We can have unisex toilets… if everyone, of *every* gender is more considerate. Yes, this includes cis women.

Content note: this post talks about bodily functions a lot, and touches on discussing transmisogyny.

This week, I seem to have become quite the Miss Manners, with a second etiquette post in the space of just a few days. This one is about toilet etiquette, because apparently the tired old unisex toilet “debate” has come up again, with transphobic bigots pranging out about the notion of toilets where anyone of any gender can shit without fear of violence. I can only imagine these bigots have sex segregated dunnies in their own houses, which sounds pretty expensive on the upkeep.

Now, I’m a firm believer in unisex toilets, but I’m also aware of what makes toilets horrible. Having pissed in toilets for all genders across my life (I hate queuing, when I need to go), let me state straight off the bat: disgusting toilets are not gendered. I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe in the ladies’ loo, and these things, unfortunately, will never be lost in time like tears in rain. I am not sure where the myth that ladies’ toilets are nicer comes from: they’re just differently disgusting.

Regardless of what your genitals look like, there is one simple rule for a public toilet which I cannot believe needs stating, because I learned it when I was a tiny child: be fucking considerate of others.

This probably isn’t clear enough, given the fucking state of toilets I’ve been in in my life, so allow me to give a few simple pointers.

Wipe the fucking seat

This is especially targeted at the dreaded hoverers, those monsters who stalk through the ladies’ and consider their delicate bums too precious for the filthy bog seat. So they stand over it, piss on the seat and then leave it there, thus making the dirty seat a self-fulfilling prophecy. These people are by far the worst terrors of public restrooms, and I will be grinding more of my axes with hoverers later in this post.

Nice, normal citizens might also get pee, poo or period on the seat once in a while, although are likely less an egregious toilet terrorist than the hoverers.

Either way, if you get something on the toilet seat, wipe it off. Just… take a little bit of loo roll and wipe the seat before you flush. It’s fine. You’re not touching the excreta, and even if you did, slightly, you’re going to wash your hands anyway, right? …right?

Please wash your hands.

Put the fucking seat down 

About half of the population can stand to pee. Statistically, however, less than half of what you’re doing in the toilet requires standing. So, statistically speaking, put that seat down afterwards. It takes about a second to do, and shows you’re thinking of others.

Also, I return to my first point. Wipe down any stray wee-wee. Yes, even if you missed and got in on the floor. Clean it up. If you’re missing your aim regularly, just sit down to piss, regardless of your genital configuration. You clearly lack the knack for it, so… do it.

If the toilet won’t flush, don’t fucking block it

Nobody likes having to leave a public toilet with an enormous floater left there, for which everyone knows you’re responsible. So you might try to cover it up with toilet roll to make it look less blatantly present. Don’t do this: it’ll possibly block the toilet which makes everything far less pleasant for other bathroom-users than having to see the turd you produced.

It’s fine, using a toilet which someone else has used. It’s a public toilet. We all know that people do poos and wees in there. Nobody’s touching your poo, and it’ll probably flush after someone else has used the toilet. Yes, it’s a little embarrassing, but so what? It’s just a poo. Brazen it out.

However, if you somehow missed the toilet with your pooping, return to my first top potty tip and–say it with me–clean that shit up.

Dispose of things, fucking properly

Some hoverers have an even more unpleasant habit than merely peeing on the seat: they’ll cover the seat in toilet paper, then invariably piss all over it and leave damp clods of urine-soaked bog roll so nobody else will be able to sit down that day. Don’t do that. If you must cover the seat, then get rid of what you’ve covered it in.

If you use disposable period gear, make sure you get rid of that, too. There’s usually bins. Put these things in the bin. This includes tampons. While some may be flushable, most will eventually block the loo and be terrible for the environment, so pop that in the bin. Cardboard applicators, which sometimes advertise themselves as flushable are, in my experience, manifestly not flushable.

Now, I’ve seen some horrors in ladies’ loos, and the worst of these involve inappropriately-disposed-of sanitary towels. I have seen them stuck to the fucking toilet door. Why would anyone do this? Please don’t do this, it’s absolutely fucking vile. See also: smearing blood. Blood gets on your hands. You are going to wash your hands though, right? …right?

