Author: Michael Murray

In Riverside, during the day, there are an awful lot of men with nothing to do wandering the streets. Some make eye contact, others don’t. When I take the dog for her walk, we pass them. Some speak furtively into cell phones from alleys, while others, brushing aside homemade curtains, peer out from their rooms…

On Monday, standing in front of me at the check-in lineup at the Porter desk was a 20 year-old guy. He wore a Kansas City Royals baseball hat, cocked to the side, and had his jeans cinched just below his ass. He was also sporting a huge knapsack on his back, which kept brushing against…

Alright. I guess I kind of feel like I have to apologize today. Last night I was drinking heavily, and when I got home I logged onto Facebook only to see—what I thought—was a very provocative status update in my news feed. Christian Wichman had posted a photograph of himself wearing a Unicorn crown, under…

On Friday, for the first time in my life, I flew Porter Air. I don’t fly very often, and am far from a sophisticated traveler, so I was all sorts of excited. Let me first say that flying out of Toronto to Ottawa, you get to take a boat to a plane. How cool is…

Rachelle and I have an insane amount of stuff. As we slowly, very slowly unpack all the boxes that clutter our new apartment, we keep making all sorts of unexpected discoveries. We have 12 Tiki torches! 3 Pinatas! Easter decorations! 5 hockey sticks and one net! 7 (?!) winter tires! Another thing I found out…

On Monday, I happened to be watching when David Letterman made his public admission that he’s had sex with women who worked for him on his talk show, and that somebody was trying to use this information to blackmail him for two million dollars. It was a strange piece of theatre in that the audience…

On Thursday, just before dawn, Rachelle and I began to move from our wonderful apartment in The Annex, to a work-in-progress place on Queen Street East. We absolutely loved our home on Madison, and our time there, and it’s been with some ambivalence that we decided to leave. Allowing melancholy to wash over me, I…

Apparently I do an awful lot of “projection.” What Rachelle, and several of my therapists have pointed out, is that I always describe the way that I’m feeling, by saying that somebody else is feeling that way. Hypothetically, if I don’t like somebody, I might talk about how somebody else doesn’t like that person, or,…

There are some cabs in this city that house furious drivers. There’s one guy who has even affixed a sign to his dashboard that says “I am an angry cabbie.” He just seethes, explosive hatred radiating from him like some poisonous cloud. I am sufficiently intimidated by him that when he asks me where I…