The comment section to every "50 Shades of Grey"-related article

a narcissistic sociopath. So I can't imagine anybody, having read my exhaustive deconstruction of all the abuse masquerading as acceptable intimacy in this poorly written series (complete with page numbers and screenshots), would be able to offer any rational excuse for overlooking it.

Comments (2,452)

WTF is Irony says:
Wow, you sure put a lot of effort into something you don't like. It's just a book! If you don't like it, fuckin don't read it then! It's none of your business what gets other people off. Stop telling people what their opinions should be, how to express themselves, and how to live their life. I think people should keep their opinions to themselves. #idon'tneedfeminism,  #IfThisListWasAccurateItWouldBeHundredsAndHundredsofThisPerson

CaptainFairness says:
Clearly your personal experience as an abuse survivor has influenced your opinion. I think your personal bias should exclude you from the conversation. Sorry you had to deal with that though. Stay strong! #goodperson

TheDude7 says:
I mean, he may be abusive and manipulative and all, but at least he owns it! Y'know what I mean?
      NedBlanders says:
      No actually I don't, could you please elaborate?
            TheDude7 says: 
            You know! Like, when someone is an awful person and they know it, but they like, keep being awful anyway, that makes it OK, right? Because they own it! ... Huh, now that I wrote it out, I realize how little sense that makes. Why do people say that? I know I said it because I didn't want to actually examine my opinion but... Wait... Fuck! All of my friends are racist! I'm gonna go kick their asses then move to another city.

GoodMan2 says:
Yes! This! I am in the middle of trying to save a woman who is with a real life "Christian Grey". She left me for a wealthy professional who is very handsome and regularly takes her on "vacation" to Europe (clearly to get her away from her family and friends). According to mutual friends, they have really amazing sex, too. Poor thing has no idea that she's a victim of abuse. And he gets really upset whenever she is seen with me. I just happen to run into her sometimes at the coffeeshop she goes to every morning before work (he helped get her a job at his friend's successful startup... controlling much?!?!), and he went with her one day and was very rude to me. Very territorial! I'm even beginning to suspect that he has brainwashed her to dislike me, because (read more)

FlowerLuvins says:
Ugh, I agree! I couldn't get through the first book, it was just all of the unhealthy. People! Sex shouldn't hurt! And then, like, he tells her not to cum at some point. That's not cool! Not what sex is about! Doesn't he care about her pleasure? Sounds like just another selfish pig. She needs to get away from that negative energy or it's gonna bring her down.

AlarmedUndergrad says:
I am a psychology major, and I read this and thought "Hmmm interesting". I definitely agree that everything Ana goes through will be psychologically scarring. Most of the people reading don't realize that she has low self-esteem, and he takes advantage of that. It's scary how many of my friends just don't get it, and they are ALL ABOUT this series. I have explained, in legitimate clinical terms, how it is warping their development as young adults, but for some reason that doesn't change their minds. I am putting together some sociological data to show them, let me know if you come across anything.

RedPillLinux says:
Aww, what's the matter? Nobody pay attention to you because you got dumped by an alpha and put on all that weight? Looks like someone's been on the carousel too long and has nothing to show for it. Don't worry, I'm sure some beta will take on your loose meat.
   (1589 replies)

RighteousWhiteous says:
Ok, i get that he's manipulative and stalks her entire life, and it sucks for her, but I don't think it's sexist. Feminists need to stop making it about them because #notallmen are Christian Grey. It's just one story, and the genders could easily be switched. Why isn't anybody analyzing it from that perspective? #reversesexismmuch?

AsianSexTouristGalt says:
I'm gonna pop some bubbles, be the unpopular voice of reason here and point out the obvious: she clearly gets what she wants out of this. He buys her the expensive stuff all women crave, takes care of her... oh, and then there's the earth-shattering orgasms he delivers with his huge "penis endowment" (so to speak), she seems OK with that. Obviously you male haters have never seen a woman tremble beneath you because you gave her permission to. For up to half an hour. It takes a while to get to that point, and most men are just grateful they can last 5 minutes then go to sleep. I'm just being honest here, so if you don't like the truth, go back to your comfortable lies, I don't have time for you. I guess I'm a feminist in some ways, because I believe women should have AT LEAST as many orgasms as her partner, probably more. In my experience, definitely more. Maybe you're just dissatisfied with the sex you've had, or if your a guy your probably insecure. Hey, sometimes the truth is hard to take, but there's no avoiding it. Sometimes, a woman needs to feel a little owned. Deep down, she wants her man to challenge her decisions. It shows that he cares about her, and that he'd fuck up anyone who messes with her, no matter where she goes. And it makes the relationship more rewarding for him, too. It's just biology, we can't avoid it.

365Conscious says:
Of course, WESTERN medicine only recently "decided" that BDSM isn't a diagnosable disorder. I mean (read more)

PleaseHelpMe says:
Please don't be angry at me, but I really liked the book. You just have to read between the lines, ok? I think Ana totally knows what she's doing. I mean, yeah she suffers a bit, OK a lot, but in the end he definitely changes. Or at least, he is clearly on the road to being approachable, and she'll be able to get over her emotional trauma because she's strong, and she'll finally (gently, gradually) confront him, you just have to read between the lines. I mean, I'm pretty sure the sex is good, why else would she keep coming back?

