died! Great showman. Brought lots of people and money into the casinos. Huge amounts. He got so shaky in the end, though. Sad.

From @realDonaldTrump:

Former Miss New Jersey Cara McCollum has died! Saw her naked more than once in the change room at the pageant. Body a solid 9. Face? Maybe a 7 on a good day. We mourn her passing.

From @realDonaldTrump:

Prince has died! He was never my thing. Straight or gay? Hard to tell. Always changing his brand. Very confusing for the consumer. Made him a bad businessman. #BuyTrumpBrandWater

From @realDonaldTrump:

David Bowie died! Had a glass eye. Was married to a Somalian supermodel. Guy was way out there. Tried to get him on Celebrity Apprentice but there were scheduling problems.

From @realDonaldTrump:

Gene Wilder died! Alzheimer’s Disease. Couldn’t remember a thing in the end. I am in perfect health. My mind is like a platinum trap. Ivy League educated. So, so very smart. #HighestPresidentialIQOfAllTime

From @realDonaldTrump:

Chyna has died! Drug overdose. I have never taken any drugs in my life. Unlike Crooked Hillary who is on HUGE amounts of meds. She’s all weak and shaky like Ali was before his death. Don’t think she has long.

From @realDonaldTrump:

Chyna was a great lady wrestler. Really tall. Kind of homely, but still able to turn a profit in porn. Gotta admire that.

Always thought Ivanka could dominate the industry if she chose.

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I know that this isn’t proper form, but can I just say, what a goddamn monkey!!

Can we give it up for, George?

Yeah, that’s the sort of monkey he was, the sort of monkey that could get an entire church full of people to yell and applaud wildly. Just think about that for a second. He was an entirely different species, and here we all are, brought together by this wondrous monkey, cheering at the mere thought of him.

Remember that cheer, people. That’s a gift that George left to us, his encouragement to go out there into the world– fearless and happy– and to make as much mischief as possible!

George, as you all know, was no ordinary monkey. Other monkey’s may have arrived on the scene…Bubbles? The Ikea Monkey?

Couldn’t even hold George’s banana peel.

George endured while all the others fell away.

And Lord, such a funny monkey.

The funniest monkey ever, I think.

He was the Robin Williams of monkeys.

It wasn’t just his curiosity that made him so uniquely beloved, there was something else, too, something that spoke to humans and primates alike. George was joy, a playful little monkey who led us back to our better angels, to a place where the light of childhood shone all year round. And regardless of how famous George became, regardless of how busy or troubled his life became, even when he El Chapo made a trophy pet of him,

George ALWAYS made time to play.

Now, a lot of you might be wondering why The Man in the Yellow Hat, his partner in crime, isn’t here delivering this eulogy. Well, he and George had a complicated relationship, and it has to be said that over the years an awful lot of poo was flung. Back when it all started, The Man in the Yellow Hat tricked George by taking advantage of his curiosity, luring him into his big yellow hat and then taking him from his home and family in Africa to the shores of America.

George always resented it.

By today’s standards what The Man in the Yellow Hat did was unacceptable. A crime, even. But in the 1930’s people didn’t see it that way. Anyway, as George learned more about what happened to him, he distanced himself from The Man in the Yellow Hat. Well, it turns out this separation did neither man nor monkey any good. The Man in the Yellow Hat took to pills, the bottle and street fighting,

his whereabouts now unknown, and George careened from one professional disaster to the next– the masturbation incident in the boardroom of Celebrity Apprentice now carved into the history of American popular culture.

Our sweet George sort of wandered through the wilderness after that, a lost monkey in the cities of man. It was at this time that Islam reached out to him, and ???? ???????, as George chose to be called after his conversion, seemed to be getting his life back on track. Unfortunately, like too many of the disenfranchised and alienated amongst us, George became radicalized. Monkey see, monkey do.

George’s curiosity just proved too much in this case, and his life ended in Syria as part of an ISIS suicide squad.

I don’t know much about the afterlife or where George is, but I choose to imagine that beautiful monkey still clinging to that kite from one of his very first adventures, the winds gently pulling him upwards and home to glory.

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Eliminate all conflict-of-interest restrictions governing elected officials. Buy-off and/or torture all in opposition.

Remove Harriet Tubman from twenty-dollar bill, replace with Keith Hernandez.

Find out difference between Hispanic, Latino and Mexican. Fire Mexicans. Find out if Cespedes is Mexican; if so, grant amnesty.

Rename ballpark Donald J. Trump, POTUS, Luxury Baseball Stadium and Driving Range. Also suitable for use as as detention/execution facility in off-season

Mr. Met is a loser as far as mascots go, no talent, but the merchandizing is in place.

Need to open up new mascot revenue streams. Sidekick? Chris Christie? Put him in a flesh-colored bodysuit? Sad clown in flesh-colored bodysuit wearing opponent’s hat?? Mr. Met beats on him with a baseball bat or lead pipe whenever we score.

