You know that show on the Food Network (aka my crack addiction) called "The Best Thing I Ever Ate?"
It's a show where people talk about things like the best pizza they've ever eaten, or in the Barefoot Contessa's case--the best pile of hundred dollar bills I ever consumed before she made love to her husband, Paul, on a pile of smoked bacon from a small island in the Pacific.
Since the Catholics believe that being nice means doing nice things and not talking about them, clearly I'm the nicest slash worst fallen Catholic ever, hence the blog.
That being said, I thought maybe some of you would like to confess to your niceness.
It might give me some more ideas for what I can do to be a more active person.
So tell me--
What's the nicest thing you've ever done?
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Day #27: A Part-Time Saint
In an earlier post, I mentioned my father and his Jekyll and Hyde mentality.
At home, he's fairly nice--most of the time.
At work, he's a tyrant, who makes all his employees miserable.
He doesn't try to hide this. In fact, he often tells stories about what a jerk he is to the people that work for him. It's as if he's describing a totally different person. I've ever heard him use the phrase--
"Can you believe I said that?"
As if what comes out of his mouth is completely out of his control.
Yet when I asked him if he thinks he's a nice person, the response was--
"Of course, I'm nice."
When I mentioned that his employees probably don't think so, he said--
"Well, that doesn't count."
My father believes that who you are at work has no bearing on who you are as a person.
So basically, he's of the opinion that eight or more hours a day, you're just invisible with no impact or influence on anyone.
"Dad, you realize that's both a huge cop-out and insane, right?"
My father feels that in his line of work, the only way to get productivity out of your employees is to be mean.
"You can't be less mean, have a little less productivity, and happy employees?"
"Nope."
"I doubt that. You're not a drill sergeant."
"That depends on who you ask."
So what do you all think?
Can you be a part-time saint?
At home, he's fairly nice--most of the time.
At work, he's a tyrant, who makes all his employees miserable.
He doesn't try to hide this. In fact, he often tells stories about what a jerk he is to the people that work for him. It's as if he's describing a totally different person. I've ever heard him use the phrase--
"Can you believe I said that?"
As if what comes out of his mouth is completely out of his control.
Yet when I asked him if he thinks he's a nice person, the response was--
"Of course, I'm nice."
When I mentioned that his employees probably don't think so, he said--
"Well, that doesn't count."
My father believes that who you are at work has no bearing on who you are as a person.
So basically, he's of the opinion that eight or more hours a day, you're just invisible with no impact or influence on anyone.
"Dad, you realize that's both a huge cop-out and insane, right?"
My father feels that in his line of work, the only way to get productivity out of your employees is to be mean.
"You can't be less mean, have a little less productivity, and happy employees?"
"Nope."
"I doubt that. You're not a drill sergeant."
"That depends on who you ask."
So what do you all think?
Can you be a part-time saint?
Monday, August 30, 2010
Day #26: My Conversation with Phyllis
Throughout this project, one guy has come into my head every time I've thought of what it means to be "nice."
I never actually knew him, but he went to school together, and he was always the guy everybody seemed to be like.
Since we live in the age of "you can run, but you can't hide," I thought I'd look him up and see what his thoughts were on my project.
For anonymity's sake, I've given him the name of Cloris Leachman.
ME: Thanks for talking with me, Cloris.
CLORIS: No problem, Kev. How have you been?
ME: Well, I'm about a fourth of the way through this "quiet" project.
CLORIS: When you asked to talk to me, I looked it up. It seems like a real challenge.
ME: So far it has been. Did you know you were one of my inspirations for it?
CLORIS: Yeah, that's kind of nuts. I mean, I'm not that nice.
ME: What are you talking about? You were the nicest guy I knew.
CLORIS: Um, based on what?
ME: You know...stuff.
CLORIS: I think I was pretty mean to everyone actually.
ME: Really?
CLORIS: Yeah, I used to mumble stuff under my breath all the time.
ME: I guess I never--
CLORIS: You should try that.
ME: Try what? Mumbling under my breath?
CLORIS: It's a great way to let out frustration.
ME: Yeah, but it doesn't seem all that nice.
CLORIS: Well, you have to do something otherwise you'll go crazy.
ME: I already have--several times.
CLORIS: So you're not giving yourself any outlet for when you feel irritated or fed up?
ME: I did buy some plates I can break.
CLORIS: Have you broken any yet?
ME: I forgot to mention they're my third set?
CLORIS: Kevin, nobody's perfect, and you deal with the public everyday. You have to give yourself a way to release.
ME: And you really think mumbling under my breath would solve that?
CLORIS: Oh, of course not. That's just a way of stalling until you can go home and punch holes in your wall.
ME: You used to punch holes in your wall?
CLORIS: All the time.
ME: So you really weren't friends with everyone?
CLORIS: Well, I think people THOUGHT I was friends with them, but really, they were just making assumptions about me because I never talked.
ME: And did you stay quiet because you didn't want people to stop liking you?
CLORIS: No, I'm just a quiet person and we live in a society of people who think they're fascinating so they seek out quiet people like me to inflict themselves on.
. . . . .
ME: Yeah...I really...dislike those people.
CLORIS: Seriously though, start looking for a way to let it all out.
ME: Thanks, Cloris.
Mr. Leachman gave me good advice.
After all, those plate sets aren't cheap.
I never actually knew him, but he went to school together, and he was always the guy everybody seemed to be like.
Since we live in the age of "you can run, but you can't hide," I thought I'd look him up and see what his thoughts were on my project.
For anonymity's sake, I've given him the name of Cloris Leachman.
ME: Thanks for talking with me, Cloris.
CLORIS: No problem, Kev. How have you been?
ME: Well, I'm about a fourth of the way through this "quiet" project.
CLORIS: When you asked to talk to me, I looked it up. It seems like a real challenge.
ME: So far it has been. Did you know you were one of my inspirations for it?
CLORIS: Yeah, that's kind of nuts. I mean, I'm not that nice.
ME: What are you talking about? You were the nicest guy I knew.
CLORIS: Um, based on what?
ME: You know...stuff.
CLORIS: I think I was pretty mean to everyone actually.
ME: Really?
CLORIS: Yeah, I used to mumble stuff under my breath all the time.
ME: I guess I never--
CLORIS: You should try that.
ME: Try what? Mumbling under my breath?
CLORIS: It's a great way to let out frustration.
ME: Yeah, but it doesn't seem all that nice.
CLORIS: Well, you have to do something otherwise you'll go crazy.
ME: I already have--several times.
CLORIS: So you're not giving yourself any outlet for when you feel irritated or fed up?
ME: I did buy some plates I can break.
CLORIS: Have you broken any yet?
ME: I forgot to mention they're my third set?
CLORIS: Kevin, nobody's perfect, and you deal with the public everyday. You have to give yourself a way to release.
ME: And you really think mumbling under my breath would solve that?
CLORIS: Oh, of course not. That's just a way of stalling until you can go home and punch holes in your wall.
ME: You used to punch holes in your wall?
CLORIS: All the time.
ME: So you really weren't friends with everyone?
CLORIS: Well, I think people THOUGHT I was friends with them, but really, they were just making assumptions about me because I never talked.
ME: And did you stay quiet because you didn't want people to stop liking you?