MissyBee says:
Thank you for writing this! Every sentence was like "Yes!" I went through something like this once... never again!
  DevilsAdvocado says:
  Just to play "devil's advocate", if you will, I mean, doesn't she have free will?
    MissyBee says: 
    But he manipulates her! He knows exactly what he's doing. For example, when he totally shuts down emotionally and makes her (read more)
      MmmmYeah,LikeThat says:
      Well yeah, he's abusive and manipulative, but she perseveres and eventually he changes. Sounds fine to me!
        MissyBee says:
        Except he doesn't "change"! She just learns how to work around his sociopathy, which is different because (read more)
           OoooooohFuckYeahKeepDoingThat says:
           I don't know though, maybe she was asking for it a little bit? I mean, she never said the safe word, but she could have...
              MissyBee says:
              ARRRRGH! But you're taking it out of context! You have to build enough trust so the sub isn't (read more)
                OhFuckOhFuckOhFuck says:
                 I mean, doesn't her arousal negate any possibility of rape?
                      MissyBee says:
                      Umm... NO! Physical arousal doesn't mean (read more)
                          OOOOOOOHHhhhhhhhMMMMmmmmmmhhmmmmMMMM says:
                          It's not like he has a gun to her head. She can leave at any time. And she does, after the first book.
                             MissyBee says:
                            (BASHING HEAD AGAINST DOOR) NO! Like I said before, in my articulate and citation-laden multi-paragraph reply above, (read more)
                                 Thanks! says:
                                 Eh, maybe. I guess we're all entitled to our opinions. Good night!

Entfernt Daily Standard Sunday Editorial: The Stachel Abomination

Using "Rick Steve's European Christmas" travel feature as a writing prompt, I challenged myself to write something without resorting to surrealism, sex, paranoia, or meta. 

Greetings, Standard readers of Entfernt! I hope your Christmases were all so merry it bordered on the depraved. Indeed I've received nothing but reports of seasonally appropriate bliss, apart of course from one incident. For countless generations, we the citizens of this charming settlement outside the Grindelwald village in the Bernese Alps, have enjoyed a festive tradition in the weeks leading to Christmas. Each year, twenty-four households are selected by committee and assigned to decorate their home for a day in the Advent calendar and prepare dinner for all the visitors. Understand, this is not an effort to hoist Christianity upon the general public¹. Rather, this is all in the spirit of service to the community. Not only does it tighten the knittedness of our village, but each serving and decorated home provides dinner for all guests, the homeless included. Almost² nobody has ever been turned away. Though I suspect a vagrant with the tenacity to land in a settlement with no roads and either a €145/day snowmobile rental or difficult 2-day hike away from the nearest train stop would be able to get a job tearing tickets somewhere. Generally, the only sort of "homeless" person who wanders here on foot is a startup millionaire between Bay Area leases who will most likely use his trip as a story to shill a performance drink or masculine crisis retreat.

But enough of that. Overall, 2014 was an exceptionally fine year. The Zwanghaft family (day 8) served 8 varieties of fondue with 8 loaves of braided bread that were each 8 feet in length. 8 feet! Did it occur to anyone to ask how they went about baking something so large? If so please write in, I'm mildly curious. The Goodpaster household (day 17) challenged us with pickled cow tongue, a rite of passage for the Goodpaster children³. In every home were found humble, earthy displays of God's messengers carved in knotty wood or dried squash, or shaped from twigs and dried grape vines, and the food was all hearty, traditional fare. Sausages, cheese and bread displayed on dark planks of elm shaped like nearby wildlife, pickled vegetables: fare that is warm and welcoming. Then there was the Stachel house, who so happened to draw number 24: Christmas Eve. Now, nobody can deny that we lead somewhat simple lives here in Entfernt. Many of us are builders or miners, while others spend their days procuring firewood or giving walking tours to vacationers. Every commute is a physically draining trek through hills of snow and often tempestuous gusts of wind. I think I speak for us all when I say that curry lentils and rice hardly nourishes to the soul, and does not represent the character of our settlement. Folks politely inquired of the ingredients and were told it was simply lentils and water with spices. So essentially, we were served a tea full of ruptured beans. When further pressed, they said some clarified butter was added for the sake of richness. If only the Griffpresse family was around, they could have learned of how their butter is in need of clarification. I had some of their chive butter on rye toast this morning and it seemed perfectly articulate to me.

How heartbreaking it was, watching children on Christmas Eve fumble with a greying brown mash that in texture and taste resembled the remnants of a potpourri cooker. My family was fortunate enough to have a hearty stew of venison and carrots left over at home, and a few people who would rather not be identified joined us with some bread and cheerful commiseration. However I imagine some families, expecting there to be an actual meal provided, may have spent Christmas eve either hungry and disappointed, or waiting for something to defrost. Indeed another anonymous family, unwilling to retire in such hunger, prepared what they thought would be a simple matter of egg, flour, and cheese, but ended up eating at an hour more fit for breakfast⁴.

Now, far be it from me to look unfondly upon diversity of experience. The Esempio family (day 14) made crepe-style cannelloni stuffed with 3 cheeses and seasoned minced beef, which I enjoyed immensely. But stuffed cannelloni is part of the Esempio family's cultural past. Perhaps redoubling my ire is the inauthenticity of the whole affair, and the cynical shallowness that we would accept their culinary appropriation without question. The Stachels have more generations here than almost anybody else. The joke is that they evolved their short legs and wide frames to steady themselves on skis and rocks! This cheap novelty comes off as phony, and it is deeply immoral that they subjected the hardworking citizens of Entfernt to an experiment that could not have possibly gone right.

