Steve Dyer

Once there was a tree
and she loved a little boy.

And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.

He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And the apples stained his mouth a strange color
and it wasn’t green and it wasn’t red
and the stain wouldn’t go away
no matter how much his mother scrubbed his mouth
after he’d eaten them
(she loved the little boy very much)
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.

And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
(she loved him best when he was asleep)
(he never woke up with quite the same color eyes)
(and his mother hated to hug him after he came home from the tree)
(though she could never explain why)
And the boy loved the tree, very much.

And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.

Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, “Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy.”
And the boy did.
And it seemed to him that time passed differently
in the shadow of the tree
and it seemed to him that he felt dizzy
after only a few minutes of playing
but the sun was gone, just the same.
(the tree was a very giving tree)

Take my apples, Boy,” said the tree, “and sell them.
Then you will have money and
you will be happy.”
“No thank you,” the boy said politely. “I really
should be getting back to the city.”
“I insist,” said the tree,
and it seemed to the boy that the ground grew hot and hummed around him
and his wrists hurt and his throat hurt until his mouth opened
and he said “Yes”
and the tree purred.
Hand to God, the tree purred
and then he was sick in the bushes.

So the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
And the boy stayed feeling sick.

And the tree stood a little taller, and grew back
all of her apples,
and then some.
And the apples weren’t quite green
and they weren’t quite red.

But the boy stayed away for a long time….
and the tree was angry.

And then one day the boy came back
and the tree shook.
and she said, “Come, Boy, climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches and be happy.”
“Please,” said the boy.
“I have a home. I have a wife. I have a family,” he said.
I didn’t want to come back. I don’t–
I don’t remember how I got here.
Where are they? Have you seen them?”
“I have no house,” said the tree.
“I can’t remember their names,” said the boy
almost to himself.
“The forest is my house,” said the tree lightly,
so lightly the boy could almost think
he imagined hearing her voice.

“But you may cut off
my branches and build a
house. Then you will be happy.”
“Yes,” the boy said slowly,
“Then I will be happy.”

And so the boy cut off her branches
to build his house.
And he forgot the names of his wife
and his children
and the house outside the forest
(he had never been outside the forest)
and he ate nothing but apples
and grew thinner and more thin
and smiled every day
and fell down often
(he was so clumsy)
And the tree was happy.

But then one day the boy wandered a bit further than usual
and he crossed a stream
and as he crossed the stream his mind came back to itself.
And the boy ran. The boy ran and he shook and he ran and he vomited and he ran.

It took the police a week to find out his name
and his last known address
and his family cried
and he cried
and they hugged
and the tree knew where he was.

The boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
“Come, Boy,” she whispered,
“come and play.”
“I am too old and sad to play,”
said the boy.
“No, you’re not,”
the tree said. “You’re just a boy.”
and for a minute it seemed to the boy
that she was right
and his knees didn’t ache
and his ears weren’t fogged
and he could almost hear his mother calling him home for dinner
instead of being dead and laid out in the ground
face turned up in the dirt
(which is where she really was)

“Cut down my trunk
and make a boat,” said the tree.
“Then you can sail away…
and be happy.”
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.
But even though the wind blew
and the waves slopped against the side of the boat
the boy knew he wasn’t going anywhere.
“I know this isn’t real,” he whispered
and he knew the tree was smiling
and he was right.
There was no boat.
And he had never left her,
she had never let him leave her,
not even when thought he had.
She had never let him really leave her.
And the tree was happy.

“I am sorry, Boy,”
said the tree,” but I have nothing
left to give you -”
“You have never given me anything,” the boy said.
“How long have you kept me here, really?”

The tree ignored the question. ”My apples are gone.”
“My teeth are too weak
for apples,” said the boy. “Am I old? Did you let me grow old here, alone?”
“My branches are gone,”
said the tree. ” You
cannot swing on them – ”
“I am too old to swing
on branches,” realized the boy. “You let me
grow old here.”