CLORIS: No, I'm just a quiet person and we live in a society of people who think they're fascinating so they seek out quiet people like me to inflict themselves on.
. . . . .
ME: Yeah...I really...dislike those people.
CLORIS: Seriously though, start looking for a way to let it all out.
ME: Thanks, Cloris.
Mr. Leachman gave me good advice.
After all, those plate sets aren't cheap.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Day #25: Be Nice to Jesus
"I want you to lay off Jesus."
This was coming from my brother, David.
The Bible beater of the family.
Okay, that's not entirely fair.
DAVID: I'm the one that's not going to Hell.
As you can see, he still has my razor sharp wit.
I stopped by house today to grab some mail, and that's when David informed me that he had a problem with some of my recent comments regarding Christianity and Catholicism.
ME: Are you talking about when I called all religion mythology?
DAVID: Among other things.
ME: You realize I'm on a very limited lunch break, right?
DAVID: Fine. Alienate your brother. I don't care.
That passive aggressive attitude tinged with sarcasm?
That would be Big Daddy.
ME: Okay. Let's talk.
DAVID: Since when are you a Catholic hater?
ME: Since the Catholics started getting all high and mighty on my ass.
DAVID: I've never been high and mighty with you.
ME: David, do you watch the news? The religious people in this country have declared war on your lovely older brother and all his homo kinfolk.
DAVID: Don't be stupid.
ME: What a Christian sentiment.
DAVID: Nobody's declared war on you. People who get all up in arms about gay marriage aren't true Christians.
ME: So if I go to church on Sunday, I'm going to a sermon telling everyone to love their neighbor even if he's gay?
DAVID: Well, seeing as how you never go to church, I bet you'd be surprised to hear just about anything, wouldn't you?
I admit I've grown a little more disillusioned with religion lately.
It's not like I've given up on faith. I've just given up on the idea that you can organize it.
DAVID: Church gives people a sense of community. It's not just a bunch of people getting together to talk about who they hate.
ME: No, we have Thanksgiving for that.
DAVID: You know what I think this is really about?
ME: No, please enlighten me. Isn't that what you people do?
DAVID: I think you can't be mean to individuals anymore, so you're going after ideals.
ME: Are you kidding me with this?
DAVID: Not at all. I think you can't be bitter and bitchy and gossip about which one of your friends is dating a moron, so instead, you're going to the next level and attacking whole groups of people as if that's somehow better.
In my head, I wondered if he was right.
Maybe my inner demons are grabbing onto whatever they can since I've forbid them from going after any one person specifically.
ME: So you want me to lay off the religious people?
DAVID: Yes.
ME: What about the Mormons?
DAVID: Don't be crazy. That's a cult, not a religion.
ME: Now who's being judgmental?
DAVID: You can stand to benefit from a little Jesus, big brother.
ME: And will Jesus be making an appearance at Aunt Nancy's barbecue, little brother?
DAVID: Remember that little incident at the temple?
ME: Yeah.
DAVID: It'll be a lot like that if you make me go.
Maybe if I can get an order from the pope...
This was coming from my brother, David.
The Bible beater of the family.
Okay, that's not entirely fair.
DAVID: I'm the one that's not going to Hell.
As you can see, he still has my razor sharp wit.
I stopped by house today to grab some mail, and that's when David informed me that he had a problem with some of my recent comments regarding Christianity and Catholicism.
ME: Are you talking about when I called all religion mythology?
DAVID: Among other things.
ME: You realize I'm on a very limited lunch break, right?
DAVID: Fine. Alienate your brother. I don't care.
That passive aggressive attitude tinged with sarcasm?
That would be Big Daddy.
ME: Okay. Let's talk.
DAVID: Since when are you a Catholic hater?
ME: Since the Catholics started getting all high and mighty on my ass.
DAVID: I've never been high and mighty with you.
ME: David, do you watch the news? The religious people in this country have declared war on your lovely older brother and all his homo kinfolk.
DAVID: Don't be stupid.
ME: What a Christian sentiment.
DAVID: Nobody's declared war on you. People who get all up in arms about gay marriage aren't true Christians.
ME: So if I go to church on Sunday, I'm going to a sermon telling everyone to love their neighbor even if he's gay?
DAVID: Well, seeing as how you never go to church, I bet you'd be surprised to hear just about anything, wouldn't you?
I admit I've grown a little more disillusioned with religion lately.
It's not like I've given up on faith. I've just given up on the idea that you can organize it.
DAVID: Church gives people a sense of community. It's not just a bunch of people getting together to talk about who they hate.
ME: No, we have Thanksgiving for that.
DAVID: You know what I think this is really about?
ME: No, please enlighten me. Isn't that what you people do?
DAVID: I think you can't be mean to individuals anymore, so you're going after ideals.
ME: Are you kidding me with this?
DAVID: Not at all. I think you can't be bitter and bitchy and gossip about which one of your friends is dating a moron, so instead, you're going to the next level and attacking whole groups of people as if that's somehow better.
In my head, I wondered if he was right.
Maybe my inner demons are grabbing onto whatever they can since I've forbid them from going after any one person specifically.
ME: So you want me to lay off the religious people?
DAVID: Yes.
ME: What about the Mormons?
DAVID: Don't be crazy. That's a cult, not a religion.
ME: Now who's being judgmental?
DAVID: You can stand to benefit from a little Jesus, big brother.
ME: And will Jesus be making an appearance at Aunt Nancy's barbecue, little brother?
DAVID: Remember that little incident at the temple?
ME: Yeah.
DAVID: It'll be a lot like that if you make me go.
Maybe if I can get an order from the pope...
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Day #24: Swear It All Over Again
There's something I haven't addressed much regarding my behavior during this process.
Swearing.
Recently, I was watching an episode of "Chopped," where a Christian chef told the judges he doesn't allow swearing in his kitchen because of morality.
Um, when the fuck did swearing infringe upon one's morality?
I just don't see how a word that isn't particularly derogatory towards anyone can be considered anti-nice?
The first time I swore, it felt liberating.
I was in sixth grade, and up until then, I was terrified of swearing, because I was convinced my mother had a bionic ear that could hear the 'f' word from anywhere in the world.
When my junior high friends found out about it, they cornered me in the lunchroom and forced me to say 'fuck.'
And it felt...great.
I'm sorry, but there is nothing so satisfying in the English language as shouting the word 'Fuck' at the top of your lungs.
It's like letting the Devil out.
So no, I have not given up swearing, and if you have a problem with that, I'll let my Friend tell you his philosophy on swearing:
FRIEND: Fuck off.
And bless your heart.
Swearing.
Recently, I was watching an episode of "Chopped," where a Christian chef told the judges he doesn't allow swearing in his kitchen because of morality.
Um, when the fuck did swearing infringe upon one's morality?
I just don't see how a word that isn't particularly derogatory towards anyone can be considered anti-nice?
The first time I swore, it felt liberating.
I was in sixth grade, and up until then, I was terrified of swearing, because I was convinced my mother had a bionic ear that could hear the 'f' word from anywhere in the world.
When my junior high friends found out about it, they cornered me in the lunchroom and forced me to say 'fuck.'
And it felt...great.
I'm sorry, but there is nothing so satisfying in the English language as shouting the word 'Fuck' at the top of your lungs.
It's like letting the Devil out.
