"Profiles" in Abuse: The Gaping Sinkhole

Eric Heather Haddox

In my previous post, I wrote about how abusive situations make you feel like leaving isn't an option. This post is about forms of group denial.

Another blogger came up with the idea of the missing stair. Basically, the missing stair is a problem or person [problem person] in a community that everyone simply steps over.

Do they replace the stair? No. Do they warn other people about the stair? Sure. Does that mean everyone, especially those new to the community know about the missing stair, so that they can do their best to avoid it? Probably not.

In the context of the post, the missing stair is a rapist within the BDSM community. What's staggering is that, although the writer didn't name names or give any identifying information, everyone knew exactly who the post was in reference to.

They knew. They knew they had a rapist in their midst, as in "Oh yeah, that's Charles, the rapist that also happens to be part of my social circle. He's not so bad once you get to know him."

The post over at Pervocracy is worth reading in full and then reading again and sharing with all your friends. Special points for using the phrase "Rape Babysitter."

The story of Profiles and Darrell W. Cox reminds me of this concept—because people knew about the abuse. They knew that there was something off. His fellow actors / employees (?) formed unofficial support groups around this guy. His co-director enabled him every step of the way. Women warned other women to stay away, keep their distance.

We need a new metaphor here, for a person who abuses those under his power with relative impunity, enabled by the system(s) in place around him. Darrell W. Cox was not a missing stair. He was a gaping sinkhole.

For years and years, important things would go missing. They would get too close to the edge of the sinkhole and be swallowed up whole. Dairy cows. A few really nice couches from IKEA, the kind you proudly buy when you get your first apartment. Once, an entire bus full of Swedish tourists got sucked in and was never heard from again.

For nearly three decades, those who lived by the sinkhole whispered stories about it, of what might happen to you if you got too close. Roughly once a year, someone would put up a sign warning passers-by. But the sinkhole would quickly swallow that up too.

When someone would make the bold suggestion that perhaps something might be done about the sinkhole, people would point out that the sinkhole was an extremely gifted communicator. Many spoke of the unique gifting that the sinkhole had to preach and spread the gospel. Yes, there was the matter of the cows and those unfortunate Swedish tourists, but sometimes, sacrifices must be made.

I once worked for a CEO who went through assistants like some people go through jars of Nutella. I think everyone (including the higher-ups) knew that he could be a difficult person to work for (how could they not?), but I have no idea if they knew the extent of it.

He was extremely intelligent and charismatic. Of course he was. Sinkholes always are.

Even now, I wonder how he could've happened. How and why was he allowed to engage in abusive behavior in a professional environment? Was everyone blind to it? Did they just not care? Am I crazy for thinking "This is crazy"?

At a certain point in most abusive contexts, you learn to accept the unacceptable. Gradually, you become tolerant of behavior that in any other context would strike you as absurd, even nonsensical.

Maybe no one bothered to warn you. Maybe everyone around you is acting like this is normal. Maybe there's a giant, gaping sinkhole beneath your feet and, "No big deal. Just walk a mile or two to avoid it and you should be fine."

"Profiles" in Abuse: You Don't Need a Reason to Leave

In the latest scandal to rock the theater world, Profiles theater recently shut down due to allegations of abuse, sexual harassment and exploitation published in an extensively researched article by the Chicago Reader.

Before this, I had never even heard of Profiles theater. And now, sadly, I will never get a chance to see one of their shows (sarcasm alert).

Despite my lack of personal connection, I wanted to lay out some of the most striking and familiar aspects of this particular story—the things that strike me as uncanny (because abusers and abusive environments often share a lot in common) and the things that strike me as indicative of abuse as a system/structure (not merely the actions of one evil person).

Good.

This story doesn't come from the Chicago Reader, but from a blog post published by an actress who worked with Darrell W. Cox at Profiles.

Emily Vajda describes sitting in a chair "being abused for hours" by Cox after he misinterprets something she said:

I remember thinking, “Listen, breathe, rebuttal.” And so that is what I did. I would listen to his abuse, take a breath, and refute it. I threw his teachings in his face. I didn’t back down. I had no idea I possessed this much strength. And that is a beautiful thing to realize, to recognize one’s own power. 

Later that same night (after a break) she comes back to the theater for "round two":

There was one lone chair in the center of the stage, presumably for me, while the rest of the company sat in the audience, watching. I sat down in the chair and said, “Round two? Bring it.” And he brought it. And I fought. And no one stopped it.

There is much that is troubling about Vajda's story—she points out twice that no one attempted to stop the abuse. No one stood up for her. Instead, they watched.

But reading this, what strikes me the most is this:

She didn't leave. She didn't walk out. She didn't even seem to know that she had any choice but to endure the abuse and fight back.

By "leave," I don't even mean quitting the theater or the production. I mean simply leaving the physical space in which you are being abused.

I'm not saying this to place blame, but to point out how abusive environments work. They mess with your head—and the effects can linger long after you've gone.

Back when I was in an abusive work environment, I promised myself that as soon as my boss said or did anything even remotely abusive to me personally, I would leave. I prided myself on what I referred to as my own personal "Zero Tolerance Policy."

But of course, it wasn't simply the person who was abusive—it was the entire system.

What I wasn't able to fully articulate at the time was this: You don't have to wait around for blatant and outright abuse in order to leave. You can leave at anytime. You don't need a "good" reason.

As a culture, we seem to pride ourselves on sticking it out, perseverance, when the going gets tough, etc. But what about leaving the first time he calls you a "bitch," what about looking for a new job the moment your manager starts making veiled threats—what about walking away before something terrible happens.

We all want that one moment—that one, undeniable, awful thing that justifies us and our actions. So that when anyone asks, we can point to it and say, "See? I had to leave. I had good reason. I made the right choice."

Often, there is a part of us that knows before we know—that sinking in our stomachs. That awful feeling of shame. That primitive knowledge best expressed as, "This feels like shit." Even if you can't express the "why."

Personally, I tend to overestimate my ability to stay emotionally detached (read: safe) in certain situations (I believe I am the exception to the rule).

The voice in my head is saying, "This is crazy. This is not normal. This is wrong." But it is the nature of extreme communal activities (like theater or working at a start-up) to get inside your head, to justify what in any normal situation would seem insane, so that you are no longer thinking clearly.

Part of this is just the sheer camaraderie involved—the good feelings, the connecting with other people, the genuine affection you feel for those you are in the trenches with.

None of this (the staying, the personal investment) makes you a brainless herd animal, it is simply part of what it means to be human. And abusive systems take advantage of that. The system is f***ed up. Not the person.

I applaud Vajda for fighting back against an abusive bully. I only wish she hadn't felt like that was her only or best option.

How to Manage an INTP

The title of this post is ironic, of course—you can't actually "manage" an INTP. If you do, he/she will simply give you a strange look conveying either, "The f***?" or "Come again, I couldn't hear you over the deafening roar of my teeming brain"

I jest. But only a little bit. 

When I contemplate dealing with authority as an INTP, it makes me want to laugh, cry and give up. When my bosses contemplate having to deal with me, It's probably much a similar response, though I'm sure some of them would go straight to strangling me to death with the nearest USB cable, zero tolerance policies be damned.