It’s especially important to dispose of menstrual products appropriately, because the period and/or nappy bins are often maintained by different cleaning companies, who come in less frequently, because the stuff counts as biohazard. So if you stick your towel to the door, chances are it’ll be there for days.

Shout-out to any toilet-having venues: make sure you have the bins.

Toilets are for bodily functions, not for hanging out

Returning to my point about the large floater, above, the embarrassment factor often comes from the way other people interact with one another in the toilet. Let’s treat toilets as what they are: a functional place to empty your bowels, bladder or mooncup, without any red faces. Treat it as broadly anonymous. What happens in the toilet, stays in the toilet.

Don’t stare at people, give them privacy. We’re all just here to go, and nobody has any more or less right to use the bloody toilet.

Transphobes like to pretend that it’s trans women who are the danger in public toilets, but honestly? The most intrusive experience I ever had in a public toilet was when the cis woman in the queue behind me, who I dimly knew, tried to follow me into the fucking cubicle. This is not on. Just wait an additional thirty seconds, Susan.

This is why the best public toilets of all are the ones which have the full-sized door and a sink in the cubicle, so you can just get on with your business in peace. More like these please.

Oh yeah… wash your fucking hands

Toilets are not, and will never be a germ-free environment, and neither is the human body from which you just cried havoc and let slip the dogs of war. This is not nice, but it’s hardly a deal-breaker. Please wash your hands after using the toilet, whether you think you need to or not. Your hands are covered in germs (and probably not just toilet-germs, but snot germs and cough germs and pet germs and… to be honest, your hands are probably far grosser than the toilet seat you won’t deign to touch). Your hands are touching everything, including other people, or things other people will touch. So wash your goddamn hands.

Toilet-builders do need to get better

A lot of places have toilets where maintenance is poor, the set-up is awful, and all sorts of other horrors. A lot of the issues can be mitigated by people using the loo being considerate. However, some of the problem is firmly in the hands of the venue. I mentioned completely individual toilet-units. These are the dream. Especially if they’re all accessible. As a stopgap, make sure each cubicle is relatively private, that there’s enough toilet roll and soap to go around, that the toilets have been cleaned and that the bins are emptied frequently.

What about unisex loos?

Unisex toilets are not only a possibility, but they’re already a reality. And many of them are an absolutely fine pissing environment. Venues should consider more unisex toilets, not fewer. All of these tips should be used in gendered toilets, in unisex toilets, in your own toilet at home.

So please, please be a nice toilet-user, and stop blaming marginalised people for your toilet experience.

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The Twitter etiquette that matters: A brief guide to not being annoying in our mentions

Twitter’s recent new (hideous) interface has, rather vexingly, made it easier for trolls and well-meaning people alike to commit some behaviours which are, at best, terribly annoying and at worst, thoroughly rude. Now, I can tell that some people don’t mean to be this bothersome, so this post is for you. Try to avoid doing these things, and perhaps my mentions will no longer have to RIP.

@ people out

I cannot emphasise this enough. If someone who is @-ed in to a group conversation isn’t responding or engaging (by favouriting, for example), maybe @ them out. Otherwise their mentions will be clogged up with a conversation which doesn’t interest them. Consider @-ing them out once it’s hit about five tweets in the conversation that they haven’t engaged with.

The new interface has made @-ing out/untagging harder, because it draws attention away from how many people are in the conversation. Be mindful of this. Also, follow this easy-peasy guide to untagging.

(basically, if this isn’t loading for you, click the usernames above the tweet you’re replying to and untick the people you’re untagging. I include the graphic because some people prefer visuals)

Now, I’ve been the dick who hasn’t @-ed people out, and it’s annoyed them. So if it hits the point where they ask to be @-ed out, consider apologising… without @-ing everyone else in!

