20 Things

Jane: Happy Thanksgiving, 20 Things You Should Learn By Age 30!

20 Things You Should Know By Age 30: You're wishing me "Happy Thanksgiving" at 11:30 at night.  Something must be wrong in your life.

Jane: Oh, 20 Things... You always say that!

20 Things: Am I ever wrong?

Jane: Umm...

20 Things: Just tell me what you want.

Jane: Well, ok.  So I decided to be like, a shut-in for Thanksgiving this year.  It's easy for me because I don't have any family out here... you know how I moved here from Rhode Island, right?

20 Things: Yes, I am in general pleased with people being mobile in their twenties.  Good job!  Just make sure you settle down soon.

Jane: Thank you.  Anyway, I just think that Thanksgiving is just a bunch of bullcrap really.  I'm tired of hearing about what stores are open, who is eating what... it's like the day of the year where every obnoxious trait of American culture is concentrated like whale pee.

20 Things: Whale pee?

Jane: Yeah, whales have the most concentrated urine in the animal kingdom. I learned that from another click-bait article.

20 Things: Whatever. Stop putting energy into being random and clever, it's not cool anymore.  Sonic commercials are random.  Old Spice commercials are random.  Are either of those things cool?  No.  Wait, is that a Sonic ad up there? Shit. I mean... Sonic is actually pretty cool.  You should go there over lunch at work. They have free wifi, so you can edit your resume and cover letters and shoot a few off. Stop spending time at a job you hate.

Jane: Thanks. So I decided to just spend the day alone, reading and doing chores.  I thought it would be fun, but then nobody texted me or wished me a happy Thanksgiving.

20 Things: And now you're bummed.

Jane: Yes.

20 Things: Hmm.  And real friends are supposed to be there for you, unless... maybe your friends are still not at a stable enough point in their lives to know they're supposed to send everyone they care about appropriate holiday greetings. You might have to get over your fears and start doing new things to get some better friends.

Jane: Well, I don't know if I want to go that far, I mean I don't even care about Thanksgiving...

20 Things: Why are you rallying against people having fun?  Look, you're almost 30.  By now you should know that if you harbor negativity, people probably consider you a toxic presence.  You should take this as a sign to improve the way you present yourself to people.  The way people treat you is a good indicator of what kind of life you lead.  You spend too much time having shallow interactions on social media.  Have you even once hand-written a letter to a friend?

Jane: My handwriting is ugly!

20 Things: Stop making excuses and start living your life. That is why Mark gave up on you.

Jane: Mark and I broke up because I told him I wasn't sure if I wanted kids.

20 Things: Mark was tired of waiting for you to make a decision about the direction of your life while you squander your momentum on opinions and anxiety about social issues.  Let me ask you something: what have you done to actually change anything? Posting about it on Facebook doesn't count.

Jane: ...

20 Things: Speechless, just like the rest of your generation when I ask them that.

Jane: I... I'm sorry.

20 Things: There's no need to apologize, you can't be expected to have it all figured out.  It is entirely possible that your life's calling is trying to find out what your life's calling is for the rest of your life.  Besides, Mark didn't like jazz. It would have never worked out.

Jane: Yeah, to hell with Mark! Wait, why was I here?

20 Things: It's more about the journey than the destination...

Jane: That's right, Thanksgiving. Fuck Thanksgiving. At least I'm not gonna get fat.

20 Things: You should learn to be OK with your body.

Jane: But look at that girl in yoga pants on the beach right there...

20 Things: Don't be angry with her just because her metabolism is faster than yours.

Jane: I could have a body like that if I didn't work so much.

20 Things: Stop using "busy" as an excuse and start taking proactive steps towards figuring your life out.  Do you even have a mentor?

Jane: A mentor?  I don't... how do I get a mentor?

20 Things: Just find someone you admire and write to them, ask for advice.  They'll probably ignore you, so write to them again. You have to be assertive and aggressive if you want to get anywhere.

Jane: That sounds awkward, I don't want to bother people and I don't want a mentor. I don't admire anybody in a way that would make me want them as a mentor.

20 Things: The truth doesn't change in accordance with your ability to stomach it. I could produce a list of successful people who all had mentors if you like.

Jane: Well OK, but is there a less creepy version of that where I don't have to basically stalk people and face constant awkward rejections?

20 Things: Approach everyone with the humble assumption that you can learn something from them.

Jane: That's much better.  I'm gonna make myself a ham sandwich and go to bed.

20 Things: You should learn to take care of yourself and form good habits now.

Jane: I'll wake up really early and do hot yoga.

20 Things: OK. I'll whisper the names of remarkable people and what time they wake up in the morning.

Book Deal

That was possibly the craziest summer of my life, man.  I kept a journal of it all so I wouldn't forget, I'm thinking of pitching it to a publisher...

(Secretary walks into Chief Editor's office)

Secretary: Sir? It's Ryan Mayberry, your 11 o'clock.

Chief Editor: Excellent, send him in.

(Ryan enters, they shake hands.)

Cheif Editor: Ryan Mayberry?  Mitchell Stellcraft, chief editor at Major Publishing Company, have a seat.

Ryan: Mr. Stellcraft, thank you for taking the time to speak to me today on such short notice.

Mitchell: My pleasure Ryan, I just happened to have this little spot open up last minute.  I'd like to say I read your manuscript, but I'm a busy man.  Tell me why you're here.

Ryan: So I kept a journal when I was doing some contract work for the military in the Czech Republic a few years ago-

Mitchell: Very nice, good military reporting always does well. What were you guys doing in the Czech Republic?

Ryan: I'm not sure I remember, because I just got wasted the whole time!

Mitchell: I'm confused... please elaborate.

Ryan: Let me explain.  I was there going out with other soldiers every night just getting shitfaced!  The bars there are sick, and the women are even sicker.  Czech girls are not used to guys buying drinks for them, European men don't do that.  Plus, they have a romanticized view of America, and they've always wondered what it would be like to have an American man treat them right, you know?  I was always out with the same three guys, and they all had their thing they did at the end of the night.  Andy was always in a corner puking all over the place and apologizing to the bar staff.  Rob was always trying to start a fight with someone, and Rich was always with like two freaky girls ready to get freaky.  This chick I was sorta seeing, we kept turning on Midnight in Paris when we got in, but we were so wasted we kept falling asleep so I only saw like three-fourths of it.  But I was thinking, my book could be like that.  I could totally be like Owen Wilson, and my friend Rob could be Hemmingway... and Richie could be Shakespeare cause he's so smooth with the ladies, y'know? Andy is so Hunter S. Thompson, he even got us coke one night and-

Mitchell: Ok now, hold on a minute... you guys did cocaine?  That's awesome!

Ryan: I know!  We did it all weekend...

Mitchell: And you wrote about it?

Ryan: It's all in my diary.  I banged like, 3 Polish girls that week.  I have a few deep observations about the difference between Polish girls and Czech girls from that part, but I don't wanna give too much away.

Mitchell: I don't want to reveal too much, but Ryan: this is the sort of  material we've been looking for.  Regular Americans we can all relate to doing just crazy things in foreign countries.

Ryan: I have this one friend who is a DJ at this club. He spins at the Chrome Rose tonight.  We should go chill and talk things over.

Mitchell: Woah, you know a DJ?

Ryan: Totally, I go there every week and buy him a drink, we're real close.

Mitchel: That's remarkable!  Let's meet at 7:30. Oh, and I can totally expense it.

Ryan: Wait, what!?

Mitchell: Totally. After all, I'll be having lunch with an author.

(They laugh and shake hands)

Apology for 2005

This is the script to a monologue I performed at a solo performance show at Space 55 in Phoenix.  The text in bold was featured on a large cue card.  The livejournal entry referred to can be found here.  I changed some of the wording to make the content A) Fit on a cue card and B) Have more impact.  None of the changes change the meaning or were in any way at odds with how I felt at the time.  The italicized text is a fictional phone conversation with my dad during the show.  I had three phone alarms set so it would ring like crazy during the show so I could occasionally duck out of the monologue to have a conversation.  I forget exactly when I made the interruptions, the placement below is an estimate.