But it doesn't have to be this way! Things can be different! I believe! I hope! With all the irrationality of that first hit of caffeine at 9:37AM on a Monday, I hope and believe that we can do better than both homicidal rage and crushing indifference. 

I hope.

My theory is that with just a little bit of strategy, you can get way more value out of the INTP than whatever salary/rate you happen to be paying them, simply by capitalizing on the INTP's innate strengths and pre-existing inclinations. 

So let's just get this out of the way at the very beginning: The INTP does not respect you. 

Sorry to break it to you, but just because you are the boss, just because you are in charge, just because you hired her, just because you are signing his paycheck—means nothing. 

To her, the hierarchical structure of boss/subordinate is primarily a formality. An irritating one, a necessary one, perhaps, but mostly, just a formality. 

However, the innate disregard for authority demonstrated by the INTP must be carefully distinguished from an active, purposeful rebellion against anything perceived as a power structure.

The INTP is usually not out to actively subvert power qua power—too much work, and she has more important things to do than overthrow Capitalism. In other words, it is unlikely that she will leap to her feet at the next client meeting, yell, "F*** you and your commodity fetishism!", break something, and then storm out.

Also important to note: respect is not the same thing as following/taking direction. The INTP is perfectly capable of doing this. 

Which leads us to the first principle of managing the INTP: 

#1. Do not expect or demand performative deference.

It is possible to demand respect for no other reason than "I'm the boss." But all you can truly demand of a subordinate is the outward expression of respect. Not the reality. You simply don't have that kind of power. And do you really want to force someone else to respect you? 

Don't answer that.

The INTP does not respect you because she respects something else more—the work. 

The best way to earn the respect of an INTP? Be good at your job. Have integrity. Respect others. You know, all the normal things.

If you are hung up on a lack of "Respect," then you won't be able to appreciate the value that an INTP can offer. Which leads to the next principle:

#2. Catch them at the beginning. 

At the beginning of a job or work assignment, INTPs tend to be at their most motivated (this is probably true for most people).

In all likelihood, the INTP will bring the full force of her creativity and drive to the beginning of a new job. Take advantage of this.

Do you have a system in place that is broken, inefficient, or outdated? Set the INTP loose on its ass. It won't even know what hit it.

If there's anything that absolutely drives an INTP up the wall, it's an inefficient system for getting things done.

#3. Give them a challenging assignment and then (mostly) leave them alone.

Even better if no one else has been able to solve the problem or accomplish the task.

It is not necessary to check in with the INTP to see how things are going. In all likelihood, they will be checking in with you to vent about how frustrated they are. This is normal. Let them vent. Listen patiently, tell them you believe in them, and let them get back to work.

#4. Allow them to pursue their own passion and interests (within reason).

The INTP on a mission is like a heat-seeking missile—passion and single-minded focus are the name of the game. You can take advantage of this by letting them pursue the things that also help you accomplish your goals. There's probably some overlap here, so let the INTP zero in on what interests them (as long as it's also in line with your vision), then try to get out of the way.

#5. Work with their limitations.

You know that single-mindedness I mentioned in the last point? This can be both a good and a bad thing—but you can't capitalize on the one without factoring in the other.

Some examples of single-mindedness as a liability:

Being blunt and direct in speech—intensity of focus can tend to exclude things like wanting to be liked or being likable.

Neglecting housekeeping tasks that though important, are not a normal part of the INTP's routine (and hence are easily forgotten in the blinding light of the ONE THING).

Overestimating the importance of whatever it is they are working on rather than taking into account the whole project or the rest of the team.

Difficulty switching quickly from one priority to another, particularly if the first priority has already received their time and investment.

These are all things to take into consideration.

#6. Don't take their frustration personally.

Frustration is passion + obstacle. So, frustration means that the INTP cares. This is important, especially if the INTP cares about the things that you care about. Rather than seeing frustration as a bad thing, it's more helpful to see it as a necessary part of the process. Frustration is the precursor to breakthrough.

#7. Redirect their complaint into a mission to make things better.

Instead of taking their frustration personally, turn it back on them and ask them, how can we make this better or solve this problem? What would you like to see happen? How can we change the system so that this doesn't happen again?

#8. Don't let them get bored.

Challenge them, or they will leave.

#9. Give them free snacks. 

'Nuff said.

#10. Use time to your advantage.

If you sense that this is a short-term arrangement (maybe there's a limited amount of growth potential), use time to your advantage by capitalizing on the INTP's strengths from the beginning and asking them to create systems that will carry on after they leave—this could be as simple as a job description or task list for the next person or as complex as re-imagining an entire design process.

Get it in writing. Get them to write a training manual, create a wiki, or make a template. Get something you can use.

I try to approach a new job in such a way that I eventually "work myself out of of a job," usually by training someone else to replace me or setting into existence systems that make processes more efficient. If that isn't in the cards, I try to leave things better than I found them, so that the next person will easily be able to pick up where I left off or at least have some kind of starting point.

I'm not claiming this is out of some innate sense of altruism—it's rooted in pride as much as anything else—I want to be able to look back and say, "This is what I accomplished. This is how things were better because of me. Behold the works of my hands."

If you can capitalize on this instinct, you can get a ton of value out of the INTP. Just don't abuse it.

Hopefully, with these tips, managing the INTP can be a win/win situation for everyone. 

Christians Suck at Consent, Part 2

It gets worse.

Chuck II

The same day all that other stuff happened, another guy messaged me. We'll call him Chuck II, because, again, I don't know anyone named Chuck. Unfortunately for Chuck II, I was on an honesty kick, because of a lack of sleep and what had just transpired with Chuck I.

So when Chuck the Second sidled up to me via facebook messenger and said he was also interested in the project I was working on (translation, "Heyyyyyyyy there"), I told him the truth:

That I felt like he was physically pushy when we dated (we went on two dates total) and that it made me feel disrespected.

His response wasn't great. In fact, it may have filled me with inchoate rage.

Let's go back in time again to a few years ago.

On our first date, we went to coffee. So far, so normal.

At the end of our second date, Chuck II tried to shove his tongue into my mouth after we hugged goodbye. I was taken aback. Again, it felt like it had very little to do with me or with us having a "moment" (I've had moments before. This was not a moment). There were no signals coming from any direction that said, "Now is sexy, sexy make-out time." Was it the bright sunlight of a Hollywood afternoon? The ambiance of the brick walkway in front of my rent-controlled apartment? Who knows.

I pulled away in surprise and soon texted him that I "just wanted to be friends," because apparently things were escalating quickly. He apologized and said he wanted to take things at my pace. I think we settled on something like friends with the potential for more.

The next time we hung out, he was all over me. And when I went to hug him goodbye, he didn't let go of me at first, but instead held me tightly and said, "What if I ask this time?"

And then he pressed me about why I just wanted to be friends as I was about to get into my car to leave.

THIS. This is why.

So when I told Chuck II that I felt like he was physically pushy and he didn't respond well, I got angry.

His response? He wasn't physically pushy—not from his perspective. In fact, he is "hyper-aware of [implied: all] the choices and moves" he makes. Respecting me had been really important to him because he liked me. And I had judged him too quickly.

Not only that—he was hurt that I felt disrespected

Come again? He had violated my personal boundaries—violated my body—but it was his feelings that truly mattered. I had misjudged him. I was wrong, and it was all my fault.