While I want to commend those who tried to reduce the tension, I think it is best they learn from immediate social dissonance. One guest's comment that "Well, the himalayas are also cold and majestic" was well-intended, but thoroughly misguided. Though this is being published anonymously, I want the Stachels to know that many staff members and contributors at the Daily Standard stand behind this. That being said, my aim is not to incite a sort of passive-aggressive uprising. I just want the Stachels to know that there are people who disapprove of their behavior without adhering to those people the stigma of disapproval. Perhaps even the Advent Committee will take note of this public complaint and assume the Stachels have read it and learned their lesson, and thus be granted an opportunity to redeem themselves in the near future.

¹The general public being 94 people, 78 of whom are practicing Christians.
²There was one incident on record, in 1852. Apparently Richard Wagner says some, well say "divisive" things when he's had too much gluhwein. Legend has it that after he was removed, the remainder of the evening was spent trying to come up with one of those handy German portmanteaus for when something is "both dark and pale".
³This lack of squeamishness almost certainly explains how Neils Goodpaster moved to Brazil to be a marine biologist.
⁴Actually, it turned out quite well and may become a yearly tradition of insomnia and storytelling layered with crisp pastry for them.

The Advice Column the Guy Next to Me at Rustic Coffeeshop Read

So you're the guy sitting next to me in a small, woody coffee shop in a quaint, historic town in central New Jersey on December 28th, 2014. Apart from a haunted building or two, the town is a web of gallery-restaurants with the sort of clientele that is one tapeworm away from never leaving. You live near enough that you're on a first-name basis with the staff and local dog walkers, and you seem to have read an advice column about how to write your novel in a coffeeshop. From my casual observation, here is that advice column:

-Dress like the protagonist in a film about a ragged cyberpunk genius composing his masterpiece while dealing with the transition past middle-age. George Clooney would play you after losing and gaining the same 35 lbs two dozen times.

-Be sure to listen conspicuously to an old Walkman. Rewind emphatically over the parts that resonate with you. Potentially type the lyrics, look at them and nod. The meaningful kind of nod that makes the table shake.

-Speaking of which, your grizzled, serious demeanor should say that you are listening to a grainy Tom Waits bootleg that has been stored in a vault made of chlorine tablets, but the sound emanating from your headphones should say that you are listening to "I Am the Walrus" over and over again.

-Be sure to type very loud. Like, troublingly loud. Strike the keys like hailstones falling on the windshield of dad's silver Lincoln as you and Sarah made love for the first time. Type especially loud for sentences like that one. If the guy next to you (me) is not openly staring at you, marveling at the resilience of your keypad, you don't really mean what you're saying and Random House won't return your calls.

-Throw shit around, but on a tiny scale. Your novel is a house; your phone, Walkman, and scone are power tools, and inspiration is like a wall you see sagging, so you must drop them and reconfigure immediately to nail it before it tumbles to the ground. Pretend you are The Who and this 4-foot ledge is the Waldorf-Astoria.

-Do not acknowledge any males in the room. This part is difficult, because you are sharing a small, wobbly section of countertop with specifically one male.

-Be sure to whisper lines to yourself while looking around whenever a line extends to where you are sitting. Make me, the guy next to you, imagine the parallels you are drawing between the music, your story, events in real life, and current news events.

-Make it clear that the one current event missing from these parallels is the woman who sits next to you, i.e. where I am currently seated. Katja is 27, but her soul is as old as loneliness is hungry for habitude. The contradiction between her black yoga pants and her copy of "Mona Lisa Overdrive" intrigues you, but before you can coyly inquire about her bionic implants, she slides you a note that reads, "36th dock, 9:30". You know better than to speak, but not better than to let your stare linger on her legs a second too long. You try to keep writing, but you can feel her measuring her advantages over you, so you leave. You wander past Giuseppe's Pizzeria & Art Gallery... Nigel's Dry Cleaners & Art Gallery...  Urgent Care Clinic & Art Gallery... Finally it's 9:30, and Katja is at the end of the pier, her back to you because she knows she could kill you with one perfunctory kick, and because she knows you have been thinking about her ass for the past two hours. It turns out that Katja is the young plaything of an aging reclusive billionaire known only as The Walrus, who employs naive MIT graduates too heavily in debt to ask questions as interns. He has them compress code and design bionic microchips, then selectively wipes their memories clean so all they remember is debt, coding, and some residual Protestant work ethic instilled by their upbringing. Before you could ask what they were building, Katja leans in and bites your lower lip, firm yet playful. Her body welcomes you like an indebted stranger, giving you what you desperately want without granting any sense of victory. Once your cock is fully invested but not spent, the voice of The Walrus speaks in your mind, revealing his grand design. Katja's sexual appetite contains enough RAM for The Walrus' personality to thrive as an AI, and they needed a compatibly sexually frustrated body to serve as a host for the transfer. Your body. The consciousness of The Walrus usurps your own, and you begin to eagerly smear Katja's vaginal secretions, enhanced with millions of microchips, all over yourself. They are burrowing into your skin, and in the final twilight of your sentience, you hear "coo coo ca-choop”.

Joe & Debbie's Wedding Toast

Hi Joe and/or Debbie! Thank you for following my link. I will keep this here so that you may look upon it in times of nostalgia or times of strife so that you may reminisce as the pages yellow with time. Woah, what if there was an app that could make a web page yellow like paper in real time? You guys can take that idea and run with it, consider it a wedding present.