Use “reply all” functions sparingly

Again, Twitter’s new interface defaults to “reply all”, which increases your chances of spamming up someone’s timeline. Think about who you want to talk to. If you’ve seen a good tweet where several people are tagged, do you want to say “good stuff” to all of them? Or just the person who said the good tweet? Use the tagging-out protocol above, because Twitter will automatically reply all. And, again, in a group conversation, remember to tag people out once they stop engaging.

Try not to spam people with things you want them to see… and definitely don’t spam multiple people at once!

I have a fair amount of followers, so often get “please RT”-type tweets, or someone showing me a bad news story, or someone sharing a blog they wrote. I don’t necessarily mind this, although I will point out that I might not see your tweet, especially if my notifications are all spammed up by people doing the things I’m asking for a bit of etiquette in.

What is annoying, though, is when you tag in multiple people into you tweet. Now, this is annoying for a lot of reasons, primarily among them being half the time at least one of the other high-profile many-followers accounts is someone with whom I have mortal beef. Just because you enjoy following someone, doesn’t mean I want to be added into the conversation. If you’d like me to see something, send it to me, personally, not me and every dimly feminist celebrity or journalist you can think of. If we follow each other, a DM might even be more appropriate.

And more annoying still is when someone tagged decides to reply all when saying “I’ll retweet this” or whatever. Please do not do this.

Unfortunately, Twitter’s new interface makes spamming even easier. Now, spammers are not constrained by character limits so can @ infinite people into one tweet. For goodness sake, don’t do this.

Don’t snitch

Sometimes, people on Twitter will be snarking about a horrible celebrity. And this’ll happen by the medium of subtweeting. And then someone comes along and is all like “Yeah! @KTHopkins is a massive turd.” Congratulations, you fucking snitch. You just drew attention of a high-profile celebrity and could expose everyone to a torrent of abuse. Please, for god’s sake, if you want to tell a celebrity they’re a dickhead, don’t have other people tagged into the conversation. Celebrities are horrid, vain people, many of whom will merrily weaponise their followers.

Incidentally, this is why a lot of people who have experienced abusive Twitter shitstorms may use asterisks to mask a celebrity’s name, because celebs namesearch too. So if you’re replying when somebody has masked a celeb’s name, join them in doing so. Don’t snitch.

tl;dr

Tagging is something you should think carefully about. It’s also something which Twitter has made harder to think carefully about. Keep it on your mind, and try not to be the spammer.

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Things I read recently that I found interesting

Roll up, roll up, it’s linkspam time!

Witch-hunt (Hannah Black)- On gossip as a women’s weapon of resistance.

5 reasons why we stopped a UKgov deportation flight to Nigeria last night (Nadia Graham)- Reporting on a great bit of activism, and why actions such as this are so necessary.

We Added a Gender-Neutral Pronoun in 1934. Why Have So Few People Heard of It? (Merriam-Webster)- Interesting little bit of history on a pronoun that never flew, although some Twitter pals inform me it’s still in use in Northern Ireland.

wrongkindofcrazy (Ali Brumfitt)- A spoken-word piece on mental illness.

Raids on workplaces and homes (Anti-Raids Network)- Printable resources so you can help your friends and neighbours.

White Women Are Less Likely to Protect Black Women From Sexual Assault, Study Finds (Brittney McNamara)- Empirical evidence of the problem. As white women, we must address this and protect our black sisters.

Transgender bullying is on the rise. How can we stop misinformation spreading? (Paris Lees)- Examining the very real consequences of the “debate” where bigots are allowed to fib.

A 130-Year-Old Fact About Dinosaurs Might Be Wrong (Ed Yong)- A rather enjoyable piece on a possible huge taxonomic misclassification.

The Jolyoncene (Alex Baker)- Have you noticed the sudden influx of Jolyons?

How many 16th century French laying hens would be required to feed Gaston his five dozen eggs? A surprisingly educational answer to this weird question.

Disabled Feminism (Ray Filar, Tumu Johnson and Nikky Smith)- A long listen, but this radio show covers key issues with disability and feminism.