So no, I have not given up swearing, and if you have a problem with that, I'll let my Friend tell you his philosophy on swearing:
FRIEND: Fuck off.
And bless your heart.
Day #23: The Family Feud
I had a little problem today.
MOM: You're against the family.
I turned against my family.
Well, not exactly.
MOM: That's exactly what you're doing.
My family goes to my Aunt Nancy's cook-out every year, and we all hate it. Aunt Nancy isn't my real aunt, she's my grandmother's friend, and she's...well...
RYAN: She's insane.
DAVID: She's creepy.
MOM: She's the devil. We're not going.
Aunt Nancy is, in fact, loud and abrasive. The nice thing is, she treats us like we're her own family. The problem is she treats her family like they're extended staff.
This year, my mom and brothers conspired to lie and say we were going on vacation in order to miss Aunt Nancy's barbecue, but since I'm being nice, I decided that wouldn't be right.
ME: We have to go to the barbecue.
RYAN: How do you figure?
ME: She's nice enough to invite us. It's only one day out of the year. She won't be around much longer.
DAVID: God willing.
ME: We're going.
RYAN, DAVID: No, we're not.
I thought my mother would back me up on this. She's always been the voice of reason in my family.
MOM: That woman gives me hives. We're not going.
ME: Ma, what about doing the right thing?
MOM: The right thing to do would be to throw that woman in oncoming traffic.
ME: Well, I'm going to the barbecue.
MOM: You can't!
ME: Why not?
MOM: I told her we were ALL on vacation together.
ME: So say I changed my mind.
RYAN: Then you're going to have to lie and say we are on vacation.
ME: Well, I can't do that either. That wouldn't be nice.
DAVID: So what are you going to do?
ME: Throw you all under the bus?
RYAN: Oh, and that's nice?
DAVID: Way to betray your family.
ME: Ma, are you hearing this?
MOM: It's like I don't even know you.
Don't worry. She said the same thing when she found out I watch General Hospital.
ME: This woman has been very good to us.
RYAN: Last year she threw me into the pool, and called me Monkey Face.
DAVID: She calls me Slow.
MOM: And I'm Vanessa. Don't ask me who the hell Vanessa is.
ME: It doesn't matter. We're going.
Suddenly, there I was--facing down my family. They were all standing in a line just like the Corleones.
DAVID: We have ways of making you stay quiet.
ME: You can't hurt me, I'm family.
RYAN: So is Aunt Nancy.
ME: I'm biological family. You may need a kidney someday.
MOM: Kevin, I want you to think about this. Think about your priorities. You're supposed to protect your family.
ME: Mom, you're starting to sound like a fat New Jersey Housewife, and you know how I feel about those people. Now if you'll excuse me.
My brother Ryan tried blocking me, so I got him in a headlock, which incited my brother David to try tackling me to the floor, while my mother slapped at any part of us she could reach as we tumbled around in the living room.
That was when my stepfather came home.
DAVE: So are we going to Aunt Nancy's this year?
Don't worry.
I've not yet begun to fight.
MOM: You're against the family.
I turned against my family.
Well, not exactly.
MOM: That's exactly what you're doing.
My family goes to my Aunt Nancy's cook-out every year, and we all hate it. Aunt Nancy isn't my real aunt, she's my grandmother's friend, and she's...well...
RYAN: She's insane.
DAVID: She's creepy.
MOM: She's the devil. We're not going.
Aunt Nancy is, in fact, loud and abrasive. The nice thing is, she treats us like we're her own family. The problem is she treats her family like they're extended staff.
This year, my mom and brothers conspired to lie and say we were going on vacation in order to miss Aunt Nancy's barbecue, but since I'm being nice, I decided that wouldn't be right.
ME: We have to go to the barbecue.
RYAN: How do you figure?
ME: She's nice enough to invite us. It's only one day out of the year. She won't be around much longer.
DAVID: God willing.
ME: We're going.
RYAN, DAVID: No, we're not.
I thought my mother would back me up on this. She's always been the voice of reason in my family.
MOM: That woman gives me hives. We're not going.
ME: Ma, what about doing the right thing?
MOM: The right thing to do would be to throw that woman in oncoming traffic.
ME: Well, I'm going to the barbecue.
MOM: You can't!
ME: Why not?
MOM: I told her we were ALL on vacation together.
ME: So say I changed my mind.
RYAN: Then you're going to have to lie and say we are on vacation.
ME: Well, I can't do that either. That wouldn't be nice.
DAVID: So what are you going to do?
ME: Throw you all under the bus?
RYAN: Oh, and that's nice?
DAVID: Way to betray your family.
ME: Ma, are you hearing this?
MOM: It's like I don't even know you.
Don't worry. She said the same thing when she found out I watch General Hospital.
ME: This woman has been very good to us.
RYAN: Last year she threw me into the pool, and called me Monkey Face.
DAVID: She calls me Slow.
MOM: And I'm Vanessa. Don't ask me who the hell Vanessa is.
ME: It doesn't matter. We're going.
Suddenly, there I was--facing down my family. They were all standing in a line just like the Corleones.
DAVID: We have ways of making you stay quiet.
ME: You can't hurt me, I'm family.
RYAN: So is Aunt Nancy.
ME: I'm biological family. You may need a kidney someday.
MOM: Kevin, I want you to think about this. Think about your priorities. You're supposed to protect your family.
ME: Mom, you're starting to sound like a fat New Jersey Housewife, and you know how I feel about those people. Now if you'll excuse me.
My brother Ryan tried blocking me, so I got him in a headlock, which incited my brother David to try tackling me to the floor, while my mother slapped at any part of us she could reach as we tumbled around in the living room.
That was when my stepfather came home.
DAVE: So are we going to Aunt Nancy's this year?
Don't worry.
I've not yet begun to fight.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Day #22: The Man in the Mirror
Have you ever heard the same expression time after time and then finally it actually made sense to you?
Yesterday I mentioned that I have trouble giving up gossiping.
For some reason, I just feel this urge to constantly talk about people and what they're doing.
Then today, I was on the computer and I saw a status that was absolutely obnoxious. I wanted to comment, and then I heard that expression in my head--
"You can't change what other people do. You can only change yourself."
Suddenly, it made sense.
This whole project is about changing me.
If I let myself constantly get sidetracked by thinking about the actions of other people, I'll never stop being sidetracked.
It actually felt like a burden being lifted.
I don't have to worry about other people anymore.
Whatever anybody does, whether it makes me angry or frustrated or sad, I just have to remember that when I feel the urge to comment or gossip or whatever, instead I just need to refocus on myself.
If you're not perfect, you shouldn't have time to worry about other people's imperfections.
And I'm far from perfect.
Besides, if someone does something I don't like, I can always say--
"Bless their hearts."
Yesterday I mentioned that I have trouble giving up gossiping.
For some reason, I just feel this urge to constantly talk about people and what they're doing.
Then today, I was on the computer and I saw a status that was absolutely obnoxious. I wanted to comment, and then I heard that expression in my head--
"You can't change what other people do. You can only change yourself."
Suddenly, it made sense.
This whole project is about changing me.
If I let myself constantly get sidetracked by thinking about the actions of other people, I'll never stop being sidetracked.
It actually felt like a burden being lifted.