When I said that the conversation was upsetting me and I was ending it, he blithely suggested we meet up for coffee so we could "make amends." And that's when I really lost it.

Again, I felt like a face and a body that a man had projected his wishes and desires onto, not a real person. Hyperaware though he may have been, Chuck II made no mention of being aware of what I was thinking or feeling. I guess he meant, "I was hyperaware that I wanted to kiss you. And so I did."

I felt like a non-entity—Chuck II didn't think he was disrespectful, Chuck II thought he was very respectful. In fact, Chuck II was extraordinarily confident and wildly intentional about all the choices he made during the brief time we dated.

To put it graphically:

Chuck II was more confident about sticking his tongue in my mouth and pressing his boner up against me on a second date than I have ever been about anything in my entire life, ever.

It feels like I'm mocking him (which isn't nice, I know), but I'm actually dead serious: I wish that I had that much confidence about anything—ANYTHING at all—choosing which mismatched socks to wear in the morning, my career, my decision to live in Los Angeles, anything.

With credit to Sarah Hagi for the original version of this

Lack of dating experience or something else? 

It's not like I met these guys on the internet—we met through mutual friends and still have many, many mutual friends. We met in "Safe," "Christian" contexts. They are "nice guys."

It's easy to look at these incidents and think, "Well, maybe he just doesn't have a lot of experience."

I've dated Christian guys like this. They're not always good at dating. They make mistakes. Obviously, not all of them are this bad.

But there's something deeper going on when a guy corners me in his car and almost demands that I give him a chance and go on a date with him (Chuck III?) or when a guy takes my picture after a couple of dates so that he can show his friends a picture of his "girlfriend." Or when a male friend tells me I'm too closed off and judgmental because I don't automatically assume that a stranger who approaches me in parking lot, at night, is safe (because what if he's just a nice guy, standing in front of a girl in the parking lot of Sprouts, asking her for her number, even though all she wanted was to buy some Brown Cow maple yogurt because that sh** is delicious?).

I feel like something is deeply wrong when I'm expected to educate men in their 20s, 30s or even 40s about the fact that women are people too, or when I'm expected to "give a chance" to someone who doesn't even respect me as a real person entitled to make her own decisions.

What doesn't seem to factor into any of these situations is me—my thoughts, my desires, my body, my decisions, my judgment, my intuition.

And I'm tired. I'm tired of feeling like I have to scream "NO" at the top of lungs to get someone to leave me alone. I'm tired of feeling like my pain doesn't have any meaning or significance unless I'm literally bleeding to death or dying of cancer.

I'm tired of being so disconnected from my own body that I only feel the rage of physical violation weeks, months, or years after the fact.

Consent isn't just about sex

Consent is about treating the other person like a person—not a body, not a good-looking accessory, not a blank canvas on which to project fantasies of marriage and children, not a character from a movie—but an actual person.

And these two stories in particular (though kind of funny) have been painful to write about—I've had to sit in it and think about why I felt so violated in the first place.

I've thought about how scary it is for a man to physically grab me out-of-nowhere, against my will, and start tipping me backwards. I've thought about how f***ing scary it is to have someone you don't know very well not let go of you (restrain you) and pressure you for something sexual that you don't want to give. How out-of-control and terrifying it is to feel like in that moment your body is not your own, is out of your control, is in the hands of someone who doesn't even see you.

I don't know how to describe it except to say that it cuts you off from your own physical being. That when you do start to tune back in from the numbness, all you can feel is pain.

It feels like sh**. That's what.

Christians Suck at Consent, Part 1

We've all heard (and in my case, written) about how weird Christians can be about dating.

But I believe it goes much deeper than that.

A couple weeks ago, two different guys messaged me on Facebook after I posted about a project I've been working on.

One of these guys, we'll call him Chuck because I don't know anyone named Chuck, was someone I've had on my DO NOT ENGAGE radar for a long time, ever since I moved to LA five years ago.

You see, we kind of had a thing. Except that this thing was exclusively one-sided.

I had just moved to LA and didn't have very many friends, but somehow Chuck was always available to hang out. I can't really remember the first time he hit on me. He was the brother of a close friend, so I assumed he was safe.

I explained I just wanted to be friends and left it at that. Except, that wasn't enough for Chuck. It wasn't enough the first time. It wasn't enough the second time. Guess what, it wasn't enough the third, fourth, fifth, sixth or seventh time either.

You might wonder why I kept hanging out with this guy. I wonder the same thing. Was I leading him on even though I had explicitly stated that I didn't want any kind of romantic relationship with him?

One night he grabbed me suddenly and tried to dip me for a kiss (this after I had just given my semi-tri-annual "just friends" speech). I was shocked and taken aback. He explained that he was taking notes from the movie "Hitch" where the titular character explains that you go half way in for the kiss and then wait for the girl to go the rest of the way.

I'm not sure which was more disconcerting—that this guy was taking notes on dating and romance from a Will Smith/Kevin James comedy or that physical contact bordering on sexual assault was now somehow considered a move that you pull on someone who has just turned you down.

I stopped hanging out with him (finally). And yet still, he would call me, wanting to go to an event that I had posted on Facebook. Or he would text me, referencing a show that I liked and suggesting that we watch it together.

I felt threatened and alone—how could I explain to anyone else, especially my friends, that I felt harassed by the sweetest, gentlest guy in the world?

It took me a long time, but I eventually got angry. How dare he disregard my stated wishes and boundaries. How dare he GRAB ME AND TRY TO KISS ME.

Back to the present: he messaged me on Facebook asking about working on the project together—and I said, "No." He apologized for his immaturity. I said that I didn't think that not taking "No" for an answer was simply "immature." He apologized for not respecting my boundaries, and then...

HE HIT ON ME.

I kid you not—after I referred to his actions as "more scary than anything else"—he told me I was "beautiful," and wrote, "I never want to take myself out of the running for more." He ended with:

"I will always think of you as a friend, Mulan."

It was too perfect. It wrapped a huge, obnoxiously pink bow on everything.

It proved to me that I could say anything to him, ANYTHING: "F*** you. You disgust me. I hate you. I never want to see you again. I will never, ever date you" and it would not matter one bit. Why?

BECAUSE I DON'T MATTER. I don't even exist to this guy. I am a fantasy, not a real person. I might as well be a two-dimensional drawing from the Disney canon.

So often with Christian men, what I think or feel or desire or say just doesn't matter. All that matters is that he wants me. I'm less a "person" and more a face and a body that he can project his own needs and desires onto.

In the end, I feel strangely justified—because so often women are faulted for "leading him on" or "Obviously, you didn't say 'No' loudly enough or firmly enough for him to get the message."

NO. He violated my boundaries. And it was not my fault.

We whittle women down into finer and finer points—Don't wear that. Smile. But not at the wrong guy—that could get you killed. Don't walk there at that hour. Don't drink. If you must, make sure it's around people that you trust with your life. Don't encourage him. Stop breathing. Why are you breathing? If you would just stop breathing, then he would leave you alone. If you could just—not exist—for a minute. Thanks.

Portmanteaus That Should Die in a Fire Lit by Pages From the OED

...with apologies to Shakespeare.

