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I would feign shock or dismay at its popularity if I didn’t already know that we are a nation of self-serving masochists.

“Spoken like a true masochist, I’m even looking forward to the disagreements, because I think we’re in a moment that we’re being tested in our ability to tolerate each other more through differences.”

Cooper, 54, an Oakland biotech executive who has handled finance for a number of companies, including one that sold for $7 billion, isn’t a masochist, exactly.

Call me a masochist, but what I most loved about Rebecca Gilman’s devastating play was that it tapped into multiple registers of despair: individual, communal, ecological.

It is immediate; everything is a clue — that someone is a masochist, or not comfortable with their body.