I don't have to worry about other people anymore.
Whatever anybody does, whether it makes me angry or frustrated or sad, I just have to remember that when I feel the urge to comment or gossip or whatever, instead I just need to refocus on myself.
If you're not perfect, you shouldn't have time to worry about other people's imperfections.
And I'm far from perfect.
Besides, if someone does something I don't like, I can always say--
"Bless their hearts."
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Day #21: Bad Thoughts
Today I checked in with some bad thoughts.
By the way, I'm secretly starting to wonder if I sound like a self-help book the more this project goes on. Sometimes I think all those books give you are handy catchphrases, but I'm never one to turn down a handy catchphrase.
So how have I been doing with the bad thoughts?
Not all that bad.
I've managed to cut way down on wishing I could make people explode just by looking at them.
I no longer scream, flair, or wish death upon the person driving in front of me.
(This may also be because my passenger side window went down and won't go up. That makes screaming impossible, and all the other bad behavior seemed to go with it.)
And as far as gossiping...
Okay--gossiping, not so bad.
Talking about people...still pretty bad.
I don't know why I can't kick it.
Most of the time it's because, in my opinion, someone has said something really stupid or downright dishonest, and I feel the need to point it out.
Things only got worse when I didn't respond to something stupid someone said, but instead tucked it away in the back of my head, confident that in a day or so, I would be glad I had kept my mouth shut.
That was four days ago, and I'm still ticked off that I didn't say anything.
I mentioned when I started this that my biggest fear is not being able to express myself, but sometimes I feel like I express myself through others, by commenting on what others have done, rather than just doing something myself.
As soon as I've gone too long without writing or performing, I start turning into Hedda Hopper, and it's not something I like about myself.
So, I'm going to keep working on it.
I know you might be expecting something more definitive than that, but hey, I'm only a fifth of the way through the project--
Cut me some slack ;)
By the way, I'm secretly starting to wonder if I sound like a self-help book the more this project goes on. Sometimes I think all those books give you are handy catchphrases, but I'm never one to turn down a handy catchphrase.
So how have I been doing with the bad thoughts?
Not all that bad.
I've managed to cut way down on wishing I could make people explode just by looking at them.
I no longer scream, flair, or wish death upon the person driving in front of me.
(This may also be because my passenger side window went down and won't go up. That makes screaming impossible, and all the other bad behavior seemed to go with it.)
And as far as gossiping...
Okay--gossiping, not so bad.
Talking about people...still pretty bad.
I don't know why I can't kick it.
Most of the time it's because, in my opinion, someone has said something really stupid or downright dishonest, and I feel the need to point it out.
Things only got worse when I didn't respond to something stupid someone said, but instead tucked it away in the back of my head, confident that in a day or so, I would be glad I had kept my mouth shut.
That was four days ago, and I'm still ticked off that I didn't say anything.
I mentioned when I started this that my biggest fear is not being able to express myself, but sometimes I feel like I express myself through others, by commenting on what others have done, rather than just doing something myself.
As soon as I've gone too long without writing or performing, I start turning into Hedda Hopper, and it's not something I like about myself.
So, I'm going to keep working on it.
I know you might be expecting something more definitive than that, but hey, I'm only a fifth of the way through the project--
Cut me some slack ;)
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Day #20: But It Sucks
I realized that a phrase I used in one of my entries this week may actually be my new mantra when things get in tough.
"But it sucks."
I felt bad about complaining this week when so many people have it worse.
Yet, I didn't want to deny what I was feeling, or turn self-deprecating and tell myself that I have no right to be upset.
I couldn't find the happy medium.
Then, there it was:
"But it sucks."
Now I can say, I'm glad I'm healthy. I'm glad I have a great support system. I'm glad most of my problems will be gone by this time next year.
But for now, it still sucks.
Strangely, though I thought chanting this would make me feel worse or more pitiable, it actually made me feel good.
I was acknowledging what I was feeling, keeping myself in perspective, and letting out some frustration.
And I wasn't being mean to anyone. I was just saying that the situation I found myself in--well--sucked.
It sucks.
It really sucks.
Man, that feels good.
FRIEND: Sucking always feels--
ME: Stop right there.
FRIEND: I'm glad you have a mantra, honey. Mine is--'Don't turn the lights on. I have no interest in seeing who I just slept with.'
ME: Can you fit that on a t-shirt?
FRIEND: Honey, I wear clothes from baby gap. I'm amazed I can fit sleeves on my t-shirts.
ME: I wonder if B.I.S. is a way of me giving into anger, because I don't want to do that either and--
FRIEND: Honey?
ME: Self-indulgent?
FRIEND: Mmmmhmmm...
I guess I've used up my 'me' time for the day.
That's fine.
And it sucks.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go make myself a t-shirt.
"But it sucks."
I felt bad about complaining this week when so many people have it worse.
Yet, I didn't want to deny what I was feeling, or turn self-deprecating and tell myself that I have no right to be upset.
I couldn't find the happy medium.
Then, there it was:
"But it sucks."
Now I can say, I'm glad I'm healthy. I'm glad I have a great support system. I'm glad most of my problems will be gone by this time next year.
But for now, it still sucks.
Strangely, though I thought chanting this would make me feel worse or more pitiable, it actually made me feel good.
I was acknowledging what I was feeling, keeping myself in perspective, and letting out some frustration.
And I wasn't being mean to anyone. I was just saying that the situation I found myself in--well--sucked.
It sucks.
It really sucks.
Man, that feels good.
FRIEND: Sucking always feels--
ME: Stop right there.
FRIEND: I'm glad you have a mantra, honey. Mine is--'Don't turn the lights on. I have no interest in seeing who I just slept with.'
ME: Can you fit that on a t-shirt?
FRIEND: Honey, I wear clothes from baby gap. I'm amazed I can fit sleeves on my t-shirts.
ME: I wonder if B.I.S. is a way of me giving into anger, because I don't want to do that either and--
FRIEND: Honey?
ME: Self-indulgent?
FRIEND: Mmmmhmmm...
I guess I've used up my 'me' time for the day.
That's fine.
And it sucks.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go make myself a t-shirt.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Day #19: Why We're Nice
Why are we nice?
No, really, think about it.
How many of us are nice just for the sake of being nice?
When I took on the "nice" project, I found that everyone's main comment to me was--
"But you're not really being nice."
To which I would reply--
"No, really, I'm being nice."
"But you don't mean to be."
"No, I totally mean to be."
"But you wouldn't be nice if you didn't have to be."
That's when it hit me.
People are so used to "fake" nice that some people have actually stopped believing that real "nice" even exists.
I feel like I run into more of this in the theater community, because of how scared people are of burning bridges.
FRIEND: I hate him.
ME: But you just hugged him!
FRIEND: I don't want him to know I hate him! He's doing "Xanadu" next year!
It's enough to make someone paranoid.
Who really likes us and who's biting their teeth behind their smile?
ME: Have you ever been nice to someone because they could help you advance in some way?
FRIEND: Is having sex with them the same thing as being nice to them?
ME: Uh...
FRIEND: Because I didn't smile during it.
ME: I just worry that maybe sometimes people are nice to me just because I do theater with them and they don't want to chance burning a bridge.
FRIEND: So you don't want to be a bridge?
