In Which We Are All Rewriting Our Reality

Face to Face

by TYLER COATES

I was recently dating someone who, when I mentioned that I was writing a piece on Annie Hall for this website, told me that I should say that it is a good "training film" for Woody Allen's catalogue. His theory was that it combines the sight gags and irreverent humor of his earlier works (Bananas, Sleeper), and gives an introduction to those quiet, heavy, philosophical pieces from the late '70s and '80s.

I told him that I disagreed; sure, it's got a little bit of everything, and it definitely represents a shift in Allen's oeuvre that would lead to somber comedies like Stardust Memories, Manhattan, and Hannah and Her Sisters. My thesis, however, was that Annie Hall is the perfect Woody Allen film; it seems to be the most authentically autobiographical (as every Woody Allen protagonist — whether he or she is played by Allen or by Kenneth Branagh, Will Ferrell, or Scarlett Johansson — is essentially Woody Allen), and it's one of the few truly successful post-modern films that is able to take bits and pieces from every single method of filmmaking and mash it all together into one movie which runs just over an hour and a half!

A few days after we talked about Annie Hall, we found ourselves sitting next to each other in silence on the train heading home from a party.

I turned to him and asked, "What are you thinking?"

He replied, "What you you thinking?"

"No, I asked you first."

"I don't care, you tell me first."

Eventually, we admitted, mutually, that we were thinking the same thing: we liked each other, and we enjoyed spending time together, but it wasn't going anywhere. I couldn't help but think of the scene in which Alvy and Annie are sitting on flight from California and they realize, in near unison, exactly where they are heading. "A relationship, I think, is like a shark," Alvy says. "It has to constantly move forward or it dies. And I think what we got on our hands is a dead shark."

And, really, has anybody's life ever seemed like a scene from Stardust Memories, or Manhattan, or Hannah and Her Sisters? Not mine, that's for certain.

The beauty of Annie Hall is its nonlinear plot structure. Instead of focusing the film on the story — which, at its base, it just the chronicle of a couple meeting, having some good times, and then, eventually, some terrible times — Allen chops up the story.

He jumps from Alvy's childhood (he grew up under the roller coaster on Coney Island) to a date between Alvy and Annie, in which they loudly quarrel about their sexual schedule. It isn't until a few more scenes that we learn how Alvy and Annie met. The device allows us to discover the couple's personalities; the story of their relationship isn't as important as what's going on inside their heads (and we have access to their thoughts throughout the film).

And while the focus is primarily on Alvy (meaning: Woody Allen), we're able to see Annie as a complex character, as well. Compare it to High Fidelity, for example, which is essentially the hipster version of Annie Hall, and is entirely focused on the protagonist played by John Cusack. Sure, the film seems to be aware that he's a major jerk, but it's also a little unfair to the Laura character, who serves only as a plot device for Rob to figure himself out (or to not figure himself out) and grow up (or to not). And, considering its male-centric themes, High Fidelity allows the dopey, loser protagonist to get back together with his successful and accomplished ex-girlfriend simply because, as she says, she's too tired to not be with him.

Annie Hall has the completely opposite ending: Alvy and Annie, despite the fact that they do love each other and shared common interests and experiences, are completely wrong for each other, and their relationship fails.

The break-up that takes place at High Fidelity's opening does not serve as an impetus for inspiration in Rob; in fact, it eventually inspires Laura to get back with Rob. Alvy's break-up with Annie, on the other hand, entices him to write a play based on the relationship, the brief scene from which depicts the Alvy character standing up to Annie's doppelganger. He is suddenly self-aware, admitting defeat in an assertive, attractive way. Only in Alvy's play, "Sally" tells "Artie" that she loves him, and they kiss. Alvy turns to the camera and says, "What do you want? It was my first play. You're always trying to get things to come out perfectly in art because it's real difficult in life."

This moment, just minutes before the end of the film, is the apex of Annie Hall's self-reference — Artie is a stand-in for Alvy, who is a stand-in for himself. And it's impossible to avoid the thought that Diane Keaton is playing herself, as well. Though Allen has denied that the film is "autobiographical" and based on his relationship with Keaton, I like to look at it the way Alvy looks at his past: it is easily rewritten to suit one's own fancy, and might be easier to come to terms with that way.