Apology for 2005

I think that maturity is measured by the number of years between now and the most recent time you could look back at yourself and say, “What the hell was wrong with me back then?”  The more years, the more mature you are.  By “you”, I mean me.  I’m trying to make it sound universal so this all seems less narcissistic, but that’s kinda silly, this is a solo performance show after all.  I call this piece “Apologizing for 2005”.  2005 was the peak of my Oscar Wilde phase, except instead of master and redefine multiple genres and forms of literature, I drank expensive booze and tried to come up with witty things to say on livejournal.  2005 can be summed up with my first entry: “Subject: I suck the milk from the teats of broken dreams after filling my mouth with the chocolate syrup of cynicism.  Current mood: Slotch. (it was supposed to say "scotch", it was an intentional typo, for affect).  Today I alphabetized all of my vintage designer ties by country of origin. They’re all American, so I just left them all over the floor.”  Any mundane personal detail or embarrassing temporary opinion I could express in a strained clever phrase wound up in my livejournal.  I will focus my apology on one particular post.  It was a post about a woman I briefly dated.  I had decided I no longer want to be involved with her, and like a gentleman, instead of personally discussing this with her, I figured I would just spare her the awkward conversation and ignore all of her calls and texts.  Since I never told her about my livejournal and I wanted to feel good about what I did, I decided to publicly post a list of things I hated about her.   Unfortunately, she googled me and found my callous, enumerated buzzfeed-style list of all her shortcomings.  Her response was drunk and pretentious enough for me to not consider how hurtful and unfair what I said was, and how I misrepresented her to make myself seem like not an asshole.  I never forgave myself for this, so tonight I am going to reveal the most shameful parts of the list and call 2005 Me out on his bullshit.  So, “Things I didn’t like about Julia in 2005.”  I should note that I was living in New Jersey at the time, while she lived in Philadelphia.

Cocaine addiction. Ah, cocaine. A good first item, this will get everyone on your side by associating her with the drug of choice for greedy record execs and trust fund hipsters.  Everybody hates an obnoxious coke head, and you’ll seem like a martyr for putting up with her for as long as you did.  So sure, exploit her detrimental habit to make yourself look like a hero.

(Phone rings, and has been ringing and I keep ignoring until now) 

Oh jeez. Sorry everyone, I'm in the middle of buying a new car, and my dad is insisting on helping me with my search and giving me advice. 

(Answer phone) 

Hi.  Yeah make it quick, I’m in the middle of something. (pause) No.  (pause) No, I don’t want to buy another American car, I’m tired of being on a first name basis with the staff at Pep Boys. The head mechanic just invited me to his son’s christening. (pause) I wanna buy a Toyota Prius. (pause)  I know you don’t, but I’m the one buying the car. (pause)  It’s not just about the gas mileage, it’s about the environment. (pause) If you wanna help me, that’s what I want. Gotta go.

Made me sit through her fake concern for the victims of Hurricane Katrina.  Oh, let me guess: you’re one of those people who thinks everyone only pretends to care about human suffering to make themselves seem cool.  I bet you also think that all news sources are biased by corporate funding, not because you have done any research, but if all news is fake and nobody really cares, then you are absolved of personal responsibility so you can keep drinking and ignoring the human condition. 

Occasional mustache. Clearly you must see this as telling the hard truths nobody wants to hear, and if you offend someone it is their fault because reality doesn’t care about feelings. You are wielding the mighty sword of truth. You are the “Like it is” express, running over anyone with an artificially high opinion of themselves.  I’m sure you don’t see this as shaming someone for not conforming to what society thinks they ought to maintain their upper lip.

(Phone rings again)

Hey. (pause) Actually I read a few articles since our last conversation, and apparently hybrids are worse for the environment when you factor in the inefficient production.  (pause)  I know you just went through all that effort, and I appreciate it, but did you know that the metals used in the batter y cells are rare Earth metals that require these complicated mining operations in third world countries? (pause)  No, that doesn’t mean I want another Ford Focus. Just because I don’t want a hybrid doesn’t mean we’re back to square one.  Maybe a Toyota Corolla? (pause) Yeah, do that.  Thanks. Thanks.

Shows no interest in reciprocating sexual acts, bar tabs, and heaven forbid she meet me in New Jersey for once.  What you didn’t say was that you were really just using her because she was showing you cool spots in Philly.  You were not interested in her reciprocating sexual acts because you didn’t actually find her attractive and let’s face it: by the time you got back to her place you were too drunk to get it up anyway.  You didn’t want her to pay bar tabs because it gave you perverse joy to continue to spoil her the way her parents have.  Her being spoiled helped keep your personal guilt at bay.  And you didn’t want her to come to New Jersey because then you wouldn’t be going to underground Philly drum and bass nights and warehouse parties.

Loose vagina. Seriously, how many guys did she let rail her out in her college slut phase? OK 2005 Ian, in the future, there are these things called “memes”, and they will educate you on basic female anatomy and slut shaming.

Spoiled trust fund hipster.  So she used to make you share ear buds with her and listen to The Postal Service and Basement Jaxx in faux dive bars. Why the hell was that such a big deal? You placed a disproportionately large amount of loathing on this specific behavior, which you saw as selling out and being the cliché hipster couple you secretly wanted to be.  So by all means, keep running away from yourself, see where you end up. (Under breath) Phoenix

(Phone rings again)

Talk to me. (pause) Wait, why are you looking at more hybrids? (pause) You think mining could be a valuable source of industry in places that need it most?  How have you managed to make electric cars evil?  (pause)  No, they’re not gonna mine in an environmentally sustainable way, that doesn’t make sense! (pause) No, don’t invest your stock in Lithium, invest it in Oxygen! Oxygen isn’t traded on the stock market, it is traded between humans and nature. I was being- (pause)  Whatever, I don’t need your advice, I’ll just read consumer reviews. Yeah bye.“

Said I was rude to her friend, but her friend is a coke head who sleeps with morons.  Hey, remember that time you got to dictate to women who they can sleep with?  No? Because it never fuckin’ happened!

The moral of the story: don't date me unless you want me to tell people on the internet how much you suck.  Whew, glad you acknowledged that what you’re doing is wrong otherwise this post would make you look like a jerk. Because everything is OK, as long as there’s an ironic self-referential kicker.

My journal points to a person whose privilege has insulated him from reality and deluded his grasp of cause and effect.  In 2005, I was a terrible argument against the belief that my generation is lazy and entitled.  Fortunately, reality beat me up until I became everything I ridiculed in my early twenties.  Most people rebel against their parents, but spend their lives finding little excuses to become more like them, but not me.  I invent my own set of undesirable traits that I will gradually grow to embody.  Until you stop coming up with reasons to despise people, you are doomed to end up becoming them.  Did I say “you” again? I meant me.

Bonus - alternate ending I did not use:

God, I hate that ending, it comes off too poppy, like I tacked it on to make it work as a solo piece with a meaningful conclusion.  It's a good thing I said I didn't like the ending, then performed it anyway. Otherwise, this monologue would make me look like someone who slings around wise-sounding nonsense meant to sound deep and make you think just long enough for me to escape and start writing my next monologue.

Inter-people Fun

Hello Reader,

This isn't something I feel like turning into a story or dialog, but rather something I just want to record somewhere. I'm on the light rail platform at Central and Campbell,  and i am looking at a rather large window into a nice apartment. The TV is on,  so in the absence of other stimuli my eyes were drawn towards the flashing pane of glass. After a few glances I saw an (ostensibly) male arm rise as though he was on his back and his body was just below the window. Then the arm swung sharply downward. Then after a few seconds, the motion was cautiously repeated.  Then it was repeated in progressively shorter intervals and with greater zeal. It was as though a person was riding his cock, and he was breaking the spank barrier. But all I could see was his arm.  Another thing I noticed about the room was that the walls were covered in crosses/crucifixes. Extremely gaudy, as I could identify them from across the street.  So... did this guy just at that moment discover he has fetishes for religion, light s & m, and exhibitionism... all at once? Or was it the person desperately leaning forward as to remain out of view who just discovered this?

Opportunity Costs

I read this article and the resulting comment thread, and some related articles and their comment threads, then this happened.

I was disappointed to read this article by David Byrne about how the availability of music for free on Spotify makes it difficult for emerging artists to earn a living. Looks like we have another success apologist on our hands, better get the Purel and then wait for it to evaporate so we don't warp our tiny violins.