ME: No, I like being a bridge, but I don't want someone to like me just because I'm a bridge.
FRIEND: Not everyone is going to like your bridge.
ME: But then why do they even want to go over my bridge?
FRIEND: I'm sorry. Are we still talking about you or are we actually talking about a bridge, because I'm three drinks in and metaphors make me dizzy.
It got me thinking--
Who am I still going to be nice to once this project is over?
Is there anyone I'm being nice to now that I really don't like?
And should I be nice to them if I really am just being fake?
Will the ethical questions ever stop coming?
I'll have to take a walk over the bridge and think about it.
Great, now even I'm lost in the metaphor.
No, really, think about it.
How many of us are nice just for the sake of being nice?
When I took on the "nice" project, I found that everyone's main comment to me was--
"But you're not really being nice."
To which I would reply--
"No, really, I'm being nice."
"But you don't mean to be."
"No, I totally mean to be."
"But you wouldn't be nice if you didn't have to be."
That's when it hit me.
People are so used to "fake" nice that some people have actually stopped believing that real "nice" even exists.
I feel like I run into more of this in the theater community, because of how scared people are of burning bridges.
FRIEND: I hate him.
ME: But you just hugged him!
FRIEND: I don't want him to know I hate him! He's doing "Xanadu" next year!
It's enough to make someone paranoid.
Who really likes us and who's biting their teeth behind their smile?
ME: Have you ever been nice to someone because they could help you advance in some way?
FRIEND: Is having sex with them the same thing as being nice to them?
ME: Uh...
FRIEND: Because I didn't smile during it.
ME: I just worry that maybe sometimes people are nice to me just because I do theater with them and they don't want to chance burning a bridge.
FRIEND: So you don't want to be a bridge?
ME: No, I like being a bridge, but I don't want someone to like me just because I'm a bridge.
FRIEND: Not everyone is going to like your bridge.
ME: But then why do they even want to go over my bridge?
FRIEND: I'm sorry. Are we still talking about you or are we actually talking about a bridge, because I'm three drinks in and metaphors make me dizzy.
It got me thinking--
Who am I still going to be nice to once this project is over?
Is there anyone I'm being nice to now that I really don't like?
And should I be nice to them if I really am just being fake?
Will the ethical questions ever stop coming?
I'll have to take a walk over the bridge and think about it.
Great, now even I'm lost in the metaphor.
Day #18: A House is Not a Home
My mom told me that she lost the house.
She told me today, but I knew this was coming.
It's been an ongoing fight ever since the one-two punch of my stepfather losing his job two years ago right when we needed a new septic system.
Financially, my mom and stepdad just never recovered from it.
Today, my mom told me that if I want to keep the piles of books and movies I have in the basement there, I'd have to find somewhere to put them since she's moving the remaining family into a smaller house.
She told me this at work, and I could tell she did that on purpose. My mom can force herself to remain strong when she's in public. She hates making any kind of a scene.
Still, I could tell it was killing her.
If I have two major Achilles heels, they would be the following:
1. I don't do well with change.
2. I'm incredibly sentimental.
Losing your childhood home attacks both those weaknesses at the same time.
It's, as you can imagine, a super feeling.
So I perspective checked the hell out of it.
Everyone's still healthy (knock wood).
We all still get along (knock wood).
Houses and books and movies are material possessions that I don't really need.
Still, I feel terrible.
I love that house. I love the memories I have there. I feel like lately everything I have is just a memory of something that was there. So many of my friends end up moving away to other, fancier places. So many places are just places people used to live. It was nice to have a long-standing relationship with a particular place.
I liked going home.
I'm sad I don't get to go home again.
And I wanted to get angry. And I wanted to get hard. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I wanted to snap at people, and bite their heads off. I wanted to scream into the world "Why doesn't anyone DO anything about this?"
Instead, I Oprah-ed it up.
I told myself to feel the sadness. I told myself not to retreat into anger because it's an easier emotion to deal with.
I reminded myself that when you refuse to change, change will force itself upon you.
But, you know, it still sucks.
It really sucks.
Am I allowed to say that? Is it okay to just say "This sucks?"
I will say that I wasn't mean to anybody.
Even as I was hearing the news at work and two minutes later dealing with an irate mother who swore she brought her books back on time, I still smiled and suggested very politely that perhaps she didn't.
Granted, I may have been in denial.
...Yeah, probably denial, but nevertheless, I didn't eat her alive.
I realize now that it's almost 5am and I'm still up that the day was easier because it was a sad day and not a day filled with lashing out. Having to deal with losing the house and with who knows how many arguments and nasty comments and apologies for the next day would have just been too much.
So I'm glad I managed to stay nice today.
In spite of everything, I was the person I wanted to be today.
Just in the wrong situation.
She told me today, but I knew this was coming.
It's been an ongoing fight ever since the one-two punch of my stepfather losing his job two years ago right when we needed a new septic system.
Financially, my mom and stepdad just never recovered from it.
Today, my mom told me that if I want to keep the piles of books and movies I have in the basement there, I'd have to find somewhere to put them since she's moving the remaining family into a smaller house.
She told me this at work, and I could tell she did that on purpose. My mom can force herself to remain strong when she's in public. She hates making any kind of a scene.
Still, I could tell it was killing her.
If I have two major Achilles heels, they would be the following:
1. I don't do well with change.
2. I'm incredibly sentimental.
Losing your childhood home attacks both those weaknesses at the same time.
It's, as you can imagine, a super feeling.
So I perspective checked the hell out of it.
Everyone's still healthy (knock wood).
We all still get along (knock wood).
Houses and books and movies are material possessions that I don't really need.
Still, I feel terrible.
I love that house. I love the memories I have there. I feel like lately everything I have is just a memory of something that was there. So many of my friends end up moving away to other, fancier places. So many places are just places people used to live. It was nice to have a long-standing relationship with a particular place.
I liked going home.
I'm sad I don't get to go home again.
And I wanted to get angry. And I wanted to get hard. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I wanted to snap at people, and bite their heads off. I wanted to scream into the world "Why doesn't anyone DO anything about this?"
Instead, I Oprah-ed it up.
I told myself to feel the sadness. I told myself not to retreat into anger because it's an easier emotion to deal with.
I reminded myself that when you refuse to change, change will force itself upon you.
But, you know, it still sucks.
It really sucks.
Am I allowed to say that? Is it okay to just say "This sucks?"
I will say that I wasn't mean to anybody.
Even as I was hearing the news at work and two minutes later dealing with an irate mother who swore she brought her books back on time, I still smiled and suggested very politely that perhaps she didn't.
Granted, I may have been in denial.
...Yeah, probably denial, but nevertheless, I didn't eat her alive.
I realize now that it's almost 5am and I'm still up that the day was easier because it was a sad day and not a day filled with lashing out. Having to deal with losing the house and with who knows how many arguments and nasty comments and apologies for the next day would have just been too much.
So I'm glad I managed to stay nice today.
In spite of everything, I was the person I wanted to be today.
Just in the wrong situation.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Day #17: When I Pray
I used to have a problem with saying "I'll keep you in my prayers."
Or
"I'll pray for you."
To me, it always sounded so false, because I don't pray.
At least, I don't pray in a conventional manner.
I don't get down on my knees, elbows resting on my bed, and quietly whisper requests hoping they'll shoot up to heaven.