Alvy, at least, is right about this: the only way to make reality seem perfect is to make it up, at least just a little bit.

Tyler Coates is the contributing editor to This Recording. He tumbls here.

"Shells" - Mirah (mp3)

"The World Is Falling" - Mirah (mp3)

"Country of the Future" - Mirah (mp3)

In Which All We Want Is Someone To Be Nice To

Looking For The Nice Guy

by TYLER COATES

I consider myself to be a Feminist in the sense that I've always thought, "Yeah, ladies are just as good as dudes, right? I mean, why not?" I never was one to shout about it, though, mostly because I've never been a very politically correct person. It's pretty hard to be politically correct and hilarious. I'd much rather be funny than someone who pretends to respect everyone.

But seriously, folks: womyn really got it rough these days! And not just in the political, economic, and social departments. Fuck the glass ceiling; I'm talking about how the guys that try to date girls are dumb shits.

Now I feel like I can write about this because, even though I'm not a girl, I do date guys, and right now I am severely anti-men. Sure, that's mostly gay guys, but generally, I don't like men very much. Also, I've been reading Jezebel a lot lately, and all of that feministing has really started to affect me. This Recording favorite Julie Klausner once had an essay in the NYT's Modern Love column. I spent all day thinking about it because I've been there, lady.

Julie describes a brief, unsatisfying fling with "an indie rock dreamboat," which began in the most modern way: emails and text messaging. If you're a gay man living in a city, you've most likely gone through this routine, and I found Julie's descriptions of her first impressions pretty damn accurate:

"He already annoyed me, and we hadn’t even met. I would soon learn a lesson men have known for years: that it’s possible to be attracted to somebody you don’t like."

julie & smiley muffin

I wasn't really aware of that until recently. I'm admittedly new to the gay thing, having spent most of my post-adolescent awkward stage (which, um, just ended about two years ago when I was somewhere between 22 and 23) thinking I liked girls. When I had crushes on girls, I fell hard, spending months pining after them with, obviously, very little success.

I didn't think I'd ever want to date a guy until I found myself in my first relationship. It turned out to be a disaster, but part of me kept that relationship going because I liked the challenge of having to make an effort to get what I wanted. I wanted this guy to like me. And I realized later that when I entered into those courtship rituals with other guys, I was more interested in the ones who didn't like me than those who put a lot of effort into the pursuit.

Back when I was going after girls, I considered myself to be a Nice Guy. You know the type: the nice guy is the dude who is your friend, who is a little too shy to make a move, whom you would never call "a player". Look at Coop from Wet Hot American Summer, for example: Michael Showalter's character is the quintessential nice guy pit against Paul Rudd's bad boy.

The nice guy is the cute, skinny, nerdy guy who listens to The Decemberists instead of Dave Matthews Band, who would rather watch Amelie and cuddle than drink and beer and watch "the game." Of course, the nice guy is full of shit, and this is coming from someone who thought he was that guy.

Sure, I'm no philistine, but that doesn't mean I didn't break my fair share of hearts. Did I end brief, month-long relationships by not calling someone back? A few times, actually. Yeah, I feel bad about it now, and try not to be such a jackass and consider the thoughts of others occasionally. I wasn't doing it before on purpose, or out of some sociopathic game I was playing. No, I was just a dipshit who didn't know how to treat the guys I was courting.

From Leigh Dragoon's Nice Guys 101 Series

There's a great quote that is floating around from an interview with author Amanda Marcotte:

"The Nice Guy syndrome arises from men who are really conflicted about women’s equality. They get angry real fast when, after being 'nice,' they don’t get rewarded, or they are rejected. Guys are oblivious to the fact of their entrenched privilege, the very notion that women are there as available eye candy for them. It is unnerving and uncool."

It's almost as if sometimes men think they should be rewarded with sex simply because they didn't actively (or at least aggressively) pursue it.

