As you'll no doubt notice, I have decided to rid myself and all of my sane readers of the commenting option on the Forum. The other day I was discussing this move with a friend and she brought up an excellent point. The exchange went something like this:

Her: "So, I think you should just get rid of the comment option."
Me: "Why?"
Her: "Because when it comes right down to it, at least lately, most people who leave comments are nutcases and assholes anyway. It seems to be losing its value as a tool for interaction."
Me: "Maybe. But some really nice and genuinely interested readers leave them too."
Her: "Yeah but those people will write you if they have something to say, they aren't exhibitionists who need attention."
Me: "Yeah, I've thought about it before, but I like it. I mean, I like the interaction of it; I like hearing what people have to say. It kinda livens thing up a little, ya know?"
Her: "I guess. I still think you should get rid of it."
Me: "But I think a lot of people only visit the Forum to read the comments. If I get rid of it then my traffic will go down."
Her: "So what? The majority of people don't even leave comments, they just read. Those are the normal, intelligent people."
Me: "Wait a minute. This is interesting: You're saying that the majority of people who visit my site don't leave any comments at all, which is true. And by not leaving any comments at all, that signals that they are normal?"
Her: "Exactly. Wouldn't you agree?"
Me: "Yeah, that makes sense. I don't usually leave comments on people's sites. And I'm relatively normal. Do you leave comments?"
Her: "Rarely."
Me: "Wow. Let's take this a step further. If we apply this model to the greater world, it seems to me that the ramifications are staggering."
Her: "Go on."
Me: "Okay, this might sound a little crazy, but, can we conclude, based on this, that maybe, and hear me out on this, but just maybe, most … people, people in the world, are … normal?"
Her: "Wow. I guess we could. My God, I never thought of it that way before. But it actually makes sense."
Me: "Yeah, wow. But if most people in the world are in fact normal, how have I been left with the distinctly opposite impression for most of my life?"
Her: "I dunno. Maybe because the crazy people are the ones with the loudspeakers and they won't shut up."
Me: "I guess. But how did the crazy people get the loudspeakers?"
Her: "Hmm. That doesn't make sense. How could the normal, intelligent people allow the nutcases to dominate the power of communication that way?"
Me: "I dunno. That's pretty sad."
Her: "Yeah, pretty fucking sad."
We both thought about this silently for a moment.
Me: "Well, I guess we could bring it back to the commenting issue pretty easily now by concluding that by allowing all the nutcases and assholes the power to comment freely on my site, I'm only perpetuating the cycle of idiocy and leading more young people to grow up with the embittered illusion that most people are assholes just because the normal people stay quite and cede control."
Her: "That's exactly what I was talking about!"
Me: "Cool. I hereby declare: The normal, decent, intelligent people will reign forevermore on the New York City Anti-Hipster Forum!"
Her: "Yay! Let's get wasted!"
Then we high-fived.

So, you get the idea. And what a relief it is to know that I don't have to hear what anybody has to say about this. Also, I apologize to all the aforementioned intelligent people who leave thoughtful comments, I have enjoyed them immensely. And to all the nutcases, please feel free to start your own Anti-Anti-Hipster Forum and I'll be happy to link to it.

ps - In an effort of good faith and totalitarianism I am going to try and implement a system by which I can screen comments for posting because I like you guys, I really do, and I don't want to ruin the fun of it for all the decent people, you know who you are. Until then you can email me. By the way, 'Fish and Oil' is based on a genuine transcription of a conversation that really did happen. Yes, perhaps the helmet wasn't yellow, and though I don't know any firefighters personally, I've been around them enough to know that a lot of them do, in fact, talk that way. I think it's quite charming, actually.