“My trunk is gone, ” said the tree.
“You cannot climb – ”
“I am too tired to climb,” said the boy.
He was too tired even to hate her.
At least the tree was real.
“I am sorry,” sighed the tree.
“I wish that I could give you something….
but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry….”

You are not sorry, the boy thought to himself.
“I don’t need very much now,” said the boy.
“just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired.”
“Well,” said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
“well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting
Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.”
And he was too tired to fight her.

And the boy sat.
And the tree was happy.
And he is still sitting there,
under the apples that are not quite green
and not quite red
and he has not moved for a long time
and the tree is very
very
very
very
very
(the tree is not a stump)
very
(the tree was never a stump)
very
very
very
(the tree has grown her branches back)
very
very
(the tree is looking for other boys)
happy.

Read more The Gifts of the Giving Tree at The Toast.

luiibadass:

why didn’t I understand this message as a kid :l 

Here's a fairly amazing paragraph from Richard Cohen's latest:

Today’s GOP is not racist, as Harry Belafonte alleged about the tea party, but it is deeply troubled—about the expansion of government, about immigration, about secularism, about the mainstreaming of what used to be the avant-garde. People with conventional views must repress a gag reflex when considering the mayor-elect of New York—a white man married to a black woman and with two biracial children. (Should I mention that Bill de Blasio’s wife, Chirlane McCray, used to be a lesbian?) This family represents the cultural changes that have enveloped parts—but not all—of America. To cultural conservatives, this doesn’t look like their country at all.

Right. I'm not racist. I just don't recognize my country. Also, the sight of you, and your used-to-be-lesbian black wife, and your brown children make me sick to my stomach. It's not like I want to lynch you or anything. 

via

Eloquent after a fashion:

“The plan is to allow those things that had been proposed over many years to reform a health-care system in America that certainly does need more help so that there’s more competition, there’s less tort reform threat, there’s less trajectory of the cost increases, and those plans have been proposed over and over again. And what thwarts those plans? It’s the far left. It’s President Obama and his supporters who will not allow the Republicans to usher in free market, patient-centered, doctor-patient relationship links to reform health care. “

Er, that’s it.

"Spiced pumpkin donut with TURKEY and GRAVY filling ($5)"

The post "Spiced Pumpkin Donut With Turkey And Gravy Filling" Perfectly Captures Our Cultural Culinary Moment appeared first on The Awl.

Despite his status as a former Nickelodeon star and 10-year "Saturday Night Live" veteran, Kenan Thompson has never been one to grab news headlines, so it was surprising when he spoke up about SNL’s lack of black female cast members. Unlike Jay Pharoah’s more incendiary call for SNL to "pay attention" to the issue a few weeks prior, Thompson's contribution to the debate was sparse and seemingly reluctant, and his remark that the show "never finds [black women] that are ready" in auditions… did not go over well.

The few times Kenan does make the rounds on the internet, though, I always notice a bigger problem: Those backlashers, and even top-shelf TV beat writers, can't be bothered to get his first name.

Oh, we've all done it. I don’t mean to nitpick or fuss, because the “Keenan Thompson” problem is not a typo or mistake but a much bigger blogger contagion. Could it be that Kenan is just so irregularly mentioned in the press, such a low-profile yet consistently present star, that he's almost invisible? What would Ralph Ellison say?

Thompson's refusal to portray black female characters this season played out perfectly in Kerry Washington's SNL cold open last Saturday, and if nothing else, Washington's hurried switch from Michelle Obama to Oprah to Beyoncé (and asking Pharoah, baffled: "Kenan won't…?") shows one thing: Reactionary bloggers, especially those from reputable blogs, should judge Kenan by his actions and not his words, and if they want to judge him at all, they should start by spelling his damn name right.

Perhaps you think I'm overreacting. Okay! For starters, barely used Twitter account @KeenanThompson has more followers than the barely used @OfficialKenan Twitter account. And for the rest of it… well, here goes, in reverse alphabetical order.

Yahoo!