This comes on the heels of similar sentiments expressed by Thom Yorke.  I didn't really read either of them, I was too busy having a preconceived opinion on the matter. I'm pretty sure both of them said they hate the internet and that Spotify is the next symptom of a dying record industry that doesn't feel the need to pay artists.  While I agree that the record industry needs to be dismantled, I am ok with thousands of artists languishing in competition for my attention as a listener and not having to pay them for it.  It is supposed to be difficult to make money as a musician, that weeds out the less passionate and less committed. If you quit making music because of subpar living situations, then you don't care enough about music.  You forfeit your place in line to be successful, and there is no shortage of people who are hungry to take your place, regardless of how far back in the line your are.  Does knowing that make you feel worthless and defeated? It shouldn't. It should motivate you to make better music with the impulses inside of you.

Some say there are no atheists in foxholes.  I say there are no excuses in acceptance speeches. These articles are a disgrace to those who worked their way up from the bottom and are stronger for it.  If we start making it so anybody with a synth and a few ideas can make a decent living, the market would be flooded with mediocre music.  In reality, people who make undesirable experimental music should be punished with poverty until they get it right.

Have you seen the Internet? Everything is changing. The young people have spoken. Byrne and Yorke are like old unemployed travel agents complaining about Expedia.com.  Music is very similar to a week in Cabo.

And I mean, how many musicians use Spotify themselves?  Many of them, I'm sure. Why is that? Do you think just because it's there and it's convenient and they're poor? I doubt it, musicians are aware of the symbolism of their actions, they're like that, I've met a few.  Musicians are artists.  Let me tell you something about artists: everything an artist does is a universal statement about their deepest convictions.  When eleven of them share a 540 sq foot studio apartment and live on Cup O Noodles, they are making a real statement. I'm not sure what it is, mostly because the salt from the noodles has dried their throats almost completely shut.

The people who download the music for free would have otherwise not downloaded it at all. There is no shortage of other free things on the Internet!  Let's face it, they probably would have just found the next free thing and downloaded that instead. By charging people to hear your music, all you're doing is pushing away possible new fans.

Access is the way of the future, so musicians should just adjust to working with free media the same way other artists have.  I mean, look at Banksy!  There's someone who has used free media sources to build a name for himself.  Last time I checked, walls are free.

Spotify already pays 70% of it's total revenue in royalties.  What would you have them do, Mr. Byrne? Pay even more?  Is it their fault that their successful business model just happens to not allow for that?  And as if 70% isn't huge enough of a number, there are a bunch more high numbers about the amount of people accessing things on the internet.  I'll take a moment to let you imagine them.  .  See?

The new reality is that people want music, but they don't want to have to pay for it.  And services like Spotify give people music for free.  I'm sorry, I forget, what were we talking about?

Exceptionalism

So I walk out to a patio and opened my laptop.  These two guys are talking trash about guys in the Phoenix gay scene who talk trash about everyone.  I started typing stuff that was not their conversation, but was admittedly eavesdropping on their juicy, well-enunciated conversation being projected as much towards me as each other.  It was mostly one of them, who proudly proclaims himself as a "Big personality", which I have learned means "flagrant narcissist who dominates every conversation with their treasure trove of brilliance", which is fine if you are OK with being that, which this guy clearly is not, indicated as the conversation funnels from the frustrations of dealing with shallow people who only care about how they are perceived by strangers to a specific person who they were likely referring to all along. I started discreetly typing their conversation:

"...but people rot from the inside out.  Like, their souls. I don't care what someone looks like, but inside...  He did someone at Weston's on New Year’s Eve and passed out on the lawn across the street.  I'm trying to wake him up and this jogger goes past and I'm all like, "Good morning..."  And I have to get his 250 pound steroided out… whatever.  And I had to watch over him all  night at Nestor’s, and he wakes up and pukes on me, and what's the first thing he says? “Who saw me?”  Not “Thank you” or “Sorry”.  Anyway, so I had to go find Jim.  Hey, uhh… “ Then he gestures towards me and the other guy slyly glances at me and says “Uhh, yyyyeah” with as much hostility as possible.  They then permit the first silence I heard since I sat down, get up and leave without saying a word to each other, and once at a safe distance start discreetly (quietly) talking, ostensibly about what some stranger might have been typing about them.  

Now don't get me wrong, if I knew someone was listening in on my conversation, I would be uncomfortable as well.  Who wouldn't be?  That is why people speak at reduced volumes in public places.  But try to imagine the level of paranoia required to come to that conclusion about someone who is only occasionally typing (completely out of sync with the conversation), is mostly reading this fascinating interactive article about the NSA files, and has not visually acknowledged you... but maybe I am wrong?  I mean, I was typing what they were saying as they suspected, which it seems like they ought to expect given the volume at which they spoke.  Should people just expect that their conversations are being overheard and judged by strangers who will then report on them in their blogs?  I guess what I'm wondering is if I'm no better than the NSA. I could resume the practice of wearing earbuds to avoid detection, but isn't that the same thing as the phony cosmetic NSA reform bill proposed by Dianne Feinstein? Do the people who speak publicly in my presence deserve better?  Should I approach them and say, "Hey.  I can hear what you are saying and I exercise very limited control over how that data is used, so please speak accordingly."?  Or is the onus of privacy on the speaker? That there are places and ways to have private conversations, and loudly on the crowded patio of a cafe is not one of them?  That sounds about right.

What I did in the previous paragraph is make my case for being an exception to an opinion I contradicted while caressing it in my thoughts.  I would pay $20 to hear how those two gossip hounds make theirs.  I choose to pay $20 because the alternative is a society where people are asked to give an account of themselves at moments that serve the questioner more than the questioned, which would enable people to fortify their mental tabloids of everyone they meet with phony interviews.  That $20 is the barrier between everyone having to come up with a reason for why they were looking at that/them, why they wear/drive that.  When one of them muttered "...he could have just..." as they walked away, my $20 was spent to make whatever verb came after "just" unnecessary.

Flu Diary

I have always found that after several days lying comatose with the flu there comes an unexpected moment where suddenly I am able to have ideas again, and given the days spent in near complete sensory deprivation, they all seem brilliant.  What I just now decided to do here is capture and record the events leading up to this nearly psychedelic mental eruption where every moment feels like invention.  Every time I experience this I say that "Next time, I'm going to write down what it feels like immediately before that time where not a single thought is mired in the sense of mediocrity and doubt that marks my usual assessment."  I have just now emerged from my apartment, undeterred by the advanced hour, and am oscillating between typing my thoughts and trimming my nails as I walk to... shit.

Phoenix Men We've All Dated

Hello Internet,

So the Phoenix New Times, which I hold in no higher or lower regard than any other free locally circulated news/current event source funded by awful ads, featured an online article "10 Phoenix Ladies You've Probably Dated".  At least 5 of my FB friends have posted about saying it is sexist trash. I usually try to avoid what a friend of mine calls rage clicking, but predictable mainstream articles relating to gender are my biggest weak point.  I wasted 15 minutes of my life, I will spare you this and summarize: the author doesn't like girls who party too much, are spoiled, or vote republican.  Somehow he turned that into a list of ten.  Seriously, don't even search it out, it isn't remotely funny or amusing, it's like watching the sex scene from Oldboy when you already know the end. Ten times.  I am so embarrassed at having read it that I have made a new rule: every time I indulge in rage clicking or shallow controversy click bait, I must write a satirical response.  So here it is: Phoenix Men I Imagine People Date.

Now, the Internet, I know what you're probably thinking: "What would I look like if I were an animated pony gif?"  Let's table that discussion for now though and talk about why a heterosexual cis-male ought to write about dating guys and why someone ought to read it.  The only thing I can say other than "Because I went through all this trouble and you've already read this far" is that I'm unbiased because I'm not sexually attracted to men.  If I am to assume "Phx Girls Everyone Dates" isn't pure engineered click-bait dictated by algorithms with no one person actually generating the content, the biggest problem is that the guy's bitterness towards women distracts the reader from any point the author is making and directs their focus on what caused this guy to hate party girls.  Is his entire opinion of women dictated by tabloids and FM radio shock jocks from 1998? Does he consistently sabotage his personal development by only dating women who party and drink excessively and try to force them into monogamy?  The other main problem is that none of the girls pointed out are really a local phenomenon.  There are republicans and girls who like to party more than some men are comfortable with everywhere. So here are a few behavior patterns/social phenomenons I've observed that are specific to men in the valley and what I imagine a romantic relationship with them would be like.