But that idea is completely the opposite of what one looks for in the nice guy. The nice guys shouldn't be calculating and manipulative of your feelings just to get you into bed! That's the bad boy, the one you're not supposed to like. So why is it when someone like Julie Klausner falls for the unassuming, sensitive musician, she gets spurned just as if he was that bad boy in disguise? That's because nice guys are the bad boys in disguise.

Now, I'm not saying all guys suck; I'm sure there are a few out there that are genuine and respectful of whomever they pursue. But if you're with someone who calls himself "nice," nip that shit in the bud. And if you're uncertain, here are some helpful tips to see if your potential mate is an actual dickhead nice guy:

1. Does he think he's awkward? If he describes himself as awkward, there's a problem. (To quote Edith Wharton: "[T]he inner vanity is generally in proportion to the outer self-depreciation.") We're misusing that word most of the time anyway. If everyone's awkward, then no one's awkward, okay? (That's the closest I'll ever come to Ayn Rand Objectivist thought.)

2. Is he a currently attractive former geek? That's a red flag. He's probably not looking to settle down, even if he plays you Sufjan on his guitar. He's most likely looking for help discovering his newfound hotness.

3. Does he perform improv and have a huuuuge crush on Tina Fey? Look out! You might think those loose-fitting khakis paired with Nike sneakers are endearing and the prospect of having a guy watch Mean Girls with you sounds like a dream come true now, but it's only because he thinks she's a hottie on 30 Rock. Would he have dated her in college?

4. Does he still listen to The Shins? All I'm going to say is that the dude from The Shins roughed up his America's Next Top Model girlfriend. I didn't even see that one coming.

5. Does he have a blog? YIKES.

Be wary, ladies, of the seemingly sweet, inexperienced guy who declares his emotions, because beneath that nice guy exterior is a guy who just doesn't know how to be around - or, hell, even respect - women (or other men, for that matter). Klausner wrote about this on her year-end blog post, where she included "Emo guys who have crushes on Pam from The Office" in her list of enemies. She said:

I get it, fellas. She's not intimidating, like one of those women who wears make-up and styles her hair, and has a good job that she enjoys, and confidence, and a...what do you call it...an adult woman's sexuality. There's nothing scary there, because there's no mystery: she's just like you! Mousy and shy. And one day your fantasy will come true. You'll meet a nerdy, cute girl just like that (like you), and NOBODY BUT YOU WILL KNOW SHE'S PRETTY! Shhh! It's a secret! And she'll melt when she sees your record collection, and she'll swoon when you play her the song you wrote, and she'll never want to go out to a party where you'll be forced to talk to people of social status, or comb your hair, or buy grown-up shoes, or demonstrate a hearty handshake, or make eye contact, or basically act like a man.

So what's the moral here? Does a guy have to spout out misogynistic bullshit about women to reveal some kind of deeper evil? Absolutely not! Take this speech from my favorite movie, Broadcast News, for example:

What do you think the Devil is going to look like if he's around? Nobody is going to be taken in if he has a long, red, pointy tail. No, I'm semi-serious here. He will look attractive and he will be nice and helpful and he will get a job where he influences a great God-fearing nation and he will never do an evil thing. He will just bit by little bit lower standards where they are important. Just coax along flash over substance... Just a tiny bit. And he will talk about all of us really being salesmen. And he'll get all the great women.

Tyler Coates is the contributing editor to This Recording. He tumbls it all right here.

"Little White Lies" - Deer Tick (mp3)

"The Ghost" - Deer Tick (mp3)

"Houston, TX" - Deer Tick (mp3)

In Which He Was Simply Born a Finicky Eater

I Have Never Known a Grapefruit

by TYLER COATES

I am twenty-five years old and I have never eaten a banana.

To my knowledge, I've also never had an orange, or a cherry. Once a girl I had a crush on pressured me into eating a strawberry, but I haven't had one since.

I was a freshman in college before I branched out from spaghetti to other forms of pasta, because I was so certain that the different shapes would also somehow affect how the pasta's taste.