1. "Mom" + "Fill-in-the-blank"

*shudder* 

Here are just a few examples: 

Mom + Entrepreneur = Momtrepreneur

Mom + Delicious = Momalicious

Mom + Sensational = Momsational

Mom + Orgasm = Momgasm

Mom + Ridiculous = Momidiculous

Thanks to Jezebel for these, except the last one, which I may have made up on the spot. 

And can we just—I mean—what—I can't—

Being a mother is not a niche, just like being a woman is not a special category. I object to it all:

I object to the term "Mommy Blogging."

I object to ever calling someone a "Mommy Blogger."

I object to the weird fetishization of motherhood generally.

But I especially object to jamming the word "Mom" or "Mommy" together with another word to create a new word (actually not a word, people, unless you're Shakespeare, are you Shakespeare, no, I didn't think so). 

Just, no. 

2. Feminist + Nazi = Feminazi

Fun fact, I first came across "feminazi" as a young preteen reading Rush Limbaugh's bestselling books, See, I Told You So and The Way Things Ought to Be, proving that even if you are 12 years-old and living in China, you can still grow up reading the classics. 

Did not!

How many times have I had some version of this conversation:

"So, you're a feminist. What kind of feminist are you?"

"Um, just a normal one, I guess."

"But—I mean, you don't hate men, right?" *laughs awkwardly*

Why is it always about you, random dude? Are you afraid I'm going to round up your kind and send you to a concentration camp because I believe that women should be treated equally? 

Yeah. 'Cause those things are totally the same.

3. "Fit" + "Inspiration" = "Fitspiration" or "Fitspo" for short

Don't even get me started. 

F*** you. (Photo via lovelivegrow)

Fitspo appears to be short for "an excuse to post a picture of my abs on Instagram." Now, explain to me how this is inspiring? 

Am I supposed to instantly go out and join the nearest Crossfit gym? Feel bad about my flabby stomach? Put down that cookie? 

"Fitspo," not only are you a crime against the English language, you are a crime against the human (usually female) body. 

Now, excuse me. I'm going to go eat cookies and read incendiary feminist literature about solving the "Man Problem." 

Serial Harasser Fired Because Facebook

Yesterday evening when I came home, I saw on facebook that James Grace, artistic director of famed improv theater iO West, had been fired for sexual harassment.

This is incredible.

Just to give some context, this Buzzfeed article about the firing was posted at 5:30pm, February 19, 2016.

The facebook group in which the new allegations were posted was created on February 11, 2016. The new allegations against Grace were posted in said facebook group on February 19, 2016, at 11:09 AM and 3:33 PM respectively.

By 5:30 PM that same day, Grace was gone.

Holy sh**.

If this doesn't demonstrate the power of social media, I don't know what does. Perhaps I am overstating the cause/effect relationship here, but when the allegations against Grace (what a name, by the way) originally came out in 2007 and then again in January of this year, nothing happened.

I mean, nothing happened.

In the first instance, according to the former intern who accused Grace of harassment, iO West co-founder Charna Halpern brushed off the allegations and offered her free classes. In the second instance, Halpern denied the allegations and that she had any knowledge of them, making some unfortunate comments about sexual harassment and false accusations that are surely the stuff of a public relations nightmare.

In essence, Grace sexually harassed and assaulted an intern at iO West in 2007, then went on as the artistic director for NINE MORE YEARS, harassing and/or assaulting at least two other women in that time frame.

To put it in context, from 2007 (before facebook and other forms of social media became ubiquitous) to today:

9 years
6.5 hours

More context: As sexual harassment in the improv community has come to light, Grace was apparently part of efforts to encourage those affected to come forward and ask for help from the theater.

In fact, he was quoted in the original Buzzfeed article entitled "Standing Up To Sexual Harassment And Assault In L.A.’s Comedy Scene." Here's what he had to say:

[Initiatives taken by iO West to address sexual harassment] were directly inspired by what happened on Facebook, said James Grace, the theater’s artistic and managing director. “You have to make everyone feel safe to create and perform,” Grace said. “We’re really trying to make a real effort to reach out and actively make people feel more included.”

Furthermore, there is an email address listed on facebook for those who have experienced harassment in the iO West community to contact: james@ioimprov.com. The post dates from September 2015. Assuming this is the same James who also sexually harassed and assaulted women at iO West—

HOLY SH**

The same person who was harassing and assaulting students/interns at iO West was the same guy coming forward in the midst of all this controversy to talk about protecting and helping victims. No wonder those who were harassed didn't feel safe coming forward—the very person they were expected to approach was himself a serial harasser.

I should note here that those who posted their stories on facebook also went through official channels and urged other victims of Grace to do the same.

But it's hard to underestimate the effects of social media in this particular case, given the timeline involved. There's so much debate about the negative effects of social media, but things like facebook and Instagram can be incredibly powerful in outing and exposing systemic abuses in institutional contexts.

I have incredible respect for these women for going public.

For once, it seems, someone was right on the internet. Holy sh** indeed.

Football, Objectification and Empty Moralism - A Critique

I read an article recently that really bugged me (yeah, this happens a lot). I can't exactly articulate why, but that's what writing is for, so here we are. Welcome. There's coffee and cronuts in the back.

The writing in question is part of a series on Christ and football fittingly titled "Touchdown Jesus." This particular iteration is about 23 year-old NFL player Johnny Manziel, recently in the news for allegedly assaulting his ex-girlfriend—another incident in a brief yet troubled career.

The writer alleges that Manziel's downfall is directly linked to something called "the altar of icon." What is the altar of icon? As far as I can tell, the altar of icon is something sports fans do to athletes when they treat them like celebrities instead of ordinary human beings created in the image of God.

When we treat famous athletes like...famous athletes, we hold them to impossible standards, then grind them down when they fail to meet our unrealistic expectations for perfection and good living.

I think there's a word missing from Dunham's column: "Idolatry." Idolatry is Christian-speak for anything elevated above Christ or the gospel (Hence "Touchdown Jesus").

We (Christians, it's implied) worship the idol of sports celebrity at the altar of icon.

So who is responsible for Manziel's moral and spiritual breakdown? We are:

[. . . ] Objectifying athletes has terrible consequences. When we do it, we neglect the fact that they’ve been created in the image of God. We apply pressure with our scrutiny and a false sense of importance with our praise—and I do mean “praise.” We take men and make them icons, and we all feign surprise when those icons crumble to reveal the decaying remains of a person. It’s a predictable, broken dance, and it yields predictably broken people. (source)

I'm getting tired of moralizing, particularly Christian moralizing, that pretends to say something profound and spiritual yet says nothing at all. Maybe I've done too much moralizing in my lifetime and that's why it irritates me so much.

But I mean, what does this even mean? That by treating Manziel like a celebrity, we drove him into domestic violence and substance abuse? That fame always has a dark side? That something in the core of Manziel's being just couldn't handle being really, really good at something?

There are so many frames of reference we could use to try to understand Manziel's downfall, like mental health, substance abuse, the sports industry, the NFL and domestic violence, etc.

But this particular narrative manages to vaguely condemn the reader as a bad Christian while erasing the real victim:

The "altar of icon" did not hit Colleen Crowley so hard in the head that it ruptured her left eardrum. How hard do you have to hit someone to rupture their eardrum? This question makes me feel sick and sad, and not just for Manziel.