As I get older, I find that my belief in the Catholic God of my childhood has become seriously shaken up. My faith in organized religion has just about evaporated.
Yet somehow, I feel like what remains is better than what was there.
When I started the "nice" project, I had a lot of people assume that I was seeking God. When I did a solo show about God, people assumed I was looking to connect with Jesus. When I wrote a blog about dating a hundred men in a year, people assumed I was a promiscuous slut.
Obviously what people assume doesn't really matter much to me anymore.
The truth is, I like prayer. I feel like praying is important. When I embarked on the "nice" project, I wanted prayer to be a part of that project, but I was afraid that it would be me walking a fine line between religion and...whatever it is I believe in.
So I had to come to terms with it, and here's where I wound up:
I believe in energy. I believe people put energy into the world, and I believe that when you take a moment to concentrate on someone so they can get well, get promoted, get wise, or get it, you're helping to shift the energy that's there in a positive direction.
I can't help but think of the opening scene of my favorite movie "It's a Wonderful Life."
The short scenes of all the houses with George Bailey's friends inside praying for him always makes me tear up. That much goodwill focused on someone--I can't believe it can be anything but helpful.
Even if it's not, it certainly can't hurt.
When I pray, I do it wherever I am, and I don't kneel down or say anything specific. I focus.
That's the main thing--I just take a second away from whatever million thoughts are running through my brain, and I focus on something other than myself and whatever it is that's bothering me.
Then I turn that focus to someone else, and I'm quiet.
It's not how I was taught to pray, but then again, I was taught that you have to pray TO something or someone. A higher power.
I just pray.
And I hope that when I need it, people pray for me in their own way.
Though it may not always directly lead to me getting what I want, at least it allows them to have a moment of quiet in their day.
Enough of those has got to lead to something good, right?
Can I get an amen?
Or
"I'll pray for you."
To me, it always sounded so false, because I don't pray.
At least, I don't pray in a conventional manner.
I don't get down on my knees, elbows resting on my bed, and quietly whisper requests hoping they'll shoot up to heaven.
As I get older, I find that my belief in the Catholic God of my childhood has become seriously shaken up. My faith in organized religion has just about evaporated.
Yet somehow, I feel like what remains is better than what was there.
When I started the "nice" project, I had a lot of people assume that I was seeking God. When I did a solo show about God, people assumed I was looking to connect with Jesus. When I wrote a blog about dating a hundred men in a year, people assumed I was a promiscuous slut.
Obviously what people assume doesn't really matter much to me anymore.
The truth is, I like prayer. I feel like praying is important. When I embarked on the "nice" project, I wanted prayer to be a part of that project, but I was afraid that it would be me walking a fine line between religion and...whatever it is I believe in.
So I had to come to terms with it, and here's where I wound up:
I believe in energy. I believe people put energy into the world, and I believe that when you take a moment to concentrate on someone so they can get well, get promoted, get wise, or get it, you're helping to shift the energy that's there in a positive direction.
I can't help but think of the opening scene of my favorite movie "It's a Wonderful Life."
The short scenes of all the houses with George Bailey's friends inside praying for him always makes me tear up. That much goodwill focused on someone--I can't believe it can be anything but helpful.
Even if it's not, it certainly can't hurt.
When I pray, I do it wherever I am, and I don't kneel down or say anything specific. I focus.
That's the main thing--I just take a second away from whatever million thoughts are running through my brain, and I focus on something other than myself and whatever it is that's bothering me.
Then I turn that focus to someone else, and I'm quiet.
It's not how I was taught to pray, but then again, I was taught that you have to pray TO something or someone. A higher power.
I just pray.
And I hope that when I need it, people pray for me in their own way.
Though it may not always directly lead to me getting what I want, at least it allows them to have a moment of quiet in their day.
Enough of those has got to lead to something good, right?
Can I get an amen?
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Day #16: What I Have Time For
I think one of my major problems is that I always think I don't have time to do the things I should be doing.
There never seems to be time to learn new things, like cooking or sign language.
There never seems to be time to call my grandparents and ask how they're doing.
There never seems to be time to read, write, or journal.
When you do theater, you're constantly given permission to be a bad friend, or unproductive, or to just check out of the world.
Maybe some of my theater friends will think I'm being unfair when I say this, but I think sometimes doing theater appeals to the selfishness in me.
For example, right now I'm in tech for a show.
When you're in tech, you get to walk around and say things like "I'd love to come to your birthday party, BUT I'm in tech."
"I'd love to grab lunch with you, BUT I'm in tech."
or
"I'd love to help you out with your problem, but I have my own problems. I'm in tech."
What is tech anyway?
Unless you're doing a Broadway show, tech just means you bust your ass a little more at rehearsal and stay up a little later. It shouldn't allow you to stop being an active member of society.
This week, I'm going to try and remember that part of being nice is being nice when you don't feel like it, or don't want to be, or don't think you have time for it.
I have time for it.
I have time for my friends.
I have time to be productive.
You know how I know this?
Because I have time to write a two-page e-mail to somebody when they tick me off.
Because I have time to watch four hours of really stupid television.
Because I have time to do what I want to do, and that's basically what it boils down to.
So many people in my generation have this feeling that they should only have to do what they want to do. I think this is because, if you had parents like mine who sacrificed so that I wouldn't have to do as much as they did to give me the life I have, then you might have gone overboard with that.
I think I need to swing my pendulum a little.
I need to be less selfish.
I need to remember that the only thing I have more of than time is excuses.
So the next time I start whining to you about how busy I am, please call me out on it.
I may be busy, but chances are some of you were busy too when I called you with a problem, and you still listened to me.
Go ahead. Call me out on it. Let me hear what you have to say.
I got all the time in the world.
There never seems to be time to learn new things, like cooking or sign language.
There never seems to be time to call my grandparents and ask how they're doing.
There never seems to be time to read, write, or journal.
When you do theater, you're constantly given permission to be a bad friend, or unproductive, or to just check out of the world.
Maybe some of my theater friends will think I'm being unfair when I say this, but I think sometimes doing theater appeals to the selfishness in me.
For example, right now I'm in tech for a show.
When you're in tech, you get to walk around and say things like "I'd love to come to your birthday party, BUT I'm in tech."
"I'd love to grab lunch with you, BUT I'm in tech."
or
"I'd love to help you out with your problem, but I have my own problems. I'm in tech."
What is tech anyway?
Unless you're doing a Broadway show, tech just means you bust your ass a little more at rehearsal and stay up a little later. It shouldn't allow you to stop being an active member of society.
This week, I'm going to try and remember that part of being nice is being nice when you don't feel like it, or don't want to be, or don't think you have time for it.
I have time for it.
I have time for my friends.
I have time to be productive.
You know how I know this?
Because I have time to write a two-page e-mail to somebody when they tick me off.
Because I have time to watch four hours of really stupid television.
Because I have time to do what I want to do, and that's basically what it boils down to.
So many people in my generation have this feeling that they should only have to do what they want to do. I think this is because, if you had parents like mine who sacrificed so that I wouldn't have to do as much as they did to give me the life I have, then you might have gone overboard with that.
I think I need to swing my pendulum a little.
I need to be less selfish.
I need to remember that the only thing I have more of than time is excuses.
