Author: Michael Murray

Like most people, I’ve been receiving all sorts of video clips of, and opinions about, Susan Boyle’s appearance on Britain’s Got Talent. For those of you who don’t know, Boyle is a 47 year-old woman who wants to make it in the world as a professional singer. Boyle, who is unemployed and lives with her…

Sunday was a pretty lovely day in Toronto. My family was in town for Easter and we all took a slow stroll down Bloor street in the afternoon. I was positioned outside of Banana Republic with the dog, people watching, when I noticed Corner Gas star Brent Butt coming out of the store. He was…

On our way to Trinity Bellwoods’ park yesterday, a car in the oncoming lane tried to turn left in front of us. It was impeded by traffic and sat there in the intersection, blocking us so we couldn’t proceed through our green light. We were no more than ten feet away from the other car,…

Late on Thursday night, while fiddling around on the computer, I turned on the TV set. I stumbled upon a baseball game between the Los Angeles Angels and the Oakland Athletics, and satisfied, left it on to provide a background story that I could drift in and out of. My back was turned to the…

Wednesday night was the first playoff game for my coed floor hockey team The Jesus Cobras. Once again, Rachelle and my teammates decided it would be for the best if I rested this game and took care of my allergies, so that I might come back at full force for the next game. “You’re going…

As some of you know, I’ve been corresponding with a prison inmate who goes by the name of “MotherTrucker.” With a tanking economy and my bookie—Goran– assuming a very aggressive posture concerning the money I accidentally lost to him, I have been looking for a way to make some cash. I asked MotherTrucker if he…

As most of you know, it’s presently November in Toronto. Late November. Not much light is getting into this day. It’s grim and colourless, and the wind, which is whipping angry, little flecks of the city all over the place, is literally howling. They say it feels like minus ten out, but I think it…

On my way back from a lunch meeting, my cab took me past the Greyhound bus terminal at Bay and Dundas. It’s an unlovely structure, that terminal. Squat and colourless, it resembles nothing more than a Soviet era parking garage. Everybody standing out there beneath the cement canopy, waiting to get on a bus that…

On Friday night, Rachelle and I went over to a friend’s home for dinner. There were about ten guests, and after a brilliant meal of rack of lamb, we played games. Naturally, we started off with the feats of strength. We were each required to attempt a chin-up before launching into the Knuckle-Hop competition. Knuckle-Hopping…