Dunham's "altar of icon" is ultimately just one more form of objectification (I objectify your objectification!)—one kind of story imposed on the tragedy of a real-life human being. It's a sanctified, Christianized objectification, vaguely condemning something that the reader would be hard-pressed to actually identify, let alone fix and change. It's the Christian version of "a string of misfortunes befell a promising young athlete."

And I can't imagine the reader going home and tearing down the altar of icon they have erected in Manziel's honor.

I can imagine condemning violence, not matter what form it takes. I can imagine holding people responsible for their actions. Once again, domestic violence and substance abuse and generally bad behavior is not something that happened to Manziel. Those are his actions, and he is responsible for them.

Isn't that part of what it means, after all, to be created in the image of God?

The INTP in the Workplace, Part 1

I've written about INTPs and dating, and INTPs and giving zero f***s, and INTPs and being an asshole, but this time around I would like to focus on INTPs in the workplace—where we can do all these things, but hopefully not at the same time. Though now that I think about it, that would make for a pretty entertaining web series.

This first post will focus on choosing a job that maximizes your strengths while minimizing your weaknesses (*cough* people skills *cough*).

So, to start: You are an INTP and you are looking for a job. What kind of job should you look for?

Choosing a job

I roll into the office at a leisurely 11:13AM and head straight for the coffee machine—two creams, three sugars, please.

After several minutes perusing my emails, the caffeine kicks in and I am awake at last. Time to get to work.

Several hours later, I emerge from the depths of concentration like a giant squid from "Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea," stopping for a quick snack and extroverted-introvert time with my favorite work buddy, Bob.

And it's back to the drawing board—literally—my entire office is a giant whiteboard. This is where the magic happens. As I scribble my brilliant ideas on the wall, I hear a tentative knock on the door.

It is my boss, Steve.

"Hey. Just wanted to check in. How's the project going?"

I can sense that Steve is awed and intimidated by my genius. Luckily, Steve knows his place within the intellectual hierarchy and never dares to question my judgment.

"It's going great. I just need some more time."

"Of course, take all the time that you need."

Work is so much more pleasant now that we got rid of deadlines. I turn back to my whiteboard wall...

In My Dreams

Where was I? Oh yes. It might be helpful to map out some of the qualities that you want in a job—under what conditions do you work best? What does the environment look like? Do you need to be able to see daylight (e.g., don't go into post-production)? Interact with people only sometimes or not at all? Have access to free snacks?

These are all things to consider.

Here are some environmental qualities on my YES and NO lists that I think other INTPs can relate to (credit to 16personalities.com for some of these ideas):

YES (+1)

Flat hierarchy
Brainstorming
Dynamic
Collaboration
Solitude
Physical space
Flexible hours
Time to think
Freedom of movement
Low maintenance coworkers
Fluid & efficient systems
Casual dress
Free snacks
Free food in general

NO (-1)

Office politics
Rigid hierarchy
Rigid schedule
Systems & processes rarely change
Bureaucracy
Customer service
Formal dress code
Micromanaging
Meetings
Multitasking
Mandatory socializing
Answering the phone
Cutthroat coworkers

I'm not saying the things on the second list are all deal-breakers—but if a majority of them are present at once, it's not likely that the INTP will last very long. Bureaucracy, formal dress code, meetings and multitasking? I give it six months, tops.

INTPs Need Structure

A word here on structure and accountability—

If you can, choose a work environment that will grant you a great deal of autonomy while not completely abandoning you to your own worst inclinations.

In my daydream, there were no deadlines, but in the real world, I need some kind of structure in order to get things done. So, for me:

Good:

Not being tied to my desk. Being free to walk around, take a break as needed, or even run out for some boba.

Bad:

A monthly conference call as my only accountability.

I'm sure there are INTPs out there who make wonderful entrepreneurs and who adore the independence and freedom of being self-employed.

Me? I cannot work from home. You know what happens when I work from home? Netflix. Netflix happens when I work from home, or Hulu if there's a new episode of "Crazy Ex-Girlfriend."

Are INTPs lazy?

INTPs have a reputation for laziness, which is ironic, because when we find something that we actually give a f*** about, there is no power in the 'verse that can stop us.

An INTP who is passionate about something is a force to be reckoned with. Conversely, I've found that it is extremely difficult if not impossible to give a f*** about something that I don't give a f*** about—not tradition, not custom, not culture, not religion, not this-is-the-way-we-do-things-around-here, not even my own self-interest can save me.

That being said, can a specific type of work environment nurture and inspire passion within the INTP? Yes. Definitely. INTPs are not limited to any specific industry or field—they can flourish in the arts or the sciences, engineering or interior design. I believe it's the nature of the workplace that matters.

It's less the "what," more the who, where, and why—in my opinion.

Brainstorming the ideal job

So, I would say, choose your work environment with care, young INTP. And you will succeed.

Next, we'll talk about the INTP and workplace conflict. It could be a long post. Stay tuned.

How to Manage an INTP

10 Literary Alternatives to "Netflix and Chill"

*SPOILERS*

Wait, who am I kidding? No one reads anymore. Proceed.

1. The Catcher in the Rye and hire a prostitute just to talk

2. Middlemarch and marry the wrong person

"But...but marrying you would make me so happy. That won't do." 

3. Lolita and rape your prepubescent stepdaughter

4. Catch-22 and for a brief moment believe that your dead friend's prostitute girlfriend wants to have sex with you before realizing that, no, she is still trying to kill you

5. Much Ado About Nothing and publicly shame and humiliate your fiancee at your wedding because you have been tricked into believing she is cheating on you by a man referred to as "the bastard prince"

"You whore!" Awkward.

6. The Great Gatsby and idolize the man in love with your married cousin who throws extravagant parties and always calls you "Old Sport"

7. 'Tis Pity She's a Whore and skewer your sister/lover's heart with a dagger before parading it around at her husband's birthday feast

Best-worst last line in the history of English literature

8. The Scarlet Letter and secretly father an illegitimate child, leaving your partner to take the fall

9. Jane Eyre and torture the man you love, who is also your boss, by consenting to marry him then leaving him after you discover he has stowed his mentally insane wife in the attic—that's right, he's already married!

Actually, Penguin Classics, Jane describes herself as plain and unattractive. Get it together.

10. The Odyssey and lynch the 12 unfaithful maids who fraternized with your wife's 108 suitors while you were away on business

A romance.

Flippant Thoughts on Forgiveness / Pain, Part 4

I recently applied for a writing joh. When they asked for a writing sample, I realized all my writing exists at an intensity level of roughly +487,000,000.

Here at the blog, it's all pain and suffering, all the time.

So, instead of titling this "Pain, Part 4," I'm calling it "Flippant Thoughts on Forgiveness." Let's dive headfirst into the shallow end, shall we?

Moo... Photo by bertknot

Forgiveness is hard, particularly when you can barely identify the source of the pain, particularly when you can't even bring yourself to write the words, "I'm hurt" or much, much worse, "I'm still hurt."

That's not how it's supposed to work, is it? I'm not supposed to still be hurt. Forgive and forget. Deal with it and move on. Positive mantra about moving confidently into the future. Hoorah.

This is the pain that never ends, it just goes on and on my friend...