Most of my friends have accepted, for the most part, that I am the pickiest eater they've ever met outside of their fussy, four-year-old cousins. I can't really explain what is wrong with me, but in the past year or so I've really tried my best to figure out what my deal is (that is, I tried on my own, as I can't afford therapy).

My friends love to play "What Does Tyler Eat?", which, next to Cranium, is my least-favorite game to play with mixed company. The rules are simple: you only need to list of common foods most people eat, and I respond with a "yes" or a "no." One should expect mostly negative responses.

Foods I don't like include macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, pineapples, nuts, beans (of all varieties), pork chops, ham, peas, eggs, tomatoes, and oatmeal.

I've come to accept my eating foibles, but it is a difficult set of rules to live by. I've come to fear eating dinner at friends' houses, afraid that I'll offend their mothers for turning up my nose at the dinner table. My contributions to pot lucks usually involve alcohol, which is what I normally stick to at such events (and if I'm lucky, I remember to eat before leaving my house). Going out to dinner is a typically safe practice, as long as the cuisine isn't too ethnic (no Chinese food for me, please) and I can always order the old standby, the hamburger with mustard and ketchup, cooked well-done.

A lot of people ask if my parents are as picky as me, and they definitely aren't. The thing about living in a town of 300 in rural Virginia, however, is that you don't really get many exotic options. My mother never strayed from a regular menu which included chicken, beef, and pizza. After a few years of preparing a separate meal for me (usually frozen pizza or a hamburger), my mother stopped enabling me and made sure I ate everything she made for dinner, which included the cooked vegetables I still cannot manage to eat today. While her efforts weren't completely in vain (I like grilled pork tenderloin! and turkey!), I can't say that I'm eating a lot of broccoli these days, which is one of the few cooked vegetables I can manage to swallow without feeling sick.

It's not so much the taste of food that I can't handle, but the texture. I'd love to eat more fruit, as I enjoy the flavors, but it's the squishy, juicy feeling of the seedy little things in my mouth that completely turns me off. I'm the same way with cooked vegetables: outside of corn and the occasional piece of broccoli, I can't stand the idea of a limp piece of food sliding around in my mouth.

I never thought of this as a serious problem, as I have been able to work around it when eating meals with friends. It wasn't until last year, when my first serious boyfriend listed it as one of the reasons for breaking up with me, did I begin to think that there might be something wrong and it was affecting other people more than it was affecting me. So, being the cyberchondriac that I am, I started researching on the Internet. Of course, most sites that focus on picky eaters focus mainly on children, not adults, but I did find a sort of online support group, which finally gave people like me a voice! But, since I enjoy reading about people's psychological problems with great joy, I couldn't help but find the site slightly ridiculous. For example, here are tips for getting out of social situations where one's eating quirks will come into the spotlight:

1. Tell the host you're not hungry.


2. Pretend you're sick and just threw up.


3. At the last minute have someone call you about an emergency.


4. Admit you're unable to eat what is served and just sit quietly.


5. Complain that you are allergic to the food being served.


6. Proclaim you're a Vegetarian.


7. Pretend your fasting and have a medical procedure scheduled.


8. Decline the food because of Religious Beliefs.


9. Avoid getting invited in the first place.


10. Tell everyone the truth that you are the world's pickiest eater and you won't be able to enjoy what's being served.


11. Show up late around the time everyone is finished eating.


12. Just don't show up at all.


13. Offer sex to a man who wants to take you to dinner.

If this website did anything for me, it made me feel less like a crazy person and more like someone who would just rather order a pepperoni pizza than rosemary and orange braised lamb shank served with orzo and parsley gremolata.

Tyler Coates is the contributing editor to This Recording. He tumbls right here. Please list a relevant food you refuse to eat in the comments. Thank you for your time.

Nothing is quite as lovely - or simple - as an Arby's roast beef sandwich.

"Blitz Babies" - Bernie Taupin (mp3)

"Approaching Armageddon" - Bernie Taupin (mp3)

"Love (The Barren Desert)" - Bernie Taupin (mp3)