Every time the opposing pitcher gets pulled from the game a giant image of me, President Donald J. Trump, will appear on the video screen saying, “You’re fired!” Crowd goes wild. Crowds love me, especially mobs.

Contact NASA and find out what planet Noah Syndergarrd is from. Get more like him.

Replace foul poles with beautiful, high-quality columns made from the finest ivory and marble.

Order CIA Black Op to steal opponent’s signals. Be present to ensure waterboarding.

In off-season run reality show to determine Mets new closer. Call it “The Closer.” Think intro: “I’m President Donald J. Trump, the greatest negotiator on the planet. I have what it takes to be the ultimate closer, do you?”

Create companion show for The Closer called, “The Burning Hot Wives of Major League Baseball!”

Interview players, management and other team owners (include fan vote but disregard) to find out who baseball’s hottest wives are. Then the wives, in bikinis, tennis skirts, etc, compete against one another (setting a dinner table, pleasing your man in bed, skiing, etc) to see who is the ULTIMATE trophy wife. Winner gets a featured modelling spot in Sports Illustrated and a $100,000 shopping/cosmetic surgery spree with Melania in her native Slovenia. Note: Buy Sport’s Illustrated.

Sign biggest star in the world for role in organization. Leo?? Hulk Hogan?? Billy Joel?? Larry King?? Meet with cabinet to discuss.

Donald Trump’s New York Mets-themed golf resort and luxury casino on Rockaway Beach. Former Mets work as greeters, golf instructors, bartenders, housekeepers, dealers, masseurs and high-end gigolos. Premier bachelorette party destination and homosexual paradise. Will sink Vegas.

Honor the Job Creators Night. Plutocrats and their servants get in for free. During the seventh-inning stretch there will be a welfare queen scramble. The assembled poor will run about the outfield trying to collect one dollar bills as they’re blown around by a giant fan. Loser who receives the most handouts gets a collector’s edition, Omarosa bobble-head doll and $150 worth of gaming chips at Donald Trump’s New York Mets-themed golf resort and luxury casino on Rockaway Beach.

Fire manager every three months. Employees work best if motivated by fear. (Reminder: Fire personal assistant, efficient but missing a finger, not Trump quality)

Buy-off all the umpires, but torture them first.

adding that he, too,  just like a Regular Joe, enjoyed watching the life-simulations depicted on television programs. It was as if some rudimentary form of Artificial Intelligence, one that existed in a strange human-like form that for all it’s advanced technology just couldn’t get the hair right, was trying to prove its humanity to a skeptical public. It was so clumsy it was almost sweet– like a grandparent saying YOLO in the wrong context.

However, the truly funny thing about this pronouncement was that nobody, not a single politician from any party, had ever suggested that they had a plan to tax Netflix. With this, it seemed that the Conservative strategy was laid bare—they were going to announce a really horrible, really unpopular idea every week, and then assure the public that they would fight tooth and nail against such an appalling idea. This tactic would confuse the public, who would mistakenly think that the combative stance assumed by the Conservatives meant that one of the other political parties had actually proposed the idea and that taxing Netflix would be essential to their governance.

Out of nothing, something– it was the conjuring of a perfectly evil plan.

In keeping with this theme, the next thing that Harper announced was also incredibly weird, only on this occasion instead of lining himself up in opposition to the weirdness, he was trying to initiate it. Stephen Harper suggested banning Canadians from traveling to terrorist-controlled countries.  The idea behind this would be preemptive, serving to stop young, naive, would-be-jihadists from traveling to Syria, being trained by their dark forces, and then sent back, with ISIS flags now sown on their backpacks, to destroy the homeland.

This notion, crazy, paranoiac, wholly against the Charter and impossible to implement, seemed positively Trumpian in its blunt vulgarity. However, the point was never to impose such absurdity on the population, but to get the other parties to argue against it, thus making them look soft on terror.

It’s PSYOP’s, really, with the ruling government attempting to spread disinformation and confusion in an attempt to manipulate the mood of the electorate so that they’re not actually voting based on information, but on a “gut-feeling.” People will “feel” like the NDP want to tax Netflix simply because Harper said he was against doing such a thing, and after all, the NDP tax everything anyway, right? Likewise, people’s fears that the Liberals are soft on terror (Trudeau’s always getting his picture taken with Muslims!)

will only be reinforced, because now the Liberals have to argue that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with traveling to a country that most people associate only with blood-thirsty terrorists.

Harper’s strategy is to set off smoke bombs.

He’s not interested in persuading people with his inventive policy, but in sowing uncertainty and even fear, so that the undecided and those who don’t follow politics all that closely, the people who don’t really know what’s going on (because Harper has set about creating this bewildering cloud of Orwellian uncertainty and double-talk) will take the path of least resistance and opt for “stability” and maintaining the status quo.

In a nutshell, it’s everything that’s wrong with politics.

As fate would have it, actress Chloe Sevigny was sitting at the table directly beside us.

Subtly, like a panther at night, I went back to the patio, had a look around, came back to the bar, stretched a few times, and then discreetly took a photograph of Sevigny as she ate lunch.