Pushy East Coast Transplant.  They are constantly apologizing for being too aggressive, and also will "warn you" that if they seem cold or in a hurry to "get to the point", they don't mean to be rude it's just that they're from the east coast.  I can surmise two reasons for this: 1) Like everyone else, they are trying to define themselves, or 2)  If the reason they moved here isn't something they are ashamed of (couldn't compete in their field in the cut-throat NE market, needed to leave before they went insane, etc), they are afraid that people think that is why they are here, so either way they are compensating.  

Where to find: Sports bars, where they can sit next to you, buy you a drink, and loudly cheer for any NY or Boston or Philly team until you give in and ask, "Big Mets fan, eh?"  

What to expect when dating them: To not be able to get a word in edgewise.  And for them to get drunk and tell their friends how they miss tough east coast broads.

The Liberal Poser.  In the grand tradition of men with no taste or convictions of their own, politics accounts for more feigned interest than Duran Duran, jazz, Shakespeare, and Nietzsche combined.  Of course, there is no statistic to prove this (most statisticians are just doing it to get laid, so...)  The liberal poser takes all the worst parts of stereotypical liberals: a smug certainty that they are part of the most educated movement, that whatever they do is definitely not part of the problem, unexamined adherence to anything a credible source* says is in the name of progress.  The liberal poser is widespread, but the redneck past of so many Phx residents/transplants, combined with the accessibility and concentration of activist groups and a fairly laid back lifestyle gives rise to a certain breed that is allowed to flourish unchecked.  It is often difficult to detect, but one decent indicator is that they treat causes and divisive issues like sports conflicts.  Since their stances are derived not from genuine concern for the future of humanity but rather just a character they have forced themselves to be, the people on the "other side" of theae issues are soulless monsters who must be converted, not understood. 

Where to find: Any green "tupperware party" type events. Fund raisers, bicycle collectives, protests, volunteer events.  They aren't necessarily using these events as a singles club, but their participation has a prominent spot on the aural CV distributed at parties and on Ok Cupid.

What to expect when dating them: A guy who is totally fine with whatever unconventional things you want to do, until you tell him you are only into open relationships.  Then he'll just start dating someone else without telling them about you, and casually break up via text after not calling for a week. In his head: "Ah, she was probably over it by then anyway. Besides, if she's into open relationships, she probably only forms weak emotional attachments."

*ie, anything but themselves.

Delusional Libertarian Biker.  They are trying to preserve the lifestyle of the old west, but they've got a day job.  They don't wear helmets, and they have health insurance.  They don't like the rules... specifically, ones that interfere with their personal agenda of drunk driving, reverently objectifying women, and being the most armed person in the room.  I say "reverently" objectifying women because in my completely outsider perspective of biker culture, women are respected and revered in a way that seems to render them somewhere between a largely incomprehensible sexual deity and ego currency.

Where to find: Pretty widespread, really.  Scottsdale mostly though.

What to expect when dating them:  A lot first world rebellion, complaining about drunk driving checkpoints, and a dense tapestry of rules regarding your conduct with other men. And every time he meets new people, he'll bring up how Obamacare is preventing him from opening his tattoo shop.

Bourgie Quasi-Hipster.  This is just a regional variant, made distinct by the proximity to LA. After spending their early twenties interning and building a career, they are trying to settle down as sleekly as possible.  They are especially style conscious and trying to distinguish themselves with their hobbies and travels.

Where to find: In large groups at Bar Smith trying to have a conversation on the roof despite the deafening house music and all the people grinding against them, then over to Hanny's to talk about how great it is the kitchen stays open until one and how the way you cut prosciutto is just as important as the quality of the meat. At Lux on Sunday afternoon editing photos of a wedding.  They've taken up photography, the most immediately validating hobby apart from casual sex.

What to expect when dating them: Either exactly what you like, or else you wouldn't notice this person exists. They resemble wallpaper wherever they are.  Their pants are so indistinct I often am alarmed to see a floating haircut without legs.

The Escape Capsule For Two. He is looking for somebody, anybody who fits a set list of criteria to start a committed relationship with and move somewhere else. This is the desert transplant variety of the serial codependent, who likely moved out here with a previous significant other. They don't like it here, but lack the resolve or initiative to leave on their own.

Where to find: Places that you and other people like you statistically are likely to be. The internet.

What to expect when dating them: At first, some truly transparent prospecting for their personal hangups both present and speculative in a ways that are insulting and passive-aggressive (He's afraid you're gonna get fat: "Cool, so I like to go hiking and stuff, I like to stay active" That you might be wasting his time: "So yeah like I went through my one-time hookup phase a few years ago..." You better not have shitty credit: "I'd like to own a house at some point, but I really don't like buying a lot of stuff otherwise.  I really don't wanna talk about money though.  I'm weird like that.)  If you pass this scrutiny, he will officially begin making your relationship into a social media meme until he feels it is established, then he will start trying to convince you your relationships with your friends aren't really all that deep: "So where would your dream wedding be? Madagascar, wow.  So which of your friends would you invite?  You don't think they would go? I'd definitely go!  Haha, yeah, I know. But seriously though, makes you think..."



Ok Cupid Breakfast Club. When you do something often, you start to get really good at it. If it is something that you can be good at. Is there a way to get good at searching for internet porn? Or do you just become more efficient and particular in what features you're looking for? I am not going to try to impose my values, I am just here to describe observed behavior. In a large city, dating sites are a starry sky of twinkling soul mates and glistening orifi to be experimented with in an environment nearly devoid of social consequences.  In a smaller city however, it seems you end up with people self-colonized by sexual and social proclivities.

Where to find them: Widespread.

What to expect when dating them: at least 5 other sexual partners who will probably be into the same stuff as you!

Part-time Journeying Fake Shaman. Took a few classes at SWIHA, but have not finished any of the programs because they are unattached to the construct of completing things.  Has a fascinating narrative for why any established practices of western medicine are wrong, which he will tell you as he rolls up a cigarette. Constantly reminding you of how real and intense a good reiki session feels, and that you should have a session with him.

Where to find: If you're in Phx, go on Facebook. Go to "nearby events". Anything with "drum", "tribal", or "retrograde".  Or go on Craig's List and look up "rideshare to Sedona". Or just register on Groupon and get one of the "$10 month of yoga" offers that pop up every week and go hog wild.

What to expect when dating them: It'll be great, he'll accept everything you do, and you'll accept everything he does... until you don't accept something, and then the relationship ends, and you'll both be okay with that and still hang out, and maybe even keep having sex... and it'll be just like when the relationship was still on, and you'll be okay with this... until you're not okay with it anymore, and he accepts that, and you both burn sage and stop talking, and you'll be totally fine with that.  And you will start looking at your time stuck in traffic on the I-17 every day a "spiritual journey".

Bread Winning

Skosky: You wanted to see me, ma'am?

Jess: Stosky come in, take a seat. Can I get you water? Coffee?

S: No thank you.

J: Stosky, do you know why I called you in here?

S: Well the numbers from the baked goods section are out, so I assume it's about that?

J: You are correct in your assumption.  I'll be honest:  The numbers are not very good, and I think I know why.  But before I give my theory, do you have any guesses as to why our store-baked bread loaves did not sell, despite your slogan being stuck on each bag?

S: Well, I heard that the sizes of the initial batches were too large, so many customers wound up picking up loaves that were not fresh, so it tainted the public perception.

J: That may have been the case at one or two stores, but the numbers are abysmal throughout the valley.

S: Do you think it's this new paleo diet?

J: No Stosky, I don't.  I'll cut to the chase, I think the tagline is confusing people.  "So fresh, it is almost as though we baked them here"  Stosky, you came up with the tagline, right?

S: Yes, ma'am.

J: Please, just call me Jess you needn't be so formal.  Stosky, if you were at a supermarket looking for bread and you saw that printed on loaves in a bakery, what would you think?

S: I would think it is a memorable line with a folky, pleasantly sarcastic sense of humor

J: And where would you think the bread was baked?

S: Well I think it's obvious that the bread is baked in our in-store bakery!

J: Is it obvious?

S: I think it is.