I've found, unfortunately, that ignoring unresolved pain is a lot like ignoring all that C-4 you have buried in the backyard (analogy credit to labullets). It will explode in your face. You will wonder what happened. And then you'll be like, "Oh yeah, remember that time I buried all that C-4 in the backyard? Guess it wasn't as stable as I thought."

My buried pain usually turns into anger.

But why? Why am I so angry?

I'm standing outside the dorms on the second floor landing, watching his light blue pickup pull away from the office, and suddenly, I'm filled with uncontrollable rage. I kick at everything in sight, including a bright orange safety cone. Writing this, I still wonder if it is my fault. If I am a bomb waiting to explode.

I've written before about a traumatic experience that left with me with the kind of pain that doesn't get better. About how I blamed myself for hurting the person who had hurt me.

I actually apologized to him years later for using him as an emotional punching bag. At the time, it felt good to realize and acknowledge what I had done, to have a ready-made slot that I could comfortably slide the experience into, neat and snug.

I can see now how I reframed the experience, making him the victim, myself the perpetrator. I had blamed him unfairly for causing my pain. I projected my pain onto him. I hated him instead of hating my dad. I was angry at him without justification. I refused to forgive him—worse, I didn't want to.

I could label it, "That time I took all my worst inclinations out on an innocent person because I'm broken" and move on.

Telling the Truth

Except, that wasn't exactly the truth. But it made me feel better. I didn't have to alter any of my pre-existing ideas, particularly the one where there was something deeply and indelibly wrong with me.

I mean, what was the alternative? I needed someone or something to blame, and the only person available was me. Because the alternative was too dark to consider:

That what he had done to me was wrong.

That what he had done to me was wrong, though well-intentioned.

That what he had done to me was akin to spiritual, emotional "rape." 

That what he had done to me perpetuated for years the very shame that he sought to heal. 

And in the aftermath, I was left alone, emotionally shattered and unable to breathe.

This is what makes me feel a little sick to my stomach, now that years have passed. It's one thing to drag out someone's deepest shame by force—it's another to blame them for feeling wounded and angry after the fact.

You Need Witnesses

There's that famous passage in Matthew 18 about confronting someone who has sinned. About going back, again and again, trying to reason with the person, trying to get them to see your point of view.

This passage is often used to shame Christians who don't follow this exact procedure in every and any conflict with another believer, such as Christians who complain about Mark Driscoll on the internet, as if the correct thing to do were to show up on his doorstep tomorrow with a Bible and a stack of good intentions. 

But considering it now, I wonder about the part where you bring a friend or two with you as witness.

Because what if the other person refuses to see your point of view or denies that anything happened? ("No! I did not steal your oxen. These are my oxen. I've owned them for years, years I tell you!").

If this happens, you need other people who will stand with you in your truth, who will bear witness to your grievance: 

Yes, you were abused.

Yes, what happened was wrong. 

Yes, that is Buttercup and she is your cow.

Yes, I believe you. 

Yes, you are not imagining things. You are not crazy. 

You can't forgive someone for something that never happened—

I can't forgive him or anyone else if I don't acknowledge and accept the truth of what happened. And I need someone else to bear witness to that truth, someone else who can drown out the accusing voices that tell me that I'm crazy, I'm imagining things, I'm too sensitive, I'm making it all up to get attention, a unicorn gored me and I'm filing a formal complaint.

I've become convinced that forgiveness cannot happen without truth. Healing cannot happen without truth. You don't need the person who hurt you to say, "I was wrong. Please forgive me" but you do need someone in your life to say, "Yeah, I totally get it."

This happened for me last year. And in that moment, I could finally breathe.

Two Sides to Every Story

Like every other kid who grew up in evangelical Christianity, I loved the Focus on the Family radio drama Adventures in Odyssey, an inventive and often hilarious program that taught lessons about such diverse topics as, "Handling the power of media responsibly" and "Dealing with an alcoholic parent."

I can still remember the episode entitled Two Sides to Every Story. A brother and sister are home alone when, in a series of mishaps, their TV catches on fire. Each sibling tells his/her side of the story—each painting his/her own actions in the most saintly light possible, while basically blaming the other for the catastrophe.

My childhood, right here

The episode dramatizes the brother's story, then the sister's story, then what really happened. The lesson of the episode: "Considering another person's point of view."

 It's a good lesson.

I was reminded of this principle when I saw Franklin Graham's response to Naghmeh Abedini and her revelation that her husband, recently released hostage Saeed Abedini, has abused her throughout the marriage (I say "has abused," because the implication is that his abusive behavior is ongoing).

He says,

Other than God, no one knows the details and the truth of what has happened between Saeed and Naghmeh except them. There’s an old saying that there are at least two sides to every story. I can tell one thing for sure—not everything that has been reported in the media is true.

Oh. Okay.

According to Graham, there are certain truths that are simply unknowable—it's a classic, he said, she said, would-you-do-it-if-Jesus-were-in-the-room type of situation.

Unlike God, we were never in the room when Saeed abused his wife, so we can never say for certain that he did—and should therefore withhold judgment.

Graham, however, fails at his own test. Let's break it down, shall we?

"There's an old saying" (older than God?) - Start with a cliche

"...that there are at least two sides to every story." - Transition into irrelevant but profound sounding idiom

"I can tell one thing for sure—" - Wait a minute—you know the truth? You just said it was unknowable. What happened to "Other than God"? Are you God?

"...not everything that has been reported in the media is true" - Aggressive use of the passive voice that sounds like a denial, but actually comes out as an admission: "not everything" means some of it is true, but you refuse to reveal what exactly. Why? What do you have against truth, Franklin Graham, especially since you are apparently in a special position to know it.

The original idiom and the Adventures in Odyssey episode of the same title both teach that there are two sides to every story, and that the truth lies somewhere in between.

However, when it comes to facts, there is only one side to the story. I'm going to put it in the active voice, because I can:

He abused her.
He did not abuse her.

It's that simple. They can't both be true. Abusers and those who defend them use confusing language to divert attention from this True/False binary. It's either/or, not both/and.

Potentially, Graham actually means:

• He abused her, but it wasn't that bad.
• He abused her, but there were extenuating circumstances that either justify or excuse his actions. 
• He abused her, but she deserved it. 
• He abused her, but only emotionally and mentally, not physically. 
• He abused her, but he suffered too, so it's all good.

Alternatively, he is indirectly asserting that:

• He did not abuse her, therefore she is lying.

But he never comes right and out and says that. Because that would make his meaning clear. And nothing is worse than the precise and transparent use of the English language.

Graham asks us to withhold judgment (what with the whole not being God thing), but he himself passes judgment—he goes from "no one knows . . . the truth" to "I can tell one thing for sure—not everything that has been reported in the media is true" or in other words, I know the truth, but I'm not going to say it here.

There's this false sense of balance in "There are two sides to every story," as if you are setting yourself up as the impartial judge waiting to hear both sides of a case. When in reality, Graham means that there is one side to the story, and that is his side, Saeed's side, the abuser's side.

It would be so much more honest to say some version of, "She's a lying, crazy b***."

Now that's a story I've definitely heard before.

Why is Church Cliquey? Part 5

Forgive all the exposition in this post, it feels necessary to set up the stunning conclusion—I made this part of my Why is Church Cliquey? series because this series has turned into the story of my relationship with church. The good. The bad. The heartbreaking.