Context & The Most Famous Artist: Why the Boring Bro of Art Needs To Shut TF Up (A Brief History of Brief Histories)- On art bros, readymades and men sucking.

And finally, if you want to get me an Easter egg, I’d like this one, please.


Living on lamotrigine: 100mg

Content note: this post is a bit graphic about menstruation and sex, and also describes an unpleasant dream involving a Nazi.

Today is Purple Day, for epilepsy awareness, so what better day than to update on my lamotrigine adventures? I’ve now finished titrating up with my lamotrigine regimen, and I’ve been on the full dose of 100mg (50 in the morning, and 50 before bed) for about a month.

First of all, in good news, most of the side effects have gone away. I am no longer itchy. I get a little light-headed once in a while, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Even the weird dreams have either died down, or I’ve got more used to them. Either way, my sleep feels more restful, and less of my unconscious attention is focused on the dreams, so it’s less of a bother. I managed to exhibit some rudimentary control over one of the lucid dreams, wherein my abusive ex was sucking off a fucking high-profile Nazi in the church of San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane. I decided I didn’t need to look at this, so I spent the dream enjoying the iconic geometric Borromini dome, which was quite nice.

The side effect that has remained is my periods are from hell. The cramps are terrible, the headaches are awful, my wisdom teeth swell up and everything hurts. I am in a world of pain for two days, because fortunately, at least, my periods only last a little over two days now.

One of the worries a lot of people have about taking any medication is what it does to sex. I’m pleased to report that for me, lamotrigine has killed neither sex drive nor sensitivity. It has had one weird effect though: I never hit that sexually sated feeling; no matter how many orgasms I have, I could keep going. Therefore, for me, sex (solo, or with others) is now mostly constrained by when someone gets tired. I am sexually satisfied, but basically could keep going and never hit the roll-over-fart-fall-asleep point. Which is a blessing and a curse, I suppose.

I had a fuck-up with my meds the other day. I’m taking two tablets a day, with one in the morning and the other at night. On days where I go into the office, I keep the tablets on top of my phone, so when the alarm goes off I take my pill before switching off the alarm and getting up. My big mistake on the day of my fuckup was I hit snooze after taking my dose. And then woke up to the alarm again, automatically took my tablet, switched off the alarm and got up. So, I took a whole day’s dose in the morning. And let me tell you, it was not pretty. I spent the whole day asleep on my feet and itching horribly. The only thing keeping me awake was the interminable itching. So, kids, be careful with taking your medication on time.

The great news is, it seems to have knocked the seizures on the head. I haven’t had one–not even an aura!–since the seizure I had during the first week on the meds. This is pretty fucking great for me, given I was having at least one a month, and now it’s been nothing since January.

I hope this series has been helpful for anyone who is starting on lamotrigine. I know it doesn’t work for some, but I will say this: the titration process is fucking unpleasant, but it settles down once you’re not upping the dose every two weeks. I’m glad I started taking it, because it definitely seems to work for me.

If you want to chat to me about lamotrigine, your experiences or your concerns,  tweet me, drop me a FB message, or email me: anotherangrywomb@gmail.com.

Adjusting to lamotrigine series
25mg
50mg
7
5mg

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Things I read recently that I found interesting

Welcome to the round-up, late because I’ve been ill recently with a nasty tummy bug, but normal service has now resumed.

Trans Women Shouldn’t Have To Constantly Defend Their Own Womanhood (Morgan M. Page)- There is no universal experience of womanhood.

Were Women of the World right to drop an event featuring a rapist talking about his experience? (Bridget Minamore)- A nuanced look at the issues.

Never mind free tampons – schoolgirls need education about their periods (Chella Quint)- A much-needed piece on what needs to be done.

“No one ever asks what a man’s role in the revolution is”: Gender and sexual politics in the Black Panther Party 1966-1971 (Trace Matthews)- A vital bit of political history.

Alt-Feminism and the white nationalist women who love it (Flavia Dzodan)- How some strands of feminism and fascism go hand in hand.

The Impossibility of the International Women’s Strike is Exactly Why It’s So Necessary (Camille Barbagallo)- The context to the recent women’s strike.