The Wrap

VH1

Vanity Fair

TV Guide

Thought Catalog

Splitsider

Slant

Salon

Rolling Stone

People

NPR

New York Times

New York Observer

New York magazine

NBC

Los Angeles Times

Jezebel

Huffington Post

Hollywood Reporter

Gothamist

Gawker

Flavorwire

E!

Digital Spy

Deadline

The Daily What

The Daily Beast

Chicago Tribune

Comedy Central

BuzzFeed

The Awl

The AV Club

The Atlantic Wire

ABC News

Megh Wright is a regular contributor to Splitsider, where she writes the weekly SNL column Saturday Night's Children.

The post A Friendly PSA: It's "Kenan." Yes. Kenan Thompson. appeared first on The Awl.

I am prepared to offer an extremely valuable free service. Why would I do this crazy thing? Just to make the world better. And, more selfishly, to save myself from being bombarded by nightmarish tabs.

For free and for nothing, I will speed-read your Medium draft and warn you of any dangers it might present. Yes! I will be like "HEY THIS PART IS RACIST" and "NO 'MISANDRY' ISN'T A REAL THING" and also maybe "LOL you have no idea what you're talking about here." And then you will be happier, I will be happier, and the Internet will be happier. (Yeah. Mostly these tips are for men. Most of you ladies can just carry on.)

So try me. Bring it on. Choire [at] theawl.com. Someone has to keep this place from going down the tubes. Let's do it together.

But you can also help yourself! Here's some things to avoid.

• What X Taught Me About Y
No one believes that O Brother, Where Art Thou? taught you five valuable lessons about engineering.

• Transparent Startup Boosting Designed Basically To Get Ev Williams' Attention
Spoiler: he isn't reading.

• Open Letters
Don't do them. They're not reading.

• Open Letters that were on your Facebook
No, Joyce Maynard. Don't shame people on your Facebook and then put it on Medium. (Best of all, the response from the person she was concern-trolling was SILENCE.)

• Sophomore Year Libertarian Rantings
Yeah. Bring your A game, Libertarians. But don't bunt.

• CrossFit
IDK what is the deal with this but CrossFit does monster traffic on Medium and everyone thinks it's hilarious.

• Developer Incoherence
Buddy, what? Words are like code. You have to put them in the right order for things to work. Maybe the great thing about Medium is that it's going to teach developers that writing is actually sometimes hard.

• Proposing Totally Sensible-Sounding Solutions To Common Problems But Actually When You Look At It The Solution Is Totally Insane And Not Ever Going To Happen
I see you.

• Livejournalling
Meep.

• Thought Cataloging
Baby, sugar, lamb, take it to Thought Catalog. They'll actually pay you. Maybe they'll even save you from your busted thesis. (Probably not though!)

• Malcolm Gladwell Light
Or something???

• Unfinished Stubs Of Ideas
This was going somewhere. Would have been nice.

• Calling The World Is Flat Your "Game-Changer."
Oh pussycat, no.

Together we can make the Internet better. The Internet is like the environment. I learned that from watching Cocoon. No wait. Maybe it was Ghost? Anyway, it can be polluted irreparably. Let's preserve the Internet for our children and our children's children, so that they have something also to blog upon. Thank you.

The post The 12 Biggest Mistakes You Can Make On Medium appeared first on The Awl.

A reader writes:

While Stanley Milgram may have misled us, in science, the question is whether the results can be replicated. So isn’t the real question whether Milgram’s thesis was replicated in later studies? Like this one, for instance. Or this one. Of course, there have been attempts to replicate Milgram that challenged the results, but narratives like the one posted seem to perpetuate the notion that one experiment gives us a scientific conclusion, just as the notion that finding errors in an experiment debunks the conclusion. The results come in the process of replication or failure to replicate results. The deeper flaw was that we took one experiment to be the authoritative word on a question, instead of seeing it as one piece of a puzzle.