This is where we're going to get specific. Are you ready? I'm not.

Exposition

Some background: I left my church in 2014 because my ex-boyfriend (who was abusive) went there and also held a leadership position. This wasn't a political statement of any kind—I walked in—I saw him—I walked out. Once I realized he still attended and was also apparently on the same volunteering schedule as me, I never went back.

His presence made a safe place unsafe.

Later that same year, I reached out via email to the leadership at my church. I objected to my ex-boyfriend being in any kind of leadership position, and I said so in my email. I never heard anything back, not even to acknowledge that it was received. 

So there you go. There's not much to it—just my moral opposition to someone that I knew to be abusive serving in a leadership role at my former church. I don't know what I expected, exactly. I have no basis for believing that he ever went on to abuse anyone else at the church, partially because I cut off all contact. 

That was in 2014—fast forward to last year. My old church got a new pastor. I've never met the guy, but I have many friends who still attend the church—let's just say we have a lot of mutual fb friends.

So I was stalking his fb page (like I apparently do) and I saw that he had recommended the book "Love and Respect."

Reader, I got angry.

I know, I know, anger bad. But seriously, I saw red—or more accurately the red and white color scheme of the Love & Respect franchise.

I had never read the book, but I was familiar with its ideas. I had written about how its precepts disproportionately place burdens of shame and fear on women.

Rightly or wrongly, I was angry that the new pastor of my old church was recommending this as a "good Christian book" about marriage, knowing how it skewed toward the subjugation of women.

Then, it got worse.

I talked to my friends about this and they brought up that not only had the pastor recommended the book on his fb page, he had also preached about Love and Respect from the pulpit and AND—he was leading a premarital group that used Love and Respect as the focus.

Clearly, this guy was not just a fan (Love and Respect "liked" his post on fb, so I guess Love and Respect is a fan of him)—he was an acolyte, an evangelist for this particular ideology.

This felt too personal to ignore, like someone bursting into my living room and launching into a diatribe about how all half Asian half white women recklessly abuse semicolons, so I finally read the book. Insert ALL THE SWEAR WORDS here.

It was too perfect, too much of a cosmic coincidence—the church I had left because of an abusive relationship had hired a pastor who preached an abusive ideology.

Why?

On the one hand, I mean, it kind of makes sense. The Christian church has long had a misogyny problem and Christian men are probably just as likely to be abusive as anyone else. I realize, counter-intuitively, that not even my ex-boyfriend's misogyny was "personal"—he likely views all women the same way, not just me—I wasn't the only "bitch," after all.

On the other hand, it makes no sense at all because this is f***ing 2016 and I live in Los Angeles, California. This is the same church that regularly had a woman—yes, someone with ovaries—preaching from the pulpit (much to the chagrin of some members of the congregation). This is the young, hip, hipster church filled with artists, musicians, actors, writers. This is MY church...was my church. How could this happen?

Think about it: this pastor is leading couples who are dating or engaged through the book "Love and Respect." Dating—they're just dating and already they're being inculcated into these ideas of "what marriage should be" and "what male/female relationships should look like" and "how wives should appropriately (and unconditionally!) respect their husbands."

Young women are already learning that they should continue to "respect" the men who abuse or betray them, that they should lower their expectations for intimacy and equality, that they are especially culpable for any current or future problems in the relationship—and all this presented as the biblical secret to a good marriage.

Meanwhile, young men are taught that they are entitled to unconditional respect from their girlfriends.*

Yeah, I would say that makes me pretty angry.

Love and Respect is a Religion

And it's like, of course—of course this pastor doesn't just like the book "Love and Respect," he lives and breathes it—because that's how these kinds of ideologies function. You don't just read the book and go, "Hmm, that was good."

You buy the DVD teaching series. You infuse an unsettling power dynamic with casually sexist yet charming jokes and anecdotes from your own marriage. You lead seminars on its principles. You directly quote its ideas and concepts in your sermons without citing your source, implying that this is straight from scripture. You lead multiple book studies. You are one step away from buying special underwear with the Love and Respect logo.*

That's the thing about "Love and Respect." It's counter-intuitive—it has the quality of a "special revelation" given straight to prophet Emerson Eggerichs—this "truth hidden in plain sight" that God chose to reveal, but only to him!

Joy Eggerich (daughter of Emerson) writes in her blog about the concept of unconditional respect: "This was something I struggled with for years as my father was unpacking the powerful truth of respect for me."

"Struggled with"

"for YEARS" (emphasis mine)

And she's HIS DAUGHTER

If you read Joy's blog, you can tell that she's a fairly intelligent person—and yet she struggled with this concept for years? Bullsh**.

This is just one example of women twisting themselves into painful hermeneutical, political, and emotional positions in order to obey God's "command" to demonstrate "respect."

I can certainly understand how someone like Joy might end up in this position—she would have to basically renounce her entire family, risking their disapproval and rejection, in order to break out of the system. So she buys in, 100%—at one point even dating a man who uses her own father's concept of "respect" to cow her into submission.

Love and Respect takes the questionably biblical prescription for female subjugation and male dominance and places it on par with the gospel of Christianity.

Biking My Way to Freedom

I don't know how other people find the strength to leave an abusive relationship, but my moment happened on my bike, pedaling through the streets of Los Angeles on my way home.

I was crying, a total and complete mess. But as my entire body strained against the resistance of the pedals, something broke through the pain and the grief, overwhelming me—

It was a single word: No

That's what I feel now when I think about misogyny and the church. My church. My former church.

No. Just no.

This is not a polite, "No thank you, I would not like any misogyny with my Christianity." This is a declaration, a boundary line, a scream.

No.











*You could argue that the gender roles within Love and Respect are only meant to apply to heterosexual married couples, but in Christian culture, dating is meant as preparation for marriage, so dating relationships should mirror the eventual marriage relationship. Furthermore, you are communicating that in the most significant and central relationship of her life, a woman must always operate in a one-down position. Tell me this doesn't influence her other relationships with men. 

*Things that I know happened and are not just hypothetical: No. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. No.

Evil, And What to Do With It

Little known fact: When I started blogging here, it was mostly extremely brief reflections on books I'd listen to during my day job.

Well, it's back! Not the day job, but the brief reflections on books—I plan to call them "Book Bites," because alliteration is my jam.

First up. Michael Finkel's True Story: Murder, Memoir, Mea Culpa (apparently alliteration is his jam as well).

via amazon.com

I found Finkel's book by searching for "memoir" (subject keyword) and "e-audiobook" (media type) in the LA public library database, so I had little background information to go on when I started listening.

Background

In short, just as the author is fired from The New York Times for falsifying a character in an investigative news article, he finds himself in an odd friendship with Christian Longo, a man accused of murdering his wife and three children.

Their lives intersect after Finkel learns that Longo impersonated him while on the lam in Mexico—telling everyone who asked that he was a New York Times journalist. The two become avid pen pals and even friends.

Finkel weaves his downfall as a reporter with Longo's account of how he came to murder his wife and children. Although Longo's crimes are exceptional, Finkel comes to identify with Longo, seeing them as in some ways very much alike.

Reflection (spoilers!)