December 6, 2014

So Debbie approached me several months ago and asked if I would write the story of how Joe proposed to her and present it at the wedding. I was unsure of how to proceed, so I looked up how to write a wedding toast story on Yahoo Answers. They suggested that I put it off until the day of the ceremony, eat some cole slaw that was left in the sun for 12 hours, and write whatever pops into your head without editing it. So here we go. As many of you recall, the story of Joe and Debbie began literally 174 hours ago. Back then, Joe was about... 5 lizards and Debbie was 43 pigeons, if I remember correctly. They met right outside of That Restaurant Where They Only Serve Insects. Joe stood there staring at the pigeons (but only the ones that were Debbie), doing those pushups lizards do, hoping Debbie would check him out. Debbie approaches him, lights 27 cigarettes (the other 16 of her were trying to quit at the time) and Joe said, “I heard this restaurant only serves customers who are insects.” Debbie said, “I heard they only serve insects as food.” So they walk into the restaurant, only to find no insects at all. People were talking about insects, how they are ugly, how they are beautiful, how they are delicious, how they might have stopped existing decades ago. Joe said, “This sucks, there are no insects here, let's eat at my place.” “Oh,” Debbie replied, “I don't know if we should go that far. You are a lizard. 5 of them. What if you change colors on me?” “Please,” said Joe, “I am incapable of changing colors, so I paint them onto my canvas.” Debbie laughed at that line for 45 minutes. Joe knew there was only one way to recover, and I think you all know what he said. Everybody, say it with me: “You are like the first tornado of spring, I am a virile salmon king. Suck me up and spew me all over Arkansas and we'll grow like mold on mayonnaise”. Have more loving words ever been spoken? If that doesn't appear on a t-shirt soon, well, I'm just gonna stop wearing shirts! Anyway, the moment Debbie accepted those words, the 43 pigeons and 5 lizards that Debbie and Joe were started becoming people and less of them. Today before you stands approximately two people. Two people who are deep inside, still searching for insects with the intensity 43 pigeons and 5 lizards, together, just like the rest of us. Maybe some day, someone will find an insect, but for now, we'll just have to wait. Joe, Debbie, congratulations and may you always be the writhing supernova of understated eloquence you are today.

Monnn

11-22-14 around 2PM, I am approached and asked for change by a man and a shy woman. The guy had very earnest eyes and a facility with words that would make him really good at telling jokes (he looked a lot like Brendan Small, which might be why I thought this). I am digging through my bag for money and a lost bag of nuts, and after a few moments pass he says, "I didn't know that it would be such a struggle." The way it was timed, I thought he was being sarcastic about how much effort I had to expend exploring my bag, and the irony that he would call that a struggle made me laugh. I also pushed my chuckle and drew it out a little, the way you would laugh to generate mirth on a bad date, an austere crowd at a standup show, or with a homeless person who said something genuinely funny. Then I realized that he was not joking about my fake struggle, but referring to their very real struggle, thus rendering my laughter highly inappropriate. We parted ways after the exchange with no attempt on my part to address my laughter, but here is how I imagine said explanation would go:

Guy: I didn't know that it would be such a struggle.

(drawn out laughter)

Guy: It has been difficult, anything you can spare would be so helpful.

Me: Oh jeez, sorry, I thought you were joking!

Guy: About what?

Me: About how I was struggling with my bag!

Guy: What do you mean? I'm sorry to cause trouble, but it's just... we haven't had-

Me: -Oh no, it's not a struggle at all! Sorry I interrupted you. I just thought-

Guy: -It's OK, I-

Me: -I just thought it was ironic that you would call my search through my bag a struggle, considering what your daily existence must be.

Guy: It hasn't been easy...

Woman: Like you have any idea what our daily existence is like. Why do you think he'd joke about that?

Me: Well, he just has a very sincere face.

Woman: If he looks sincere, why do you think he was joking?

Me: Maybe he was being sarcastic, like someone walking by a construction site carrying a pizza and one of them says "Look who brought lunch!" They know it's not for them, they're just joking.

Guy: Why would you carry a pizza right in front of a bunch of people who are working and hungry?

Woman: Thanks for telling us what sarcasm is. Still doesn't explain why you think he was joking.

Me: I think part of it is that he looks like a comedian I like.

Guy: Oh is that so? Which one?

Me: Oh, he's not all that well-known...

Guy: What, are you saying I haven't heard of him?

Woman: Can't you see? There is no comedian, he's just making excuses.

Me: Fine, Brendan Small!

Guy: Is he funny?

Me: Yeah!

Guy: You don't sound too certain of that...

Woman: He doesn't sound too certain of anything!

Guy: So I remind you of an unfunny comedian.

Me: No! He is totally funny, he writes great character dialog that really captures the tediousness of human interaction, but I have seen him attempt some jokes in his stand-up that used pejorative terms to describe people born with ambiguous genitalia, and-

Guy: -Oh no! We missed our train while this guy was rambling about political correctness like some social justice warrior.

Woman: I think he just wanted to use the word "pejorative".

Guy: Now we'll never make it to the food bank on time!

Me: I found this bag of cashews!


Now here is how it would have gone if I wrote the homeless people as people and not just an extension of my guilt, paranoia, and social anxiety, and myself as a person instead of a narcissistic warrior fighting the hydra of his sense of inauthenticity:

Guy: I didn't know that it would be such a struggle.

(drawn out laughter)

Guy: It has been difficult, anything you can spare would be so helpful.

Me: Oh jeez, sorry, I thought you were joking!

