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.