An unwelcome home: to be a migrant in today’s Britain is a daily struggle (Kiri Kankhwende)- Looking at the fucking state of things on this rainy fascism island.

How did the tube lines get their names? A history of London Underground in 12 lines (JonnElledge)- An enjoyably nerdy history.

Yes, gender is a spectrum and yes, trans women are women full stop: why both these things are true at the same time (Catherine Baker)- Shit that shouldn’t need saying, said incredibly well.

Leaf Blowers: Anatomy of a Teen Celeb Crush (Kayleigh Ann)- Looking back on how crushes feel. This was adorably nostalgic.

Your definition of a ‘real woman’ is ableist (Lola Phoenix)- Disablism in the “shared female experience” bigots like to believe in.

Lessons Learned (Wail Qasim)- Why Cressida Dick’s appointment as Met Commissioner is disastrous.

How do we ensure public safety w/o police? Check out this list on alternatives to policing (#4mysquad)- Collated resources which all address the favourite question of liberals.

And finally, have some baby sloths talking to each other, it’s life-enhancing.


“Tyler, you’re fucking Marla”: A perspective on Fight Club to piss off its devotees

Content note: there’s a lot of discussion of sex and violence in this post. Also, spoilers for Fight Club, if somehow you’ve made it without watching it or knowing “the twist” for almost twenty years.

Aren’t Fight Club fans the fucking worst? They’re usually men who think they’re quite smart to have understood a film (or book) which spends an awful lot of screen time giving a blow-by-blow explanation of its own twist. They relate to Tyler Durden, see something in the text which says Very Deep Things about masculinity, find its rather heavy-handed anti-capitalist messaging really revolutionary. They see Project Mayhem as aspirational, and they’re probably “alt-right” neo-Nazis.

They’ve been going about the story all wrong. Like the sheeple they decry, they’ve been simply taking everything at face value. They’ve been nodding along with something which is making fun of them, not understanding that they are the butt of the joke.

Allow me to present an alternative perspective on Fight Club.

“Tyler Durden” is a real, flesh-and-blood human being.

We are told, in the twist at the end of the film, that Brad Pitt’s chiselled character is a figment of the nameless Narrator’s imagination. It was the Narrator all along who was, in chronological order: blowing up his own apartment, starting a fight club, starting more fight clubs, starting the space monkey programme, starting Project Mayhem, blowing up the financial district. Did I miss anything? Probably.

I don’t buy this, for one major reason: logistics. Let’s take our first instance, the destruction of the Narrator’s apartment, which was done with explosives. The Narrator himself arrives home to his apartment already having been blown up. “Tyler Durden” left the airport only moments before he did. There is no way “Tyler” could have personally planted the explosives, nor the Narrator. However, it makes sense if we bring in another variable: those other fight clubs/Project Mayhems.

A nationwide network of fight clubs and more drastic actions cannot simply be put into play on an overnight business trip. We watch the Narrator’s journey. This shit takes quite a lot of time and effort. So, perhaps, the infrastructure was already in place. Another place this makes sense is when one compares how much work goes into setting up the fight club, when these things seem to run themselves in other cities: they’ve been going longer, they’re already set up and functioning. The Narrator’s encounter with “Tyler Durden” is not the beginning. It’s the middle. This is, of course, reflected in the storytelling style of the film itself, where the moment of the beginning is explicitly jumped around, searching for a suitable starting point for his own tale. We also see a clue to this shortly before “Tyler Durden” is formally introduced. As the Narrator rides a walkway to get on a plane, we see “Tyler” on a walkway… going the other way, as if he is returning from somewhere the Narrator is headed towards.

Somebody’s been setting up fight clubs, and it’s somebody with a gift for grifting, a master manipulator, an all-round arsehole. “Tyler Durden” is real, and the Narrator is himself a peripheral character in “Tyler’s” plot.