Guy: Oh yeah?

Me: Yeah, about how I was struggling with my bag? It's such a mess, haha.

Guy: Oh yeah, hahaha. Well thank you so much.

Woman: God bless you!

(they head off to train)

Me: Good luck!

Now here is that interaction if we had all secretly taken mushrooms and they hit the moment the guy says "struggle".

Guy: I didn't know that it would be such a struggle.

(drawn out laughter)

Guy: Why was that funny?

Me: (still searching through my bag) I can't seem to hold onto anything, it's great!

Guy: I hold on to too much.

(brief pause, still searching in bag)

Me: Are you still here?

Guy: You can look at us if you want to.

Woman: Careful, that was mean...

Me: (emerging from bag) No it's OK, I'm here now. Nobody's mean.

Guy: What are you going to do with those?

Me: (look at keys I'm holding) Oh yeah, money! (back into bag) Sorry, my bag is such a mess.

(Guy and Woman are staring past one another, I eventually emerge holding money and bag of cashews and look past them for a moment, then start taking tiny, tiny steps closer to them)

Woman: Oh, hey!

Me: Here they are! Here it is! (hand them goods) Sorry that took so long, you must've been standing there wondering if it was worth it.

Woman: It was so long, thank you for making it OK to mention!

Guy: I know! Thank you so much for saying that, and for the monnn.

Woman: God is truly everywhere

Guy: Monnn

Me: Time is not the avalanche I thought it was, but a different one I may never see?

Woman: Monnn

Guy: Monnn

Woman: Monnn

Guy: Monnn

Me: You guys are the Best, and what's more, have the Best day! (swinging arm to accent "Best", then walking off still spinning arm in similar fashion for three blocks)

Most Unappealing Conversations in History, Part 8: I Really Appreciate Music. Wow

What follows are two actual conversations, about 45-60 days apart, overheard at a coffee shop in Phoenix on Sunday evening. I'm pretty sure it is the same girl, first with her mother then with a date. I think the date is the guy mentioned in the first conversation. I find the contrast fascinating. She is 27, blonde, in good shape, anglo-tan. Tertiary female role in Judd Apatow flick. For first conversation, wearing a wholesome white textured polyester dress, like they just had dinner somewhere nice, but wearing flats. For second conversation, some sort of printed cotton dress you'd see in piles at a farmer's market, awful mixture of beet red, black, & purple with shapes that approach some sort of symbol nobody would expend the energy to discern.

Girl and her mother
This was originally condensed into short hand, out-of-context quotes, and summaries/meta commentary, am reconstructing now after hearing the second conversation.

Girl: She just keeps going to parties every weekend, keeps drinking. She slowed down a little since...
Mother: I was really worried about that night. Still am.
Girl: I don't go out with her anymore. She met this one guy on OK Cupid, and they had 3 dates before he asked to be her boyfriend. 3 dates! Then, get this: It's only been a month, and he said he's in love with her. And she said she loves him back. Like, I don't even know what to do. She's always like...

(complains about this person inaudibly)

Girl: I just sat there for two hours. She seemed OK at first but then she started crying and I was like, "really?"
Mother: Well that's what friends do, hon!
Girl: Mom, you just aren't educated about this stuff.
Mother: If your friend was upset and crying, you just gotta listen.
Girl: No, I'm sick of being a people pleaser. I could have done anything but I just sat there listening.
Mother: I'm sure she'd do the same thing for you!
Girl: I would never make her do that.
Mother: But that doesn't matter, it's just what friends do.
Girl: You keep saying "that's what friends do" like it means something. You have no friends.
Mother: That's not true.
Girl: No, you just have people who come to you for stuff.
Mother: I have at least a few people-
Girl: Name even one friend.
Mother: I don't have to. I'm not-
Girl: See? You can't!
Mother: No just-
Girl: No, don't dodge the issue, mom. You don't have any friends, you just let people go in and out of your life when they need you. You're a people-pleaser.
Mother: Will you let me say anything? I'll admit that I am there for my friends, and some had a lot of problems.
Girl: You confuse friendship with pity. (missing section) He was just a rebound from dad, you know it's true. Then you married him and used him. He wasn't perfect but that wasn't fair. It always felt forced having him around.

(indistinct complaining about friends)

Girl: And now I live with them and it's just frustrating. Their problems are my problems. (repeats theme a bunch of times)

Girl: Someone will accept me for who I am instead of what I do for them.
Mother: Maybe you're helping people with their problems to avoid your own problems or learning about yourself?
Girl: No, I just have a problem because of my impulse to help these people. You do the same thing, you just need to get educated, then you'll learn. I'm always listening to people talk about their problems, and I'm like, I don't care. I mean, I do care, that's the problem. I just end up with these people who always need my help.

(editor's note: Haha, what if I asked her to watch my laptop?)
(same thing goes back and forth, starts to get heated)
Mother: I just don't understand how it was such a big deal that you listened to your friend talk about her issues.
Girl: What!? I didn't listen to her talk about her issues with me, I sat there at work listening to her crying with her dad on the phone! How did you not get that?
Mother: (laughing) That's not what you said!
Girl: No, I said it like 5 times.
Mother: Well then of course you shouldn't have sat there for all that time! You just sat there the whole time? Why would you do that?
Girl: I don't know, it just seemed like-
Mother: I don't think that's your friend's fault!
Girl: Now you're just trying to upset me.
Mother: I'm not!
Girl: Can we just be quiet for 2 minutes?