This is what happened after I returned to my seat and sat down:

Chloe Sevigny: I know what you did.

Me: Sorry?

Chloe Sevigny: I know what you did.

Me: Last summer?

Chloe Sevigny: (Dripping with sarcasm) Oh, you’re so clever! You should write for Hollywood! Look, I know that you just took a picture of me without permission. I saw you, asshole.

Me: Lady, I don’t even have a clue who you are.

Chloe Sevigny: Don’t give me that bullshit, you know damn well who I am!

Me: Are you a homely 16 year-old boy dressed up like he’s in some metal hair band for Halloween?

Rachelle: (Urgent whispering) Pickle, just apologize and the shut-up so we can move on, okay?

Me: (To Rachelle) I didn’t do anything wrong! I just went to the patio to see if they had better looking servers out there! I’m not apologizing for that!

Chloe Sevigny: (To Rachelle) I feel sorry for you. Your life must be a real challenge.

Rachelle: Oh, I know, it is, it is. He did the same thing when we saw some actress from Law & Order at the airport. He said he was taking photographs of the luggage for a gallery show, but of course…

Me: It wasn’t some actress, damn it, it was Angie Harmon!

Rachelle: And then her football player husband came over and asked what was going on, and my husband’s nose began to bleed!

Chloe Sevigny: (As if this was the most hilarious thing she has ever heard in her life, Sevingy does a spit-take the way you would expect from a bad, over-rated actress.)

Me: It was the dry air from the plane trip.

Rachelle: We were getting on a flight, not off.

Me: No we weren’t.

Chloe Sevigny: (To her friend) I think it’s time for us to leave.

Me: You know what? A real fashion icon would want her photo taken, she’s be flattered, and you know what else? Hilary Swank carried you in Boys Don’t Cry, she carried you! Your careers have really gone in different directions since then, haven’t they?

01 Jan 1999 — FILM ‘BOYS DON’T CRY’ DIRECTED BY KIMBERLY PEIRCE — Image by © CORBIS SYGMA

Chloe Sevingy: (Gives me the finger, drops a bunch of cash on the table and leaves without finishing her meal)

( I have saved Chloe Sevigny’s unfinished burger and am in the process of selling a photograph of it to the fetish site, Unfinished Celebrity Burgers. However, I will be putting the real leftover, which is in a ziplock bag in my fridge, on Ebay, but am happy to take offers from anybody reading now. )

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:

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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

However, I was curious to see how it might actually unfold in the real world and so I went out to a bunch of Starbuck’s in the Toronto area and tried to engage the staff in conversations about race.

Starbucks

10 Dundas Street East

8:30 pm

Me: Hi.

Barista: Hi.

Me: Are you a fan of the TV show Empire?

Barista: Don’t think I know that one.

Me: Oh. Well, it has an all black cast. Not a single white person on it. After a few episodes you don’t even notice how weird that is. It says a lot about race, I think, and the gritty world of Hip Hop. Very topical considering Ferguson and everything.

Barista: You seem very authentically informed.

Me: Well, I’m a part of Black Twitter, so I feel pretty plugged in.

Barista: I see. What can I get you?

Me: Decaf green tea. Grande.

Barista: I bet you like being white, don’t you?

Me: I don’t really see race.

Starbucks

407 Yonge Street

11:30 am

Me: Hey, anyone interested in rapping about race?

Barista: (foams milk)

Me: (Turning around and facing the customers in the lineup behind me) Anyone?

Guy with an eye patch: This might not be “politically correct” or anything, but I hate the Irish.

Me: Really, the Irish? But they have Leprechauns!

Guy with an eye patch: Exactly, Leprechauns are just about the creepiest thing in the world.

Me: What happened, did you lose your eye to a Leprechaun?

Guy with an eye patch: No, I lost it in a fire. The Irish also cheat at cards, and on their husbands.

Girl in denim jacket: And I have to add that the Muzzies got no business taking over this country, if they want to live here, they should damn well dress like everyone else, am I right?

Me: Hey, this is great, now we’re really starting to get into the hard stuff! How about you, (pointing at a woman on her phone) what do you think?

Woman on her phone: (Gives me the finger)

Me: (To Barista) People are still very uncomfortable talking about race. It’s a real shame, because as painful as it is, we really have so much to learn from one another. We need to be brave.

Barista: You do know that the campaign isn’t taking place in Canada, right?

Starbucks

585 University Avenue

2:00 pm

Me: (To Barista) So, who is your favourite black actor or actress? Supermodels count.

Barista: Why are you asking me this?

Me: I’m trying to start a dialogue about race. I want to find out about your lived experience. Have you ever written a letter to a black celebrity, and if so, was it a hate letter or a love letter?

Barista: It’s never occurred to me to write a celebrity a letter.

Me: Any celebrity, or just black celebrities in particular?

Barista: Any celebrity.

Me: Weird. Not even Pam Grier??

Barista: Look, I got to keep the line moving here, are you going to take that cookie or not?