So the next time I start whining to you about how busy I am, please call me out on it.
I may be busy, but chances are some of you were busy too when I called you with a problem, and you still listened to me.
Go ahead. Call me out on it. Let me hear what you have to say.
I got all the time in the world.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Day #15: The Ten People Revolution
I want to start a revolution.
A revolution for lazy-yet-appreciative people.
Wait, hear me out.
Today I received one of the nicest messages I've ever gotten about someone who heard about one of my shows and wanted to tell me that they think what I'm doing is fantastic.
It was such an unexpected message, and yet it absolutely made my day.
That got me thinking though--maybe I can do something active as part of this "nice" project. Then I remembered when I was a kid and donated over one hundred charity hours to The Big Help only to do half an hour raking leaves in the yard, and then go back in to donate more hours so I could potentially talk to Melissa Joan Hart.
The fact is, so many people only get to hear how much their friends, family, and co-workers appreciate them once a year on their birthday, if that. Yet when we think of appreciation, we think of it involving so much time and energy.
Well this may be a quick solution.
Think about how you great you feel when you log onto Facebook on your birthday and see a wall full of people wishing you well.
It's one of the coolest parts of the day, right?
Well, why does that only need to happen once a year?
So here's my idea:
Next Monday, August 23rd, I want to have a Thank You day. Pick ten people who you feel have really done something for you--big or small--and send them out an e-mail letting them know you appreciate them.
If you want to go the extra mile, call them. Take them out to lunch. Sky-write something in their honor.
But if you're like me, and you tend to get lazy when people ask you to do something nice, then trick yourself into it by simply sending out ten messages saying "Thank you."
It may not seem like much, but how cool would it be if we all logged onto Facebook or into our e-mails next Monday and found a few messages in our inbox telling us that somebody appreciates us?
I think if nothing else it would definitely brighten up a lot of dreary Mondays.
If only 100 people do this, that's still 1,000 potential people that can have a better day.
One of my favorite quotes is Maya Angelou's--"If you only say one prayer in your life, say 'Thank you.'"
So I'm giving y'all a week.
Come up with a list of ten names. You can do more than ten, but try to really think of who might need to hear 'Thank you' the most. Diversify a little. It'll spread the net a little farther.
Let's see if we can start a ten person revolution.
If nothing else, ten of you will be hearing from me next week.
A revolution for lazy-yet-appreciative people.
Wait, hear me out.
Today I received one of the nicest messages I've ever gotten about someone who heard about one of my shows and wanted to tell me that they think what I'm doing is fantastic.
It was such an unexpected message, and yet it absolutely made my day.
That got me thinking though--maybe I can do something active as part of this "nice" project. Then I remembered when I was a kid and donated over one hundred charity hours to The Big Help only to do half an hour raking leaves in the yard, and then go back in to donate more hours so I could potentially talk to Melissa Joan Hart.
The fact is, so many people only get to hear how much their friends, family, and co-workers appreciate them once a year on their birthday, if that. Yet when we think of appreciation, we think of it involving so much time and energy.
Well this may be a quick solution.
Think about how you great you feel when you log onto Facebook on your birthday and see a wall full of people wishing you well.
It's one of the coolest parts of the day, right?
Well, why does that only need to happen once a year?
So here's my idea:
Next Monday, August 23rd, I want to have a Thank You day. Pick ten people who you feel have really done something for you--big or small--and send them out an e-mail letting them know you appreciate them.
If you want to go the extra mile, call them. Take them out to lunch. Sky-write something in their honor.
But if you're like me, and you tend to get lazy when people ask you to do something nice, then trick yourself into it by simply sending out ten messages saying "Thank you."
It may not seem like much, but how cool would it be if we all logged onto Facebook or into our e-mails next Monday and found a few messages in our inbox telling us that somebody appreciates us?
I think if nothing else it would definitely brighten up a lot of dreary Mondays.
If only 100 people do this, that's still 1,000 potential people that can have a better day.
One of my favorite quotes is Maya Angelou's--"If you only say one prayer in your life, say 'Thank you.'"
So I'm giving y'all a week.
Come up with a list of ten names. You can do more than ten, but try to really think of who might need to hear 'Thank you' the most. Diversify a little. It'll spread the net a little farther.
Let's see if we can start a ten person revolution.
If nothing else, ten of you will be hearing from me next week.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Day #14: Learn from the Dogs
Tonight, I saw an older man walking an adorable daschund.
Now, as a rule, daschunds are not as cute as fat pugs. That being said, my dog Peaches is a daschund. So I do have a special place in my heart for them.
This little daschund was wearing a pink coat-ish sort of thing, and unlike most dressed up dogs, she was actually pulling it off.
I had stopped at CVS at around 2am on the way back from a night out to stock up on soda (another vice I should give up) and I saw the dog and her owner as I was pulling in.
Should I say hi, I thought.
In my head, I thought, well he'll think I'm weird. Or he's weird. He's walking a dog in the CVS parking lot at 2am. Or he's crazy. Or mean. He'll yell at me. I shouldn't say anything.
But then I thought--take a lesson from the dogs.
Dogs don't think about being nice or trusting or how you look or if you're crazy or addicted to caffeinated soda (well, maybe the last one). They just want you to be nice to them, and they'll be nice to you back.
That's what I'm trying to do, right?
So I said hello, told the man I had a daschund, and introduced myself to his--her name was Dixie.
Dixie--amazing, right?
The man told me he's baby-sitting her, and so he's been taking her out every few hours, because he's never had a dog and didn't know how often you need to walk them.
I told him he could probably get away with three times a day, provided he times it right.
He looked really relieved, and also surprised that a guy in his twenties at CVS wasn't drunk and belligerent.
I said it was nice to meet him, and he said the same.
Dixie gave me the longing daschund look as I walked away.
(For those of you who don't have daschund, they've perfected the yearning look--they're all perpetually women on a dock watching their husbands sail away to the North Pole.)
It was a great way to end the night.
ME: Did you ever have a pet?
FRIEND: I've been a pet a few times.
ME: Maybe I do better with animals than people because I know there's no potential animosity there.
FRIEND: Clearly you've never hung out with a goat.
ME: And you have?
FRIEND: I propped a production of "Oklahoma" once. It got crazy.
ME: How--
FRIEND: Reeeeal crazy.
I'll stick to Dixie.
Now, as a rule, daschunds are not as cute as fat pugs. That being said, my dog Peaches is a daschund. So I do have a special place in my heart for them.
This little daschund was wearing a pink coat-ish sort of thing, and unlike most dressed up dogs, she was actually pulling it off.
I had stopped at CVS at around 2am on the way back from a night out to stock up on soda (another vice I should give up) and I saw the dog and her owner as I was pulling in.
Should I say hi, I thought.
In my head, I thought, well he'll think I'm weird. Or he's weird. He's walking a dog in the CVS parking lot at 2am. Or he's crazy. Or mean. He'll yell at me. I shouldn't say anything.
But then I thought--take a lesson from the dogs.
Dogs don't think about being nice or trusting or how you look or if you're crazy or addicted to caffeinated soda (well, maybe the last one). They just want you to be nice to them, and they'll be nice to you back.
That's what I'm trying to do, right?
So I said hello, told the man I had a daschund, and introduced myself to his--her name was Dixie.