From “Tyler’s” perspective, the Narrator is one mark of many, another source of money, another pawn for grooming into developing another cell in a larger structure. Even before the glimpse of him on the walkway, we see flashes of “Tyler”: at the Narrator’s workplace, at the doctor’s surgery, at a support group. “Tyler” was checking out his mark before they ever formally met, and decided he had found the right man for his purposes. He went through his well-oiled process, becoming a central part of the Narrator’s life, close as a lover. He manipulated, gaslight, and led the Narrator into a series of actions to get all of what he needed for the cell.

So why does the Narrator think he is Tyler Durden?

“I was the warm little centre that the life of this world crowded around”

That quote above is from near the beginning, when the Narrator explains his addiction to support groups. He goes, he says, because he likes that feeling of being centred. It’s a contrast from the rest of his life, where he is nothing.

His life with “Tyler” gives him this feeling, too. He feels special, being in proximity to this remarkable man. It is only when he realises that he is one of many that things fall apart.

His delusion that he is in fact “Tyler Durden” is the only way for his fragile ego to cope with the fact that he is the centre of precisely sweet fuck all. Like the author, Chuck Palahniuk, who believes himself so important he invented the insult “snowflake” when he didn’t, the Narrator is nothing special. That thought, to him, is terrifying. And so he chooses to believe that he is Tyler Durden, and he has been from the start. He’s been running the show right from the off; he went off to be Tyler Durden while he was asleep. He was cool, sexy, and ruthlessly efficient as Tyler, rather than a pathetic little dork. Who wouldn’t want to literally look like Brad Pitt, and have the supernatural power to create an unstoppable terrorist group?

It is a balm to his fragile ego, picturing himself in the driving seat when he was manifestly not. He constructs a fantasy world wherein he’s in the middle of all things, where he started something rather than got carried along with it. It helps him a lot to imagine that not only was he in control of everything the whole time, but he could defeat the bad side of himself all along. It makes him feel good. In actuality, he isn’t even important enough to have a name.

Editing in is an explicit theme of the film, with it set up early in discussion of “Tyler’s” projection job reflected us being told the Narrator edited “Tyler” into his life. What is left implicit is the equal possibility of editing out. 

The Narrator is an audience surrogate. The audience for Fight Club is sad little men who want to feel important and special, who want to be Tyler Durden.

So, Tyler Durden does exist. Except, actually…

Tyler Durden does not exist.

The character played by Brad Pitt is a real human, with whom one can really interact. But he is not “Tyler Durden”. “Tyler Durden” as a real entity does not exist.

We see, throughout the film, snapshots of what I’ll call “How Do I Even Begin To Explain Tyler Durden“. Bob’s heard that Tyler never sleeps. Another man in another city has heard that Tyler regularly gets his whole face redone surgically. Nobody knows who “Tyler Durden” is, and that’s because Tyler Durden does not exist and the Narrator missed the memo about that. “Tyler Durden” is more of a password: a way of the initiated announcing themselves to others within this not-so exclusive club. Nobody knows anything concrete about “Tyler Durden” because they are never entirely certain if they had met him or not. “Tyler Durden” is a presence who is never really present, a name used by those who fulfil “Tyler Durden’s” goals.

“Tyler Durden” is the person who is doing the organising at any given moment. All fight club members are “Tyler Durden”, and none of them are.

Just because “Tyler Durden” does not exist, does not mean that ultimately there’s no leadership. It also does not mean that the Narrator spent a lot of the movie hanging out in the bath with Brad Pitt.

Marla Singer is the entity the Narrator calls “Tyler Durden”.

We talked earlier about how editing in allows for editing out, but a third possibility is available: editing into something different.

Most people don’t pay a lot of attention to the beginning scenes of Fight Club, waiting for the manly punching to begin. This is a mistake, because Marla Singer’s introduction is fascinating. We meet a woman who is dissatisfied with life, enjoys standing on that thin line between life and death. She’s a gifted grifter, a master manipulator and an all-round arsehole. She smokes like a chimney, lies, infiltrates, steals, and wears some really great thrift store costumes.