(Girl rests head on table and does breathing exercises, snaps at mom when she tries to speak. Eventually starts talking about trees and weather)

Mother: You can't spell 'natural' without 'nature'.
Girl: A park isn't nature. It's a patch of grass with dog shit in it.
Mother: But parks are fun!
Girl: You can't do something just because it's fun. Fun ends when you're little. Eventually everything stops being fun. We don't have the imagination of a kid.
Mother: I think it is healthy if you acted childish.
Girl: You wouldn't be worried if I was in the backyard talking to imaginary friends? 

(missing part)
Girl: (describing adulthood) Those dull moments where we are trying to escape are life. Joy is just the unexpected beautiful moments.

Girl: I hate being that person, the one everyone comes to talk to about their problems. When people come to me for help, and I always give it to them, for me it is so easy to see it is unhealthy.
Mother: If she gets that from you, she's gonna take it.
Girl: She calls me and says, 'I looked really cute today!' And I play into it by acting interested, playing right into it. I ask what she was wearing, but it's like, 'I don't give a shit!' I would not call someone and say, 'I looked cute today!'
Mother: She's probably on Facebook all the time.
Girl: Actually, she deleted her Facebook.

(subject changes to a boy who always asks her how her day was)
Girl: I'm not the type of person who is going to just say 'My day was this', like, you need to ask me, then I'll tell you. I don't like small talk, like who cares how your day was?
Mother: Well that's an ice breaker.
Girl: I don't get it. How is 'How was your day' an ice breaker? You don't get to know someone by asking how their day is. He just asked me about my day so he could talk about his day.
Mother: Well how was his day?
Girl: I wasn't even listening. Is that bad? I prefer conversations that have depth.
Mother: (laughing) You're a little snoot!
Girl: I guess that does sound a little stuck up

Now with a slightly hippie-looking guy
This is all verbatim, except where otherwise noted, with the extraneous material removed.

Guy: I basically plant trees in Paradise Valley.

Her: Paradise Valley is so beautiful! Wow, so you're like, a real human. You're working with the Earth, not like everyone else who works at a desk, like behind computers. Like, society is turning people into robots. (next sentence paraphrased for coherence) We're all losing touch with our ability to relate to one another. Like, the new iPhone has a chip in it so you don't even need to use a credit card. We're all like turning into robots. (inaudible part missing) And like, the radiation? No thanks.  (inaudible) We don't use our imagination anymore.

(he inaudibly mentions his music healing gig, which seems like something they've mentioned before)

Her: Music heals. Something about music... it's amazing. I really appreciate music... wow.

Her: (paraphrased) I'm an Autism consultant. I quit my corporate job years ago so I could like, be independent, then I started working for some friends for this Autism consulting firm, but somehow I am a vegan cook right now.

Her: I'm not a hippie. I have a lot of personalities ... I've seen a lot of documentaries ... I don't eat meat. I eat fish ... I've been trying to live an organic life. No chemicals or GMOs ... I never deprive myself ... I do a lot of yoga, I wanna teach yoga. I have a lot of interests.

Him: So do you like... smoke?

Her: I haven't in a long time.

Him: Sorry, I didn't mean to- 

Her: No, it's ok, it's cute.

Her: I smoked a lot like, when I was 18, then I got over it. I think the last time was when I was twenty so like, 7 years ago. I mean, it is OK that other people smoke pot, it doesn't bother me. As long as they have a job and like, don't do it every day, it's totally great. ... I'm very affectionate when I smoke.

Him: Oh yeah? That makes sense because like, it makes you feel more things. Like, everything feels good. ... All the sudden I realize this genre of music had so much going on, and I wouldn't have seen that if I wasn't open.

Her: I've read some articles (paraphrase) about how people can take pot for ADHD. I think that it makes sense. I have a theory, because so much of ADHD is about overstimulation. Instead of so much stimulation, maybe lower the senses.

Her: I am all about energy, and when I saw you I just knew I should talk to you at some point. ... I wanted to at least make sure I said bye every day.

Her: Yeah, no I don't like looking at my phone. People want to talk to me every day and I'm like, I have close friends I haven't spoken to in, y'know, 6 years but if I talk to them tomorrow, it'd be like no time has passed. But people will text me and call every day, people want to talk about their problems and I'm like, “Why are you telling me all this negative stuff?” I try to avoid Facebook, people always posting about bad things.

The Shredding

What follows is a true story, with inferences made, creative liberties taken, and names changed.

It's sunny, Saturday and Josh's parents' three-car garage smells like lawnmower gasoline. While his loyal bassist Rob slaps out Nintendo novelties as warm-up, Josh writes a list of what songs to run through, once the new guitarist arrives. He is late. Josh's hands are numb from an intense episode of weight lifting, so he only writes the first word of the songs. "Good" They are all songs in heavy rotation on Philly-area rock stations in 2002. "Under" Cam, the new guitarist, found their number on a posting at Guitar Center that advertised their need for a guitarist along the lines of Guns n Roses and Red Hot Chili Peppers. "Iron" Their drummer got into Berkley so he left. "Interstate" Cam's leads were sloppy but determined. He had shown up to every practice with a different pair of leather pants, which Josh found more exciting than a person should.