J: Stosky, we polled our customers about where they thought the bread was baked, and the results may startle you.  Kelly has the raw data, but in general people just did not understand that the bread was in fact baked in ovens not 30 feet from where they were filling out the form.  Stosky, what was your major in college before you got your MBA?

S: Creative writing.

J: And what was your ambition?

S: Well, at the time I wanted to be an author but, discouraged by the lack of stable income, decided to get my MBA so I could get to use my talent with words to write ad copy and designing marketing campaigns.  I'll have to look at the raw data, do you think more people filled out our polls disproportionately in low-income areas? If we incentivized them with coupons, we may have over represented people who were too under educated to understand the obvious sarcasm.

J: No, we used the same number of forms from each store.  Many of the employees didn't even know, it actually created a bit of confusion. We fired several bakers for missing shifts, and they are suing us because of the confusing wording on the stickers. I thought to myself, "How did such phrasing get a green light? Who was in charge of that?"  Joan, could you send Minton in here?

Minton: You wanted to see me, ma'am? Hey Stosky!

J: Minton, please take a seat.  So you approved of the line "So fresh, it's almost as though we baked them here" for our store-baked bread.

M: I did! It is a delightfully quaint sarcasm.

J: Before you got your MBA, what was your undergrad degree in?

M: English literature.

J: You wanted to be an author?

M: No, I was more practical. I wanted to be an English teacher so I could promote literacy and preserve the sanctity of the English language.

J: And what made you change your mind.

M: Have you ever had to deal with a room full of teenagers?

J: Have you been to one of our board meetings?  (laughter subsides) Seriously though, Minton. I take it you've seen the report-

M: Now before you draw any hasty conclusions, you should know there were stores that baked too many loaves in the first batches that might have tainted public perception because-

J: I am familiar with the tainted public perception theory and I don't think it was a factor.  Have you seen the poll results?

M: Well, have you seen the state of public education out here?

J: Nobody knew that we were baking the bread in-house!  Why was such an unclear slogan promoted?

S: My original copy had a winking emoticon to highlight the sarcasm.

M: Emoticons are not words, don't insult our customers' intelligence!

S: They are a natural evolution of language!

J: Guys, with or without the winkie, the sarcasm is not obvious and the sentence is too long.  There are reports from a few of our stores that a crowd of people is forming near the bakery who are too embarrassed to ask if the bread was baked in-store. It is getting in the way of people trying to place orders, so we are putting up signs to clarify.  These are the indicators of a disastrous campaign.  What do you have to say for yourselves?

S: Wait, you're putting up signs? Don't I get a say in these things?  I wrote that campaign!

M: Yeah, and if we just hand people an explanation we're not encouraging them to think critically. 

J: Guys, we've had this conversation before, haven't we?  Let's look at some other recent campaigns.  Last year there was the campaign to change the word "pumpkin" to "The most ubiquitous autumn squash" that resulted in record low pumpkin sales for us and record high sales for any competitor within half a mile of our stores.  You put the word "partially gelatinous" in our ice cream brand that resulted in the FDA making us change the name due to the volume of calls they received.  What is the pattern that you see in this?

M: People are stupid.

S: Can I work in accounting?

Missed Connections

October 15th, 8AM:

October 18th:

WILLY

Willy, this was so romantic of you, really.  However, I'm a little hesitant to phone you directly at this point. Please understand, you are very charming and funny in a downtrodden way, but I just didn't experience that sort of chemistry. Also, "begged"? I would scarcely assign the term "begging" to you assertively offering me a cigarette and then repeatedly commenting about how funny it is that two people on bicycles smoke. I accepted the cigarette because you intrigued me, but you using the term "begged" either implies a domination fetish or that you like to use guilt tactics to establish power over people emotionally. The "old man" line also added to this.  I was wondering why you kept making wisecracks about the lone grey patch in your beard. Now I know. I suspect you would use the following terms to describe yourself: "quaint", "full of character", "echoing with unexpected wisdom".  These terms were also used to characterize a well I visited in Flagstaff recently, so I can't take all the credit.  They do not apply to you, a man in his 40's who has not left the country or done much more than maintain a beard and play slide guitar in a bluegrass band.  Not that these are things to be ashamed of, but your "seen it all worldly old wise man" act is a bit presumptuous. 

October 24th:

BECKA

Wow.  I've never been called out on the "Old Willy" thing, but I guess I'm even more out of practice than I thought.  You're right, you didn't beg me for a cigarette.  My instincts told me you were jonesing for one, so I made the offer. And for the record, you accepted. Eagerly.  You stuck around to smoke it, so I cut the silence with some small talk.  I guess I'll just wipe this egg off my face, sorry I offended you.  I'm no good at conversations.  I wish you could see me in my element, with the band. It's not something I can write on cardboard. My band plays at the Cadillac Ranch this Saturday night. Please come.

October 28th:

WILLY

Perhaps I let my effort to be clever get the better of me here, I apologize for being a little callous. If you are OK with your life, then I'm sure you will meet someone who is as well, there is no reason to sound so terminally crestfallen.  You are playing the "innocent simple guy" card, which my ex-husband was an expert at.  It was like every one of our fights was filmed before a live studio audience who had to vote on who they liked better, and he would always win.  Sorry I didn't go to your show, I just don't want to get your hopes up.

October 30th:

BECKA

I know what it's like to have your heart broken, but you have to let go of your grudges if you're ever going to move on.  You need to find an outlet, and I can help.  If you'd come to one of my shows, you'd hear how I work through it in my music.  If you don't get over it, it gets over you.  Just give me a chance, I'll be whoever you need me.  My band plays at the Elbow Room this Friday.  It's a public group setting, you can leave whenever you want.

November 1st:

WILLY

That is really kind of you, however I have made other plans with an old friend.  I don't want to promise you anything, but maybe, just maybe we will stop by at some point during the evening.

November 4th:

BECKA

I know what "old friend" means. I can't help you if you don't want to help yourself.  Also, I've noticed you at Lola's the past two Sunday mornings (I'm not stalking you, it's on the way to my daughter's house). You seemed pretty comfortable with your "breakfast club" there. You know what I mean. 

November 8th:

WILLY

First of all, old friend means "friend I've known since college", why the hell would I advertise the sort of thing you are implying on a sign?  Also, I don't quite understand your last comment. "Breakfast club"? Are you implying that I'm involved in some sort of weekend partner swapping? Not that it's any of your business, but they are dear friends of mine and mostly married with children.

November 10th:

BECKA

Do you think that once you start a family, all sexual adventures end? Personally, I have found that age has made me bolder in my pursuits.  The challenge is finding the opportunity to get away from the kids and other responsibilities.  Fortunately, I have a solution for you and your friends: I own a luxurious villa in Steamboat Springs.  How would you like to own it?  Sounds ridiculous, I know, but hear me out.  I own the building for the month of April, and due to a change in my financial situation (Hey, we're all hurting, am I right?), I am looking for someone to take the top floor off my hands at one twelfth of the market value.  Just email me at the address below and I'll send you the contract, and you can own a villa in Steamboat Springs for the month of April, today! Unbelievable, right?  Make sure you call your friends to get their consent before you sign anything.  Believe it or not, sometimes people are hesitant, they think there is a catch.  Most of the time though, they are just as excited as you are.  So call them right now, and this April will be the time you and your friends get over all their sexual inhibitions.  And I can help if you want.  Otherwise I'll be just downstairs.

You're Welcome

Thanks for the pen.

You're welcome, of course.  Is this your work?

Yes, it's all my work.

It's very nice, I like it here.

Thank you!

It's really fitting for this space.

Thank you!

...

Just to be clear, I didn't mean that in any weird passive aggressive way...

Haha, I know

I know it could have seemed that way, like as though I thought this place was awful or something.

It's OK, you're fine

I mean, I guess why would I come here all the time if I hated it, right?

Yeah, totally.

Of course you don't know that I come here all the time, you've never seen me before.  For all you know this is my first time here and I hate it.

No, not what I'm thinking at all.

And the place is under construction, so that adds another level to it.

Yeah.  I guess it does.

I guess you just never know when you're being passive aggressive to someone, it's really not entirely your decision.

Totally.

