I'm on Mastodon as well, and Elon Musk is a shithead Sit on My Comfy Sofa – Mitcz.com


...wants you to know it's pronounced "Mitch"
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Sit on My Comfy Sofa

Filed under : The LSD Chronicles

Written on May 2, 2015

During the time I lived in my first apartment, after Tammy had moved out, I invited my close friend and band member Trevor to live with me. Jennifer was ecstatic to get her own room for a change. This came about when Jennifer went to stay at Trevor’s place while he was housesitting, and then Tammy’s boyfriend – John – was unable to pay the rent one evening and I made an off-hand remark about selling some of his stuff to pay for it. John lunged at me and Trevor grabbed a bat and held it up and yelled “DROP YOUR SHIT, MOTHERFUCKER!”. That’s why Trevor and I worked well together. We had each others’ backs even in times when we probably shouldn’t. Frankly, I deserved to get my ass kicked for what I said, but Trevor decided this dude needed his goddamned head cracked open for threatening to punch me.

I have a lot of stories about Trevor1, and while we jokingly made a pact to marry each other if we were both single by the time we hit 30, I can’t say I wouldn’t still honor that pact. He was the best and closest friend I ever had – no offense to all other friends I’ve ever had. We were so close that people referred to us as a single unit, as in “where’s Mitcz & Trevor?”, and more than a few times one or the other had to introduce themselves as “I’m Trevor of Mitcz & Trevor” (or “I’m Mitcz of Mitcz and Trevor“). It was while sitting on my rooftop when I was a wee 17 years old that Trevor and I agreed in any situation where we had to choose between going home or having a good story, we should always choose the one with the better story, unless we were more than 60% sure it might get us killed. This was a blood oath, cause we were both insane. I’ve stuck to that oath, which is why I have so many stories. Trevor… well, that’s a story for another time.

Trevor moving into my apartment was the beginning of the end for us, though neither of us knew it at the time. I’ll explain why at a later date, but I still think fondly of our time together. The focus of this story is about a time we dropped acid at that apartment and had a 2-hour long philosophical discussion about our goals in life.

Trevor asked me what I wanted in life – what was my goal with our band, and all pursuits? His pursuits were mostly related to changing society, while mine was much simpler sounding. I told him I just wanted to – in one way or another – make as many people happy as I possibly could.

Trevor : but you can’t make everyone happy
Mitcz : I know, but I’m just trying to make the world happier, in general, by the time I die than it was when I was born
Trevor : …and how will you accomplish that?
Mitcz : I don’t yet know. But.. it’s like this couch we have. When people come over, I say “take a seat on my comfy couch, put your feet up, enjoy yourself. You need a drink? Want something to eat? Need a cigarette? A joint?” I just want them to be comfortable, and enjoy themselves
Trevor : I’m not sitting on your fucking couch! I don’t like this plan!

He wasn’t actually angry, he said all of this – as did I with what I said – with a smile. He wanted me to know he didn’t agree with my idea of making the world happy. As time went on, we delved deeper and deeper into my goal, and he became obsessed with finding holes in my aspirations

(fast forward about an hour)

Trevor : so… you want everyone to just… sit on your couch?
Mitcz : yeah.. take a seat on my comfy little sofa, Trevor!
Trevor : goddamnit! no!
Mitcz : c’mon! sit on the sofa. you know it’s comfy. be comfortable. and happy. I want you to be happy!
Trevor : you son of a bitch!

He was bothered that all I wanted was him to be happy. For everyone to be happy, in fact. We had many discussions like this, where neither of us were right or wrong, but we’d challenge the other person’s viewpoint, and find holes, and eventually agree on a middle ground. He wasn’t so much upset as he was just frustrated that he never knew that all I wanted was to make people happy. Meanwhile, he couldn’t find an angle. Finally, he hit me with a series of questions..

Trevor : Okay, what about people who fucking hate you?
Mitcz : who hates me that much?
Trevor : don’t dodge this — people who might one day hate you, and hate what you do, and won’t sit on your comfy couch. How will you deal with them?
Mitcz : I don’t deal with them, they hate me
Trevor : ah.. ha! so your goal would fail. you can’t win those people. they’ll always be upset
Mitcz : but, won’t they be happy when I die? they’ll say “FINALLY! that fucker’s dead”
Trevor : you want people to be happy you’re dead?
Mitcz : ehh… I want people to be happy. If they’re unhappy with what I do in life, they’ll be happy when I’m dead cause I’ll no longer be doing it. Or they’ll just be happy that I’m dead. They’ll smile that day, knowing I’m dead, and that’s all I want. A smile for something I’ve done.

It was at this point that Trevor broke down. He sat on the couch, laughing. “You motherfucker.. you’ve done it. You’ve got a plan I can’t break. Fuuuck you. hahah! It’s perfect! Gah! Fuck you!”, he said – still laughing. He was pleasantly frustrated. I said “Trevor.. you’re sitting on my comfy couch”. He laughed, middle finger firmly in the air. While we never had a “winner/loser” situation when we got into these long-ass debates, he relented. “Fine. I’ll sit on your couch. I know it makes you happy, but… fuck you, I’m doing this for MY happiness!”.

When I said “I know. And that’s all I want. I want you to be happy”, he stood up, hugged me, and said “I love you, and I hate you, because you’ve found the perfect goal. You fucking asshole”.

To this day, that remains my goal. There’s still a shitload of holes in my plan, but I still feel like getting Trevor’s frustrated seal of approval is a large part what’s kept it going all these years.

  1. mentioned here and here