Another reader:

I’m a social psychologist, so I have some background in the substance of Milgram studies. I’ve not read Gina Perry’s book, but I’ve heard her talk about it and I’ve been extremely unimpressed by her take on the meaning of the research. One example of a thoughtful response to Perry’s book is this review by Carol Tavris:

“Deep down, something about Milgram makes us uneasy,” Ms. Perry writes. There is indeed something that makes everyone uneasy: the evidence that situations have power over our behavior. This is a difficult message, and most Americans have trouble accepting it. “I would never have pulled those levers!” we cry. “I would have told that experimenter where to go!” Ms. Perry insists that people’s personalities and histories influence their actions. But Milgram never disputed that fact; his own research found that many participants resisted. “There is a tendency to think that everything a person does is due to the feelings or ideas within the person,” Milgram wrote. “However, scientists know that actions depend equally on the situation in which a man finds himself.” Notice the “equally” in that sentence; Ms. Perry doesn’t.

“Milgram’s definition of obedience,” she writes, “despite his arguments about the power of the situation, seemed like a life sentence, as if people were frozen forever that way—fixed, stuck, like butterflies on a pin.” By the end of her investigation, she is transformed: “I had traded my admiration of Milgram for a better view of people.” These remarks would be naive coming from a nonprofessional; from a psychologist, they are perplexing. Milgram’s message, which has stood the test of time and replications, is precisely that people aren’t fixed and stuck like butterflies on a pin. People aren’t cruel by nature. To accept the findings of the experiments doesn’t require us to abandon a “better view of people”—it requires us to understand that ordinary people are capable of both obedience and rebellion, conformity and heroism. Forget Nazis; think of workers who bend to the will of employers when told to ignore evidence that their product is unsafe.

This one is from the comments:

newvagabond:

did-you-kno:

Source

Nancy Wake, who has died in London just before her 99th birthday, was a New Zealander brought up in Australia. She became a nurse, a journalist who interviewed Adolf Hitler, a wealthy French socialite, a British agent and a French resistance leader. She led 7,000 guerrilla fighters in battles against the Nazis in the northern Auvergne, just before the D-Day landings in 1944. On one occasion, she strangled an SS sentry with her bare hands. On another, she cycled 500 miles to replace lost codes. In June 1944, she led her fighters in an attack on the Gestapo headquarters at Montlucon in central France.

Ms Wake was furious the TV series [later made about her life] suggested she had had a love affair with one of her fellow fighters. She was too busy killing Nazis for amorous entanglements, she said.

Nancy recalled later in life that her parachute had snagged in a tree. The French resistance fighter who freed her said he wished all trees bore “such beautiful fruit.” Nancy retorted: “Don’t give me that French shit.”

unfrighty:

Salmonella

An explanation from an anonymous conductor:

What’s with pointing up when you stop at a station?

We’re pointing at the conductor’s indication board, which is a zebra-striped sign. If the sign is in front of my window, it means that the entire train is on the platform. They don’t trust us to just look (see that other question about zoning out), so required procedure is to point to it at every station before we open the doors. The absolute biggest violation a conductor can make is opening the doors where there isn’t a platform. If that ever happens, the first thing supervision is going to ask you is, “Did you point to the board?”

Or, as that charming video suggests, they could be pantless.

If you missed this on the Daily Show last night, do yourself a favor. It warmed my heart. (Cameo by gay nerd icon, Nate Silver.)

“I voted against it, but once it passed I certainly determined that I would try to do everything I could to make sure that New Yorkers understood it, could access it, and make the best of it,” – then-Senator Hillary Clinton in 2006, on the Medicare D entitlement pushed by the GOP, which had some terrible start-up glitches and problems.

Why is there not a single Republican in the Congress able to be as pragmatic and patriotic as Hillary Clinton about something that is now the law of the land?

rachelfershleiser:

(via New portrait of female Supreme Court justices unveiled)

How you doin’?

Roughly my understanding of basketball:

It costs you and me and every tax-payer between two and five times what the average Medicaid recipient costs. Austin Frakt does the math. Yes, our tax system gives that kind of subsidy to someone earning $2 million a year and on Goldman Sachs’ health plan. It’s socialism for the rich.