Justin's World, Part 2

A priest, a rabbi, and a Buddhist monk are captured by angry natives.  The chief or whatever says, “You have two choices: We can kill you, or you can meet the Aristocrats.”  The Aristocrats are a group of large male natives who will violently fuck every orifice on your body for hours and then leave you in a ditch.  The priest is given the choice, and says, “Well, to choose death would be in effect suicide,  which is a sin, and frankly the Aristocrats’ act has a familiar ring to it, so I’ll meet the Aristocrats.”  With that, the priest is grabbed by his arms and legs, his clothing ripped off, and he is violated repeatedly and discarded, left bloody and full of sperm and covered in contusions, the whole ordeal having taken place in plain view of the rabbi and the Buddhist monk.  The chief or whatever asks the rabbi, “So, what will it be? Death or the Aristocrats?”  The rabbi responds, “Oy! That looks very unpleasant… but I don’t want to abandon my loyal congregation… besides even as a teacher of the Torah, the afterlife is grim, just a dull grey waiting room, and I’m in no hurry to go there.  I choose the Aristocrats.“ And with that, the rabbi is pulled away into the bushes and brutally assaulted, every muffled bone crack and squishy suckling sound of holes stretched beyond intended use clearly audible to the Buddhist monk who remains stoic throughout.  The rabbi is tossed down the hill, barely breathing but still able to crawl off.  The Buddhist monk is given the ultimatum: “Death or the Aristocrats.”  The Buddhist monk says, “I am a peaceful person and have respected all forms of life.  I cannot condone this sort of disgraceful conduct by participating in it, so I choose death. “Very noble choice,” says the chief or whatever.  “Death it shall be.  But first: The Aristocrats!”

-Ancient Proverb

"The angst of my particular generation..."  Justin ponders this as Rick continues describing his algorithm for modesty in discourse.  “In a conversation between equals, I try to maintain a ratio of saying three things for every two things the other person says.  I’ve found that most people subscribe to this ratio without even knowing it, and so our efforts offset one another, with a struggle that maintains the conversation’s momentum.”  “What could be in the mirror?”  Justin decides to keep his situation secret, but to solicit help. “Rick, what is the angst of our particular generation?” “Why? Are you writing a novel again?" Justin had talked about his novel-writing phase with Rick like it was an ex he was bitter about.  “Yeah, I heard someone at an open mic joke that everyone who claims to be a novelist in their early twenties will be aspiring screenwriters by their thirties.” “So you’re devoting your life to spiting that guy?” “What’s this life you speak of?” “Did you even talk to him?” “Come on, Rick.  Angst of our generation, 40,000 words or less. Go.” “That steampunk has gone too far.” Justin interprets this with the same careful effort he used when coming up with his excuse for writing a novel: the type that happens over one long sip of water. “You mean that we are too concerned with capturing the past and in denial of the present?” “No! Where the hell did you get that from what I said? That’s just a refined phrasing of the ol’ ‘Everyone around me is so dead inside and all they care about is reality TV’ bit that went out around the same time as ‘suburbs have no culture’.” “Well there’s still a lot of lousy TV keeping the public ignorant.” “And it serves an extra purpose of making otherwise intelligent people think that they’re ‘One of the few people who are paying any attention!’ when in fact you can’t go anywhere without everyone having their own meticulously constructed opinions.  You can’t even talk anymore, everyone’s a troll.  That’s the angst of our generation: everyone’s disconnected individual personal concerns." Justin isn't finding this useful. "So why steampunk?" "I fucking hate steampunk!  That's my current angst.  The angst of a generation would require checking a pulse, and we have no veins or arteries anymore, just a bunch of people trying not to get caught being part of the problem.” “So then maybe that is the unifying struggle? To not be part of the problem?”  “Well I don’t know how unifying it is, many people simply devote their time to helping the poor and disenfranchised, they wouldn’t relate to that at all.” “I don’t think that’s a way out of being part of the problem.  Community service does nothing to solve the corporate greed that will continuously causes problems in the first place. If anything it perpetuates corporate greed by cleaning up its messes.  And what if by treating the symptoms, you only artificially forestall a revolution?” “I still say just write about what you know: cultural minutae and social issues.” “Or how about I leave the country in protest and write about that?” “You mean, retreat and hide away somewhere? As though to start a movement? As though the problems will go away on their own if enough people ignore it?  As though if we get enough heady ex-pats hanging out in dive bars in Paris and Berlin and less angry people in America, the problems will solve themselves?  How? Will all the Wall Street execs and CEOs look at the growing number of people leaving the country in disgust and have their feelings hurt or something?  Like there’s a list they keep and they’ll be like, ‘Oh no, not Justin Fisher!  He was so hopeful when he played baseball in high school, how did we fail him?” “Well there has to be something that connects everyone. Are you… are you counting? Jesus Christ, Rick!“

The subject is changed and Justin leaves after eating, decides to observe people from the comfort of his local jazz bar.  He instinctively wanders towards his usual spot in the smoking section, and a woman in her 60s offers to light his cigarette despite him having his lighter already out and starts talking.  Justin recognizes the pattern right away: he is about to be unloaded on.  Seeing this as a perfect opportunity to perfect his latest conversation escaping tactic, Justin started pretending to send a text message as he sets as many alarms as possible on his phone to ring in a cluster to give him an out.  He decided to give her 15 minutes, in case there was the prospect of anything useful coming out of this.  “Man, when I was your age I just couldn’t stand the government, I protested and everything.  But look at this bar, full of married couples your age trying to settle down.  You’re here alone, not trying to settle down, right? Doesn’t it make you mad to see all these people so care-free with all the impositions of this administration?  I protest myself whenever I can, when I’m not busy running a small printing business with my husband.”  “Ah, a libertarian.” Justin thought.  He pondered Rick’s algorithm as the woman expounded about unfair drug laws and the evils of socialized healthcare.  Her face was windswept by age and tobacco use as much as by exchanging rhetoric with her husband, who promptly joined them.  The conversation was like following a debate on an online comment thread: an infuriating parade of useless sentences, and he couldn't resist the anger.  He snoozed his alarms over and over, and they were the ones who decided to leave.  Justin imagined them talking about 'how speechless that boy was' on their ride home as they abruptly departed after a brief, slightly ajar window of opportunity for retort. As they stood up, the woman said, “Harvey, you almost forgot!” Harvey then explained their little tradition: “When Bernice and I were still just dating and penniless, we would go out once a week, every Sunday, to have dinner at a different café.” Bernice interrupted, “They had to be different every week because we would walk out on our check!” “Right.  Well one night, we were about to leave when Bernice noticed two quarters left in the ash tray.”  Bernice continues “He didn’t think much of it, but I said, ‘Harvey, I think someone left these here to offer hope for whoever is poor enough to accept it.’ Harvey was too proud at first, but I convinced him! I told him, “Waiting for a good opportunity isn’t about holding out for something good enough for you. It’s about taking what you are given and making it good enough for you.’”  Harvey continued, “The fifty cents itself did not go very far towards starting our business, but symbolically it has kept us going through the toughest of times.” “So now whenever we go somewhere with an ash tray, we drop two quarters inside so maybe someone will not be too proud to accept hope.” “Oh shoot, I used my last two quarters over lunch.  Say young man, do you have any change?”

Justin’s bed was lined with “Particular angst of my generation” novels, from “Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius” to “The Great Gatsby”.  Having spanned so many decades, he begins categorizing generations in odd terms.  Leaning into the wall of sleep, he thinks, “We’ve had the generations that worked hard, generations that fought, generations that settled, generations that partied, generations that apologized… is mine the one that decides to check in to rehab?”  His dream was a recurring dream that he woke up and had to make an acceptance speech for something.  Normally it is for something absurd, so he gets to pontificate about how ridiculous the world is, but this time he won the Nobel Prize for literature for the novel he has yet to write.  He can’t see the crowd, his senses can’t focus on anything except the din of expectation.  He could hear distorted excerpts of… his novel? Reviews?”  “…spend their lives running away from sociology…” “…all the louder, the reverberation of hollowness of unfulfilled dreams…”  “…wit that sizzles like bacon: trendy, nutritionally empty bacon.”