What would it be like to come face to face with evil? And what if you kind of liked the guy anyway? Finkel leaves no doubt in the reader's mind that Christian Longo is an evil person, even as he describes him as charming, witty, and likable.

At the end of his trial, Longo takes the stand to give his account of the murders. It's chilling—not because he's telling the truth (he seems incapable of this), but because of the nature of his lies (as Finkel points out).

I feel like this gets to the heart of a certain something about evil: it gets the details wrong—although internally consistent, Longo's account rings a false ethical note. Longo cannot paint himself in anything less than a favorable light, even as he describes killing his own two year old daughter. He is always the real victim. When he sheds tears over the death of his family (which he caused for no discernible reason), you get the sense that he is actually crying for himself—his loss, his nightmares, his pain. When he remembers hearing his daughter's screams, he feels sorry for himself for having to relive such a painful memory.

I felt conflicted about the character of Michael Finkel, the author. I have a difficult time sympathizing with writers who commit the kind of journalistic crimes that cost him his job. He admits to being an egoist—He was infatuated with "Michel Finkel, New York Times journalist." He admits that he's always had a problem with lying. And when he first brings up his crimes, he gives several superficial rationalizations (deadline pressure, not wanting to let his editor down) which smacks of denying full responsibility.

Ultimately, he comes clean, to his editors and to us. It's harrowing.

But I couldn't shake the sense that Finkel somewhat gleefully capitalized on his special connection with a murderer to revive his own career—I don't know whether this blind spot in the narration is deliberate or not. I don't think we needed a good deal of handwringing over how horrible the death of a women and three young children is—the despicable nature of the crime speaks for itself.

But Finkel seems far more interested in drawing connections between himself and Longo and their mutual manipulation than forthrightly examining the ethics of giving a murderer such free grace to tell his own story. Finkel's self-examination feels surface level at best.

After Longo is convicted on all counts and sentenced to death, he begins dangling the carrot of "What Really Happened" for Finkel—telling, retelling, and revising the story he told in court.

If you've ever dealt with a manipulative person who is trying to maintain a connection with you at all costs, you know exactly what is going on, although Finkel surprisingly seems unaware and initially falls for the gambit (tell me more...)

And there's another connection between Finkel and Longo: neither of them really consider the harm that they've done to other people. Finkel is sorry that he lied, yes, but he never examines (or even mentions) the consequences of his lies for anyone but himself—for example, by considering what it means for a white American male to impersonate a west African child laborer, or how he may have harmed the very humanitarian cause he was trying to support, or, to parallel Longo, how he inadvertently abbreviated or circumvented someone else's story.

In the end, I can't help but feel that as Longo tells and retells "his" story to his devoted audience (Finkel, in this case), he is killing his wife and children over and over and over and over again.

It makes me want to scream at the injustice of it—Longo can revise his life, distorting the truth, changing this or that detail at will, painting himself as the victim, deciding that the murders don't matter anymore and that he's moving on—meanwhile, he put a period on the lives of his family and forever wrested away their ability to write or revise or retell.

After reading this book, I have no interest in reading another word about or by Christian Longo. I don't want to hear his side of the story. Again. I don't care what happens to him. The best I can do is indifference.

Finkel describes having this same experience—wanting nothing to do with Longo—before being sucked back into his web of manipulation and deception. It never ends.

Crossover Recommendations

I was reminded of M. Scott Peck's People of the Lie: The Hope for Healing Human Evil. There are definite echoes of Christian Longo in Peck's account of evil. I highly recommend this book.

via amazon.com

For more on writers who play fast and loose with the truth, Jon Ronson's book So You've Been Publicly Shamed spends a lot of time on famed fibber Jonah Lehrer. Interestingly enough, Lehrer is also an opaque character—there's never a plausible explanation for why he did what he did, perhaps because the only explanation is that he thought he could get away with it.

Netflix's show Making a Murderer is an obvious companion piece to "True Story"—whether or not you think Steven Avery might still be guilty could be a litmus test of whether you believe in evil or not.

The Wizard of Oz and Other Narcissists by Eleanor Payson is one of the best books about narcissism that I've read. Longo was diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder, and although most narcissists are not killers, a book about dealing with them might still be helpful.

2016 Bucket List

"The right time is any time that one is still so lucky as to have..."- Henry James

So, this is going to be a grab bag of personal goals and fun things to do this year, in no particular order of importance and subject to future updates and revisions as my wanton, womanly whims waft me. Luckily, Los Angeles is full of restaurants to sample, bizarre workouts to try, museums to visit, and guinea pigs to cuddle. Here's to a great 2016.

1. Volunteer at Los Angeles Guinea Pig Rescue

SO FLUFFY!!! Photo via LA Guinea Pig Rescue

Why haven't I done this yet. Why am I not hanging out with dozens of guinea pigs right now. SO FREAKING CUTE. TEARS. CANNOT EVEN RIGHT NOW.

2. Go hammock camping

Ever since my sister bought me a $5 hammock at Five Below, I have been dreaming about sipping wine in my hammock before a blazing fire while watching Netflix (that's what people do when they're camping...right?) As far as I can tell, all you need to go hammock camping is a hammock, tree straps, and two appropriately spaced trees. Living the dream!

3. Host a clothing swap (or three)

Leftover shoes from the last swap

When I told my sister that this was on my bucket list, she observed that, "Saying you're going to host a clothing swap this year is like saying, 'This year, I'm going to take a poop." She's not wrong. I'm taking one right now.

4. Start a local Artist's Way group

I participated in an Artist's Way group last year and it kind of sort of changed my life. This is one of those books that makes an evangelist out of you—the kind you give to your friends and strangers on the metro. Due to my continuing commitment to drive only when necessary, I would like to start a group close to my house. Like, walking/biking distance.

5. Ride my bike during CicLAvia

This is one of my favorite LA events. They shut down miles of public streets just for bikes/pedestrians/rollerbladers/skateboarders/scooters. I may have moved out of the valley but that doesn't mean I'm not going to haul/public-transpo my bike up there for this event.

6. Be in my brother's wedding

My brother is getting married!!! Not only is he all grown up (real job and everything), he's also an amazing person to talk to and hang out with. Sibling lottery on lock.

7. Make my own Bloody Mary mix from scratch.

I tried this once with fresh-squeezed tomato juice and the results were just "meh." Moral of the story: keep your tomatoes canned and your pepper gratuitous.

8. Take up weight lifting

9. Ride my bike to the beach


10. Visit the Broad

11. Learn to sew

I may or may not have taken a free sewing class at Mood LA two years ago. I may or may not have only gotten to the part where we pinned the pieces of a tote bag together. I may or may not still have those pinned together pieces sitting in my car. *Hangs head in shame*

12. Get a new job

13. Find a spiritual community or group that doesn't cause spontaneous feminist combustion

14. Be an extra in a web series as "Hipster Party Goer"

CHECK AND CHECK

15. Try acroyoga

16. Get health insurance

17. Learn how to [ice] skate backwards

So, this one time, I tried out for the hockey team at Cambridge when I was studying abroad. I put on all the gear, I went through all the drills, and though I wasn't the worst skater of the bunch, I could not for the life of me skate backwards. More than one person, including one really cute guy, tried to show me but I could—not—get—it. Goals.

18. Be an extra in a music video as "Skater Girl."

CHECK AND CHECK