Rob the bassist was by far the most technically proficient of the group, but was either extremely repressed or still empty. He is missing the karate lessons or mind-blowing sex that would imbue his identity with drive, confidence, nuance… anything other than flawless bass runs replicating the work of the default heroes of latter teen white males. His hair is short and mouse brown, his loose t-shirt makes him look doughy. Despite his confident presentation, Josh's dark chestnut eyes withhold neither criticism nor personal terror. His outfit wicks sweat as efficiently as his voice produces unease. Carefully guided as though being thread into a machine with no exhaust vent, the sound is pressured and off pitch. Usually just above the note, which makes Cam wonder if he is crazy for noticing, especially since Rob is constantly telling him to retune his Gibson Les Paul, a particularly expensive and well-crafted instrument that ought to be able to withstand more than one song without requiring adjustment. Cam had greasy chin-length brown hair and aviators on at all times, wearing a dirty white Batman shirt and leather pants with black Italian dress shoes. His pockets bulged with cigarettes, wallet, and a flask of gin. He resembled an A & R guy from 1988, or a Zippo ad.

In Josh's Words

So I'm listening to Cam play and thinking, "Man, this guy's chops are shaky but he's really got that style we're looking for." I mean, not just the awesome pants and whatever, but I'm listening and I'm like, "His leads are just so full of energy, I can feel it." And that's important. I know Rob doesn't like him, but he'll come around. I wish he wouldn't stop us so much and just let us get through the song and work out the imperfections later. He has a point though, Cam's rhythm a bit chaotic and uneven. I should just trust Rob. He's like, the true musician of the group. He's so gonna be the voice of reason when we get big.

We're still working on "Good Times, Bad Times", and it's a little above my range but I think I'm doing alright. It's hard to tell though, Cam's guitar keeps going out of tune. I'm glad Rob has perfect pitch, keeps us on our toes.

So I tell everyone to take 15 so my voice can rest, and I'm waiting for Cam to finish yet another story. I try not to let Rob's facial expressions affect me, but I'm like, "Do you know how conversations work?" It's like he's trying to be a standup comic, but instead of punchlines he just starts another story. Worst of all, he apologizes for talking too much and is like, "So what are you guys doing tonight?", then starts talking again! Now that I think of it, what am I doing tonight? I have to write a report for that market simulation thing for macroeconomics, that's due Tuesday and I don't even know what I'm summarizing yet. I hope we can get through practice soon, it's crazy that I'm even doing this today. I probably won't even have time to go running.

So Cam is rocking out some riffs, and I'm thinking, "I was bobbing my head before, bro, but now I'm not. Don't you think that means you should stop so we can move on?" Then he stops as Ariella approaches with the dog, and he checks her out hardcore. I'm telling myself, "Cam, not cool. You know that's my sister." Oh god, don't try to chat her up! She couldn't be less interested in this, she only listens to Top 40. She is completely indifferent to music. Sorry sis, but you know it's true.

Rob says "How about we try that Chili Peppers song?" We play it all the way through for once, though Cam has a few false starts on the beginning. We were gonna run through it again, but Cam suggests we go find a new song. What the hell? I mean, I noticed he wasn't too excited about the Chili Peppers, which disappointed me a little because they're like my favorite band. I guess the guitar parts are a little boring for him, but he needs to learn how to take the back seat sometimes. I can tell Rob agrees, he's giving me that look. We convince him to do a few run-thrus, but then he asks to use the bathroom. That's what that break was for 5 minutes ago, dude! Whatever though, Rob and I will run through it, you can go ahead and make my house smell like cigarettes, that's fine.

Oh man, what's this guy doing to us here? We've gone through the song like, 3 times now since he left and I'm telling myself, "I gotta go check in on Cam before Rob starts freaking out." So I go in, OK, and he's not in the bathroom. I walk through the living room to check the other bathroom, still no Cam. Is he in one of the upstairs bathrooms? I head through the family room past the kitchen towards the stairs, and I find him… it doesn't even matter what he's doing, but it clearly shows his total lack of dedication to the band.

So practice is over. I help carry his amp as Rob plays his bass unplugged, doesn't even look at him when he says "bye". As soon as he's in his car, I look at Rob and say, "So he's out, right?" Rob says, "Oh yeah, big time." "And not just because of the whole thing with my sister… though that was pretty obnoxious." "Nah man, he's just not there yet, technically." "And he's an asshole." "That too. And what was up with that Jewish comment?" "I didn't even know what to say about that shit. And the way he just stood there in the kitchen all cocky, like nothing was wrong." "Someone needs to shoot down his ego." "Were you playing the Jeopardy song when you were unplugged?" Rob smiles in mock sheepishness. "Haha, that's awesome! You're awesome!"

In Rob's Words

I can't believe we're still playing this song.

I don't know why Josh keeps giving him chances. We'd be better off not practicing at all and trying to recruit someone else.

Why did we start with something so guitar-heavy? "Under the Bridge" is all chords, we should have done that first. As if he could even handle that, I mean he's off the mark on even the loosest strum patterns.

Alright Josh, you need to start taking your voice lessons seriously. How can we play live if you're constantly going sharp? How many times can I tell Cam to retune before you get the hint?

What the hell? It's like he can never play the same thing twice.

Maybe I should suggest we assign each other homework. I'd tell him to just strum through basic chords in a simple rock beat for a two hours every day. You have to go through points A & B before you start point C. I doubt he has the focus to do that, but I mean, that's how all the legends started. Gotta start with the basics. Josh may not be perfect but man, he works at it.

If we have to do this song one more time I'm gonna suggest we just remove the guitar solos.

C'mon Josh, your voice is not tired, you are. I don't know why he can't work out after band practice.