Fish and Oil — Fairway Market, Feb. 6, 2003

Me and my Halibut filet were in the checkout line at Fairway and there were two firemen behind me (two chicken soups, sourdough bread, Almond Joy), a couple of real tough guys, too. The firemen are frequent shoppers there. They were talking about food:
"I'm thinkin' about fish for dinner, whatddya say Ed?" said one, a short, young, feisty-eyed Italian.
"I don' eat fish Sal," said the other, a stoutly-paunched, iron-faced man, the obvious elder.
"I didn't know that?" said Sal.
"Yes you did. C'mon, I told you guys that a million friggin' times."
"You don't eat fish, huh?"
"Nope, no fish."
Ed was scanning the front page of the times, all fresh news about Colin Powell's address to the U.N. on Iraq; anti-war protests; the Columbia shuttle explosion.
"What? Not even salmon?"
"Not even salmon, Sal. I don't touch the stuff."
"You tellin' me you can look at that load of beautiful fish they got back there and not even feel a little urge to taste some of it? I mean, it's fresh here ya know. It's straight outta the water practically."
"I don't even think about it," said Ed.
"But you gotta admit that they got some beautiful fish here though, and fresh," said Sal.
"I wouldn't know. I don't eat the stuff."
Sal turned to me: "Back me up here. They got some gorgeous fish here don't they?"
"Yeah, definitely," I said, holding up my Halibut.
"Maybe the best in the city huh?"
"Could be," I said.
"See?" said Sal, gesturing loosely toward me. "Even she thinks so, a beautiful girl like that?"
"Don't mind him," said Ed, smiling at me. "Too much fish, you understand."
"Get outta here!" said Sal.
They shared a laugh together before Sal returned to the subject.
"So, Ed, whatcha got against fish anyway? It's good for you, ya know. It's brain food."
"I think I'm doin' alright in the brain department," said Ed.
"I mean, I can understand not eatin' the real stinky fish, and oysters, shellfish, stuff like that. I don'eat em myself. Bacteria, all that. But no fish at all? I just can’t understand that."
"If it swims, I don'eat it," said Ed.
"Hmm, no fish huh?" Sal mumbled to himself, and picked a packet of Swedish Fish candy from the rack.
"How bout' these huh? You eat the Swedish Fish Ed?" he said goofily.
"Get outta here with this," said Ed, snatching the pack from Sal. "What are you, a kid or somethin'?"
"I'm just curious, that's all. I mean, my mutha would probably disown me if I told her I quit eating fish."
"I woulda disowned you a long time ago Sal," said Ed.
Sal turned to him eagerly: "Hey Ed, what about anchovies? I swear to God I seen you eat anchovies before."
"Christ Sal, wouldya get off my back with this?" said Ed. "I told you already, if it swims I don't eat it."
"But you did right? I just wanna make sure I'm not outta my friggin' mind here."
"Look, are you tryin' to piss me off Sal?"
"Alright, alright," Sal said, his hands up in joking surrender.
Ed fidgeted with his big fireman's overalls and drummed his fingers on the checkout counter. He began whistling a little tune.
"Hey Ed, you watch the game yesterday?"
"Nahh, didn't catch it."
"Me neither."
Ed's face had grown quiet and tense since they'd been in line, making him look older, and now he stared out the big windows ahead, off at the Hudson, warily.
"Hey Ed?"
"Yeah Sal,"
"Look, I didn't want ya to get steamed at me. I mean I uh, I didn't mean it like that is all."
"Can we just drop it, Sal?"
"Yeah, yeah. Alright."
An elderly woman at the front of the line was taking a long time loading her groceries in a rolling wire buggy. Ed set their lunches on the conveyor belt impatiently.
"Ed, so, uh how come you don'eat fish anyway? You get sick or somethin'? My brutha in law's allergic ya know."
Ed put his yellow helmet on the belt and turned to Sal.
"Lemme get this straight: First you tell me that you dunno that I don't eat fish even though I know I toldya before. And second, you're tellin' me that you don't know why? You gotta be friggin' kidding me, Sally. How long have you known me?"
"What? So I dunno, so what?"
"I told you I don't wanna talk about this Sal."
"What the big friggin' deal? So you don't eat fish, so what? I don't care, I'm just curious."
Ed was smiling dryly and rubbing his eyebrows.
Sal continued: "If you don' wanna tell me that's alright. But, Christ Ed, it ain't a big deal."
"Nahh," said Ed drearily. "It ain't a big deal. It really ain’t, you’re right."
Ed set down his paper and stood stock still for few moments and began to flush, still staring off at the Hudson.
"So what is it then?" said Sal.
"You wanna know, Sal? Alright I'll tell ya: Ever since I got back from the Gulf, I just can't eat it, that's all. I mean, that's all we got for months and months over there ya know, fish. They fed us that crap till we were blue in the face, breakfast, lunch and dinner. I swear to God Sally," and his voice began to trail off a little, but his eyes remained fixed on some distant point out in the river. "I thought I could swim home I had so much fish, and believe me, I thought about it too. I had enough fish for a lifetime over there, enough for two lifetimes. We ate fish and drank oil. That's all we got. So, that's why I don't eat fish, Sal. I wish I could, but I just can't, it'll make me sick. I can't really explain it."
Then he broke off abruptly and cleared his throat.
"It's a damn shame," he said. "Sending all these young kids over there, killing em off like that. Wait six months, you'll see. It's all just big business, that's all. Just big business."
Then Ed looked over at me and winked: "Not to mention the fish market. It's gunna be shot to hell when this thing's over. You can count on that."

Then I walked home and put my Halibut in the freezer.