Justin wakes up, and his dream has sapped him of all words, as though they were spent on those sentence fragments from his dream.  Recognizing his impenetrable indifference, he wanders on foot to Essence to surrender his existence to the mirror.  "Anything is better than trying to make sense of this" he rationalizes.  Once he arrives, he enters the bathroom not expecting to return, and he asks the mirrors to just swallow him.  The mirror replies, "What, you mean with no novel at all?  That's not how it works." Justin demanded, saying he thought the deal was pretty straightforward.  "If you want it so bad, I, the mirror, will swallow your existence.  Once you have written a novel that captures the particular angst of your generation, that is.  Two weeks."  "Well what about the alternative? What if I just don't write anything at all?"  The mirror chuckled.  "Look at the people who surround you.  That is your alternative.  See you in two weeks."

Justin's World, Part 1 (edited)

Tell all the truth but tell it slant,
Success in circuit lies,
Too bright for our infirm delight
The truth's superb surprise;

As lightning to the children eased
With explanation kind,
The truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind

-Emily Dickinson


Justin hasn't actually interacted with a person since about 3 months after the day he moved downtown.  Hell, he'd hide his true nature from animals if he could.  He lives in a city where "downtown" is an actual place, not a direction.  Those first 3 months consisted of about 2 dozen sincere conversations that tended to follow a certain cycle of being impressed about other people, then depressed about himself, then he would get perspective and begrudge everyone else for not being better than him.  This cycle quickly stopped occurring in a logical order, leaving him bored and distant from the realm of cause and effect.

Justin latched onto Rick, the very first of his sincere conversations. For Justin, Rick was like that first jazz recording you purchased that you were convinced blew your mind until you realized they all sound like that.  This makes you feel ashamed and terrified, so you buy more and more jazz records, and you start going to jazz clubs. Rick's first jazz album happened long before Justin was around, and he has realized nobody actually gets jazz. They meet at an actual jazz club which is popular mostly because it has a really large partially outdoor area where people can smoke cigarettes and order drinks, and the live jazz is audible yet far away enough to talk over, so it feels like you're in an old movie.  Tonight Justin is with Rick and Rick's friends at the jazz club.  Rick is with Jess's friends, and Jess is with Israel's friends, and Israel came there by herself.  They were trying to convince Justin to hook up with Michele. "I would sleep with her if she didn't... exist so hard."  This came as a relief to the group.  Israel confirmed, "Actually, yeah that's a good way to put it." Rick says, "Yeah, he does that pretty well."  Jess adds, "I know, which is great, that's exactly the sort of presence Michele needs right now." "Ironic, non?" Israel sometimes adopts the affectation of a sultry, world-weary French woman.  It is estimated that every time she does, she saves herself 4 hours of reading or 2 hours of considering the human condition.

Justin changes the subject, "Rick how do you and Jess manage? You both have all these projects... I can't even keep track of your projects... maybe that's why I'm single, all I do is try to keep track of your projects.  What are you guys working on right now?"  When you don't really care about the answer to a question, sometimes its emotional depth and invasiveness go unnoticed.  Rick replies, "We're collaborating on a photography project actually." "Oh are one of you modeling for the other?" Jess continues, "Not exactly." Rick takes over, "So I was sitting at Nonna's, you know, that coffee house on Walnut? And I was editing photos for a wedding I did.  Dude, both families were LOADED, and big time assholes but I'll be able to splurge on the latest version of Final Cut because of them.  These narcissistic fucks actually paid me to follow them around for the bachelor and bachelorette parties.  It was so awkward. There was so much crying and apologizing. These people are crazy. Anyway, as I sort through hundreds of pics of drunk people in thousand dollar outfits, I felt someone watching me. So I turned around unexpectedly, and this woman's eyes shoot around like she was following a fly.  So I thought, "No fuckin' way, that woman was looking at my screen", and lord knows what she thought.  If she's not a photographer herself, how does she know those pictures are work and not just my weekend?  Then I looked around the room, and that's when it hit me: Almost everybody in that room was a photographer.  Everybody was editing photographs on their laptop and loading them to their website.  I could see weddings and other paid gigs, and some experiments." "Wow, you're giving the long version." "That's alright, keep going, I love it!" Israel encourages people's indulgences the way alcoholics encourage others to drink.  "So I decide to start taking pictures of people in coffee shops editing pictures. I already have two coffee houses that want me to hang 15 pieces."  Justin replies, "So meta! But where does Jess come in?" "I distract them!  I start a conversation..." "And she wears these ridiculous outfits and costume jewelry, it's quite an act."  Justin jokes, "It would take all that to distract people from your beard."  Rick has a huge beard.  He and Jess have domesticated a duck for companionship and for the eggs, and Rick waterproofs his beard by rubbing it against the duck's ass every other day.

More people start to join the group.  It's Saturday, so Justin drinks sidecars until he loses track of who he is speaking to, referencing parts of the evening to people who were not present for them.  Nobody calls him out on it. A caustic one-hitter of charred bud is passed to him a few times, and the person who keeps giving it to him who may as well be Rick asks if he is still trying to write the novel that captures the particular angst of his generation. "Shit's fuckin' archaic. Who really pays attention to novels except fuckin' other writers? Why don't I just make a Myspace bulletin about the particular angst of my generation instead?"  He reaches a state of mind where he usually rants at length, but realizes he has spread that rant throughout the evening with disapproving glares and sneering double entendres where instead of sex, the second meaning is "fuck you" and he's talking to himself. He wakes up partially naked on his floor, having failed to successfully masturbate, and miserably hungover.  He burps and realizes that instead of ordering water, he probably ordered pernod several times.

That afternoon Justin meets Rick at Essence, an eatery with really edgy menu and truly incendiary usage of glass and white and green bathroom tiles that closes at midnight. "Yeah I'll take a food menu. I'm starving."  Rick was confused.  "Didn't you just text me from Morning Glory?"  Justin did go to Morning Glory Cafe, where he ordered a coffee and spent half an hour staring at the menu trying not to puke until an allergy attack started.  After the second sneeze he began to feel self-conscious about enduring an allergy attack just to have a meal.  He felt like he was broadcasting that he wanted to be there too much.  It was revealing to much about him. He goes to Morning Glory regularly, usually alone, and without usually conversing with anyone, so he already feels like a creeper.  "It would be an act of desperation to stay a moment longer", he thought. So he threw cash on the table and bolted.

Justin looked at the menu and excused himself to use the bathroom, which inexplicably featured exposed brick, completely at odds with the rest of the restaurant's design, which resembled an Apple store.  He picked two protruding bricks to support himself as he dipped his head into the bowl to minimize the sound of impact.  Given his condition, he wasn't surprised to feel the room spinning and sinking, but when he opened the bathroom door to use the communal sinks to discreetly clean his face, he found himself in a room full of mirrors that was not the room he entered the bathroom from.  A face appeared in all the mirrors and addressed him by name.  "Congratulations, Justin.  You have hit the switch to unlock the power of your true potential.  You will now be given the opportunity you've probably always dreamed of: to write the novel that captures the particular angst of your generation.  You now have the power to have your wisdom reach the masses.  However, with opportunity of course comes conditions.  If you do not write a novel that captures the particular anxiety of your generation in two weeks time, you will be sucked into the mirror.  Go forth now, and complete your mission!"

Tripped Over Air

When you reach out to me
My trachea blows out the sun when I breathe
I exhale enough to apologize for 
The darkness it leaves

And explain away whatever beast 
The calamity awakens, but in doing so 
I funnel it oxygen
The other patrons stare
Straight ahead to pretend I'm not there
As I get back in my seat
Using a bucket and a spoon
"That man likes his air..."
His friend says, "Too soon!"
They are genuinely scared
As my eyes scan the room
Like hands fumbling for a key
Knowing the one I want is in a distant bag
I collect air once again
Like I was Shahrzad telling King Shahryar
A bedtime story in drag
The sense of chasing and being chased
Will leave you breathless in place
And breathful in space
And your peace will deeper
Than it was before the race

Thoughts of a Dancing Man (And the Waitress He's Courting)

I saw her earlier, I hope she hasn't left yet. Well if she was still here then she's probably closing.

Ok, 25 minutes left and I'm leaving.  If Jeannette thinks I'm going to stay late and wrap silverware off the clock because she spent all night flirting w/ Kalan again...  Was that guy just dancing?

Should I face the back wall?  I mean, why would I face the doorway?  If I face the wall, it will look like I really just don't even care if people see me. I'll just look like a guy casually practicing his hip hop dance routine in an empty room at a café.  No wait, I've seen the way I look from behind, my arms look super boney and the back of my head comes to a point. Plus I need to make eye contact with her and look all young and optimistic, like I haven't been defeated by the world. I'm pretty sure that's been my problem. Girls like a guy who has dreams and ambitions.  Otherwise the relationship just turns into codependency.  