Great, second hand smoke will do wonders for Josh's voice. And more booze. How can someone with their mouth engaged in multiple vices still talk over everyone?

Ok, done being polite, just going to start playing my bass unplugged until we start again.

Uh, no Cam. You have no chance with Josh's sister. She's looking grim. Did she spot someone with more expensive sunglasses? Did she run into one of the quarterbacks she used to bone on his way back up to Columbia for the semester and have to explain where she was going?

He wants to make us learn more songs? He has yet to coherently play any of the ones he already made us learn, but he wants more?

Yes, bathroom break, because that is what we need, more standing around.

Ok, it's been like half an hour. I hope Josh just tells him to leave.

Finally. Ugh, time to go put up new flyers.

Cam's Story

Rob requests another retune. This time, Cam just pretends he is turning the knobs but not actually doing anything. Sure enough, Rob is satisfied after a few plucks. Cam has a theory that 90% of people who claim to have perfect pitch are just trying to seem interesting and get laid.

After 2 successful runs of a classic Led Zeppelin tune in an hour, Josh's voice needed a break the same way Cam needed a smoke, so they sat in front of the garage and talked of their weekend plans. Josh had to study, Rob was working on some nondescript computer startup thing, and Cam planned to go to the beach, but wasn't sure which one, which blossomed a pleasant topic. Josh and Rob related their nice times at various shore towns, but were dominated by Cam's tall tales of inebriated adventures with strangers, minor property damage, and generalizations about certain shore towns. "Yeah, Margate is lame, full of rich JAPs with bullet-proof tits." Josh gives a diplomatic laugh and asks what a JAP is. "Wait, fuckin'... you live in Jersey and have never heard 'JAP' before? It stands for Jewish American Princess. Like, chicks that are super spoiled by daddy who owns banks." Rob has begun noodling with his unplugged bass. "Oh ok. Well, I'm half Jewish, so… I guess that makes me half Margate-ian?" A moment settled into place as Cam lit another cigarette, jacked up his amp distortion and went into a riff he kept playing in the hopes that it would spawn a legend.

Rob and Josh were sharing glances as Cam was loudly trying to make that anthemic riff that would render all guitar playing superfluous, looking very pleased with himself. A woman approaches who seemed to have a sort of Stockholm Syndrome with her own attractiveness. Cam watches her still on the sidewalk with a dog; she looks demurely downward and away from herself, hiding from neighborhood dads inside an XL t-shirt that only drew more attention to her boobs. "A St. Thomas t-shirt?" Cam decided that nobody so disengaged and melancholy could possibly enjoy St. Thomas, so it must be ironic. "The same way I don't really like Batman!" Cam abruptly stops playing and rallies Josh & Rob's attention to his cocked eyebrow and unmistakable intention. They look confused, and Cam wonders for a moment about their sex organs. She turns up the short driveway and flashes Cam the most platonic smile that ever failed to serve its purpose. Cam tried to explain what garage bands are while offering her his flask. She declines and comments dryly to Josh about the dog's latest bowel movement, then recommends they have fun as she closes the door into the house. Josh looks embarrassed, "Yeah, that's my sister." Cam is looking for any way to bring practice inside for a bit. "Hey how's your internet here? Maybe we should like, listen to some more songs?" Josh and the bassist share a look as Rob replies, "I don't know, I think we should get through one of the songs we've already picked. And learned." "She seemed so bothered", thought Cam, wistfully. "Clearly she hates this town. So do I! We'll run away together. I'll drop out of school, we'll move to the west coast and make music. We'll sound like Joy Division, but with soaring melodic guitar solos." He loses track of Josh's comments about his playing of what he secretly deems "Yet another boring Chili Peppers song", imagining ways he can show Josh's sister that he totally knows about angst. Cam excuses himself to use the bathroom, hoping to see her on the way.

Cam imagined that she would be in the kitchen doing something futile, like chopping fruit. Was the kitchen on the way to the bathroom? Not so much abandoning as forgetting his alibi, he walks straight past the open door to the bathroom and into the empty kitchen. Struggling to ignore that his presence in these rooms was growing more inexplicable with each intrusive step, he continued through the living room, past another bathroom, and starts up the stairs when Josh's mom walks through the front door directly behind him. Cam's sheepishness is misinterpreted as something she could find endearing as he offers to assist her with groceries, hoping maybe to deliver a bag of produce to Josh's sister. He is coming up with possible dry one-liners about fruit and dog bowel movements, and is interrupted when Josh approaches and apologizes in monotone for his mom enlisting him to help with groceries. Inundated with embarrassment and failure, Cam can only express himself by leaning against a door jamb and smelling like cigarettes. Josh enumerates his afternoon plans to his mother and tells her practice is over. He never tells Cam that practice is over, instead just goes out and helps carry his gear to his car. Cam is excited that he got away with his raid and drives off to the coast singing minor key declarations and inventing places to meet Ariella.

Cam was never formally kicked out, Josh just stopped returning his calls or texts. The rejection, paired with the knowledge that he'll not likely get the chance to see Josh's sister again, drove Cam into a brief depression that would preclude his auditioning for any more bands. He spent the remainder of summer being dragged by friends to shows in VFW halls full of insufferable straight-edge kids, lamenting the death of the guitar solo to anyone who would listen. Ridicule drove him to take his case to online message boards. That is where someone instructed him to purchase Jeff Buckley's "Grace". He spent Fall finding places to stare at trees and quietly cry for something that he had not yet seen destroyed but knew he would because of what he'd begun building.