We are told that “aside from humping”, Tyler and Marla are never seen in the same room together. This is because Tyler is Marla. We see so many parallels between the first meeting with Tyler and the first meeting with Marla, these life-changing conversations that flip reality on its head. Both Marla and Tyler are nihilists and fakers.

Again, this is more than the Narrator can handle. He is a misogynist. He holds women in contempt. He held women in contempt long before he met Marla Singer, and continues to do so after that. It pains him that a woman can know so much about how the world works, and can live without fear in a way that he never could. And so, he finds it easier to imagine that a man is doing all of this. First, Brad Pitt, and later, himself.

The parallels between the characters are strong, and that attention is drawn to the fact we never see them in the same room is a beat-you-over-the-head-with-a-chair hint that the two are one and the same. Tyler completes conversations that began with Marla, because the narrator cannot bear to be talking to a woman.

This, too, explains Marla’s frustrations with the Narrator, who acts like two different people around her. Sometimes he treats her with respect, while other times he treats her like a woman. He is, perhaps, different from her other marks in this respect: he is so misogynistic he frequently imagines her away.

So now, let’s consider how some of this works with Marla running the show. It adds a dimension to the film which was once flat: the dimension of misogyny and how women are treated. Imagine that first fight, “I want you to hit me”. Instead of punching Brad Pitt, he is punching a scraggy woman, and she is giving it right back, and then some. Imagine that scene with Lou, the bar owner, as “Tyler” takes a beating, cackling and spitting blood–suddenly, the befuddled horror on the faces of witnesses makes more sense if it’s a frail lady as the victim.

Marla’s entire scheme works because as a woman she can make herself invisible. In participating in fights, she shores up her reputation as the omnipresent crazy bitch at the side of the man who they’ve been told is in charge. She seems completely erratic, and that gives her a cloak. She had done this in cities all across the country. She is manipulative, and she’s experienced at it. The Narrator is not the first man who has been subject to her gaslighting, her fucking about, and her plonking him into the position she needs him in. Marla knows what makes men tick, and it’s getting to hit each other and feel like they’re smart enough to have noticed the world is a bit fucked.

At the end of the film, the Narrator banishes “Tyler”, and Marla arrives very conveniently swiftly afterwards, carried in by space monkeys–who, we’ve already been told, are to manhandle their own perceived leaders if instructed. The Narrator finally sees reality for what it is, and perhaps even sees beauty in Marla’s plot. The Pixies play. A penis flashes up on the scene. Credits.

tl;dr

The Narrator is a sad little misogynist who likes to imagine himself doing all the cool shit the chick he fancies pulled off. Tell this to ur MCM next time he tries to lecture u about how special FC is, and ruin it for him.

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Things I read this week that I found interesting

For the second week in a row, the weekly post round-up is actually weekly! Here are some things I read this week that you should read, too.

‘My eyelashes catch my sweat’ — How women responded to a photograph of my eleven year old daughter with body hair. (Kristie De Garis)- This young girl is great, knowing her own mind, but sadly people have nothing better to do than pick on an 11 year old.

Repeating Falsehoods About Disabled People Isn’t the Way to Prevent Gun Violence (s.e. smith)- A nuanced analysis on the recent removal of regulations on purchasing guns in the USA, stopping background checks on some disabilities.

This is the next century: my old school just launched a gender identity policy and this is how it feels (Catherine Baker)- A look at progress since the 90s, and where next.

Reflections on stigma and self-disclosure by a clinical psychologist with bipolar disorder (psychconfessions)- Exploring talking about experiences of mental illness with colleagues in clinical psychology.

On Lost Boys and Ethical Boundaries. (Jamie Nesbitt Golden)- Journalistic boundaries are vital, especially when dealing with racists.

These photos of Botswanan metalheads are pretty mind-blowing– A look at the Botswanan metal scene.

Meet The Man Who Stopped Thousands Of People Becoming HIV-Positive (Patrick Strudwick)- The story of the uphill struggle for gaining access to PrEP.

When A Woman Deletes A Man’s Comment Online (Ijeoma Oluo)- On white men and “debate”.

And finally, when a tap harmonises with a violin, it’s beautiful.