Do I want to walk by that room again?  It looked like he had headphones on, so that means I don't have to acknowledge him, right?  I could walk around the other way... DAMMIT! Roger is over there, and he'll definitely say something to me, I've been avoiding him all night.  Ugh.  "Regulars" at a cafe is just a fancy word for stalkers who tip.

I wonder if she has ambitions like I do.  She works as a waitress at a cafe right now, but maybe she goes to ASU? This is a bit of a drive from ASU.  Wait, this place is closer to Grand Canyon University than ASU.  Fuck, that would mean she's weird and Christian.  Is someone being Christian reason enough to not date them?  No way, that can't be right! That would make me a bigot or something, right? I mean, I don't know if I'd be down with waiting until marriage for sex, but maybe I could convince her to go all the way sooner... like maybe a few weeks? Wait, is what I am thinking about rape?   

Fuck, I still need to clear out that room.  What if there's someone in there? That would be so creepy.  Should I like, ask Joe to go kick him out?  He looks so young and optimistic though, like he hasn't been defeated by the world.

Oh shit, here she comes!  She's... she's totally ignoring me and trying to clean the tables. SHIT, she thinks I'm a weirdo.  I should just get out of her way.  Yeah, and I'll mutter things about my routine, like a... a soliloquy and shit, like I'm a tortured genius!  I can totally imagine someone being interviewed about their rise to fame and their humble beginnings practicing in alleys and in the back rooms in coffee houses.  I'm just working hard, I'm so focused and I don't even notice she's there.  I'm dedicated, and I don't even give a shit about her. Girls like a guy who seems like he doesn't give a shit.

Oh god he's one of those people who says all of his thoughts out loud like he's narrating his life, even when nobody is around.  Well, I'm around, but I don't count.  Wait. No, I totally count. Why the fuck is he saying this shit out loud when I'm in the room? I gotta tell him he can't do this here.

Other customers? What other customers?  Man, I can't take this, she's walking all over me.   I gotta come back with something or she won't respect me.

Oh god that was so awkward.  Of course the room was empty, he probably scared everyone out.  It felt good to confront someone though.  Does that make me an oppressor?  Am I the world weighing down on him? Crushing his dreams?  Oh man, I totally want to go tell Jeannette about this... but if I do that I'll be roped into wrapping up silverware for sure.

Wait, she's standing just outside the doorway... I can see her shadow.  Play it cool, maybe she's about to come back in and apologize. Nope, she's walking away... yeah, she's definitely going to tell her coworkers about me.  Now for the walk of shame.  I'll leave my headphones on.  Shit, the cord hits the floor.  I'll just wrap it up and put it in my pocket.

Things Every Man Should Learn in His 20's (Written For a Magazine That Wants to Sell Me High-End Watches)

So every time I visit my parents, there's always a bunch of men's magazines lying around with these "20 Things No Man Over 30 Should Do" or "Lessons All Men Should Have Learned in Their Twenties".  I decided to make an exercise of phrasing them as accurately as I can remember them, but gently satirizing the essence of what I loath about every one of them.  The key word is "gently", for when you despise something it takes extra restraint to not be outwardly sarcastic, passive aggressive, or critical.

Dress your age.  Have at least two decent suits that fit.  The shoes you wear for exercise should be worn for nothing else.  Same goes for the shoes you wear to the office, to formal affairs, and on weekends.  Ditch all relics of teen angst, life is hard enough without dragging around the uniform from every heady phase you've ever gone through.  

Don't fall behind on picking up bar tabs.  Your friends are politely pretending not to notice.  If you can't afford to drink, you shouldn't be out anyway. You should be scouring the internet trying to find a better job.

It feels good to get behind political causes and stand up for what you believe in, but don't let it take over your life. By age 30, if the risk of living paycheck to paycheck without insurance doesn't bother you, you're very skilled at not paying attention.  Fix that.

Kids happen, plan accordingly.  Everything else is just a temporary phase you'll get over.

Never have a drink that is more than 25% mixed with grain alcohol before 2pm and never anything less than 50% after 7pm.

The internet is full of people who are skilled at making excuses for why they are not successful.  Do not buy into the cynicism of the "bad job market" or "bad economy".  Let others be intimidated, use that to your advantage.

Women are drawn to a confident man who is in control of his life.  Approaching a woman with the excessive nervous chatter that was charming in your early twenties will cause them to subconsciously eliminate you from their mating pool.

If you're thinking about buying it, and it fits in your budget, just buy it.  Your time is worth too much to be spent over-analyzing small indulgences, and you obviously want it.

Stop wasting your time on things that don't enhance your resume or earn you money.  Jealously guard your time, for it is the one thing that once it is lost you can never get it back.

Stop thinking that you are an exception to things.  All the ways you assess people, they are assessing you that way as well.  If you are reading this list and disregarding the parts that don't make you feel good, you're doing it wrong.

Feeling depressed or doubtful? Work out.  By the time you're done, whatever it was that was bothering you will have vanished.

How others perceive you is just as important as how you perceive yourself.  I know you've been told not to worry about the opinions of others, but comparing yourself to others is a really good motivator to achieve greatness.  If you're just trying to be good enough for yourself, how are you ever going to progress towards amounting to something better?

  

$100 isn't a lot of money.  It just isn't.

Stop buying anything at yard sales.  If you still have five-dollar furniture, then people are going to infer a lot about your level of maturity from what they see (and it's probably a pretty accurate assumption). 

Have a savings account.  Contribute to it.  You will find fiscal irresponsibility at this age to be unforgivable the older you get.

You are what you do for a living.  When you introduce yourself to people and they ask what you do for a living, and you have an imaginary asterisk at the end of that answer, they are not padding their assessment of you with the narrative excuses that you are.

Value your free time.  Make sure you have free time, and schedule how you are going to spend it ahead of time.

Eastern philosophies can be either an escapist barrier to achieving greatness or they can be what enables you to manage the stress while you achieve greatness. Like everything else, it all depends on how you use it.

Keep up with your watch, have it serviced every three years or when you change the battery.  Also, have a watch.  People with places to be at designated times have watches.

Everything you do is recorded in some way that employers can find.  Accept that and embrace it, and use it to your advantage that others may not.  Your reputation is the one resource that once it is lost you can never get it back.

Hanging Off the Edge of a Cliff

Man, you gotta stop doing that!

What? Pulling up people who are hanging off the edge of a cliff?

Yeah, don't do that.  We'll end up dealing with a ton of people hanging from cliffs.  We won't have any customers. Just people hanging off cliffs.

That's ridiculous, I was just trying to help the guy out.

You're not seeing the big picture here.  If we're nice to people hanging off the edge of a cliff, they'll come back with their friends who are hanging off the edge of a cliff.

But-

Everybody's trying to look cool and hook people up, even people hanging off the edge of a cliff.  Look, if you were a person hanging off the edge of a cliff trying to get some people hanging off the edge of a cliff pussy, wouldn't you tell that edge of a cliff pussy about where she can get pulled up?

First of all, if I was a person hanging off the edge of a cliff, pussy would be the last thing on my mind.  I'd be too worried about the condition of my balls.

When you're hanging off the edge of a cliff, you don't care about your balls.

Anyway, there's nothing we can do to stop people hanging off a cliff from coming here. I mean, they built this shit right by that cliff.  They had to know what they were getting into.  This ain't the Biltmore, yo!

I doubt that cliff was there before they opened the doors here. Or at least it wasn't that high of a cliff.

Man, that same cliff has been here forever. Opening a store on this block is like saying, "Hey! People hanging off the edge of a cliff! Come and ask us for free rope."  Anyway, what else have we got these courtesy ropes for?

They're just gonna end up back on the cliff again anyway.

But they keep the rope, so they can re-use it.

They're just gonna throw the rope out, or lose it when they're like on meth or whatever.  And by the way, you didn't throw him the courtesy rope. You threw him the deluxe rope.  If management starts noticing that the rope inventory is low and I get stuck counting ropes four nights a week, I'm gonna kick your ass.

Man, what you got against people hanging off the edges of cliffs, anyway? People hanging off the edge of a cliff say the funniest shit sometimes, you know?