Dixie--amazing, right?
The man told me he's baby-sitting her, and so he's been taking her out every few hours, because he's never had a dog and didn't know how often you need to walk them.
I told him he could probably get away with three times a day, provided he times it right.
He looked really relieved, and also surprised that a guy in his twenties at CVS wasn't drunk and belligerent.
I said it was nice to meet him, and he said the same.
Dixie gave me the longing daschund look as I walked away.
(For those of you who don't have daschund, they've perfected the yearning look--they're all perpetually women on a dock watching their husbands sail away to the North Pole.)
It was a great way to end the night.
ME: Did you ever have a pet?
FRIEND: I've been a pet a few times.
ME: Maybe I do better with animals than people because I know there's no potential animosity there.
FRIEND: Clearly you've never hung out with a goat.
ME: And you have?
FRIEND: I propped a production of "Oklahoma" once. It got crazy.
ME: How--
FRIEND: Reeeeal crazy.
I'll stick to Dixie.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Day #13: Another Man's Monologue
My grandmother decided to pick a fight with Mrs. Rothschild.
ME: Who's Mrs. Rothschild?
MOM: This woman who goes to Bingo with your grandmother and me.
ME: And why did she pick a fight with her?
She picked a fight with her because Mrs. Rothschild's son does theater.
ME: So? Lots of people do theater.
MOM: He's also a writer.
ME: Lots of people who do theater also write.
MOM: He's doing a monologue show.
...What?
Apparently, Mrs. Rothschild's son (Tommy) wrote a monologue show and is performing it in Massachusetts.
GRANDMA: ...And she tells me and your mother this at bingo like it's nothing!
ME: It's just a coincidence.
GRANDMA: We told her you do these shows, and suddenly her son writes one? COPYCAT!
ME: Well, it really is nothing, I mean--
GRANDMA: Cut the crap, kid. You know you're pissed!
Okay, I admit I was a little...perturbed. It's not uncommon in theater to have someone do something with good results only to have everybody else follow suit.
That being said, it's not like I can claim ownership over the idea of a monologue show.
MOM: Of course you can! Who else does them?
ME: Mike Daisy does, sort of. Anna Deveare-Smith does. Eric Bogosian did.
MOM: Are these people you know?
ME: If only, mother. If only.
MOM: Then they're copycats too!
ME: They did it before m!
MOM: But you're the best.
ME: Mom, these people have AWARDS!
MOM: YOU HAVE AN AWARD!
ME: I'M TALKING ABOUT PULITZERS!
MOM: NEVER MIND! I'LL NEVER STICK UP FOR YOU AGAIN!
Click.
GRANDMA: Your mother's right.
ME: Mom says you were a bad mother.
GRANDMA: About this. She's right about this. You're gifted and now hacks are trying to follow in your footsteps. I think you should sue.
ME: Grandma, that's very sweet, but if people want to do their own monologue shows, I'm certainly in no position to stop them. It just means I have to work harder to stand out.
GRANDMA: Or you could sue.
ME: Sue for what?
GRANDMA: Emotional distress.
ME: But I'm not emotionally distressed!
GRANDMA: BUT I AM!
My grandmother conceded that I shouldn't sue Tommy Rothschild, but she did suggest that I do something big so she can rub it in his mother's face.
ME: Like what?
GRANDMA: How about a play where people actually talk to each other?
ME: You mean like 'The Iceman Cometh?'
GRANDMA: I didn't say it had to be dirty.
ME: It's...never mind.
GRANDMA: I mean, I'd still go to see it, obviously--
Maybe I should head up to Massachusetts and see Tommy's show.
You know, to support him, because I'm nice...and stuff.
ME: Who's Mrs. Rothschild?
MOM: This woman who goes to Bingo with your grandmother and me.
ME: And why did she pick a fight with her?
She picked a fight with her because Mrs. Rothschild's son does theater.
ME: So? Lots of people do theater.
MOM: He's also a writer.
ME: Lots of people who do theater also write.
MOM: He's doing a monologue show.
...What?
Apparently, Mrs. Rothschild's son (Tommy) wrote a monologue show and is performing it in Massachusetts.
GRANDMA: ...And she tells me and your mother this at bingo like it's nothing!
ME: It's just a coincidence.
GRANDMA: We told her you do these shows, and suddenly her son writes one? COPYCAT!
ME: Well, it really is nothing, I mean--
GRANDMA: Cut the crap, kid. You know you're pissed!
Okay, I admit I was a little...perturbed. It's not uncommon in theater to have someone do something with good results only to have everybody else follow suit.
That being said, it's not like I can claim ownership over the idea of a monologue show.
MOM: Of course you can! Who else does them?
ME: Mike Daisy does, sort of. Anna Deveare-Smith does. Eric Bogosian did.
MOM: Are these people you know?
ME: If only, mother. If only.
MOM: Then they're copycats too!
ME: They did it before m!
MOM: But you're the best.
ME: Mom, these people have AWARDS!
MOM: YOU HAVE AN AWARD!
ME: I'M TALKING ABOUT PULITZERS!
MOM: NEVER MIND! I'LL NEVER STICK UP FOR YOU AGAIN!
Click.
GRANDMA: Your mother's right.
ME: Mom says you were a bad mother.
GRANDMA: About this. She's right about this. You're gifted and now hacks are trying to follow in your footsteps. I think you should sue.
ME: Grandma, that's very sweet, but if people want to do their own monologue shows, I'm certainly in no position to stop them. It just means I have to work harder to stand out.
GRANDMA: Or you could sue.
ME: Sue for what?
GRANDMA: Emotional distress.
ME: But I'm not emotionally distressed!
GRANDMA: BUT I AM!
My grandmother conceded that I shouldn't sue Tommy Rothschild, but she did suggest that I do something big so she can rub it in his mother's face.
ME: Like what?
GRANDMA: How about a play where people actually talk to each other?
ME: You mean like 'The Iceman Cometh?'
GRANDMA: I didn't say it had to be dirty.
ME: It's...never mind.
GRANDMA: I mean, I'd still go to see it, obviously--
Maybe I should head up to Massachusetts and see Tommy's show.
You know, to support him, because I'm nice...and stuff.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Day #12: 1800
Whenever you decide to take on a challenge like being nice for one hundred days, you will be tested.
I was tested many times during the dating blog, and today, I was tested again.
A day that started out just fine immediately went downhill after a call from my grandmother.
Someone had called her looking for me.
That someone turned out to be a collection agency.
My mother had taken on paying my student loans, because she felt like paying for my education fell under her jurisdiction. I don't really talk about that a lot, because I feel like I'm admitting to be spoiled when I say that, and truthfully, I am. I'm lucky to have had her help.
Unfortunately, my mom has fallen under really tough times, and now she's no longer able to pay the remainder of the student loans. Also unfortunately, she's in a bit of denial about it, and so she missed two payments and now a collection agency needs the money from me--all the money--in two months.
Yes, there are payment plans where I pay less over a longer amount of time, but that would mean more interest and since I am now responsible for this debt, I'd like to get it paid off as soon as possible.
Eighteen hundred dollars.
Not a lot of money, but yes, a lot of money.
Money I don't have?
Yup, but still, it could be worse.
I wanted to scream and shout and blame and swear and beat up someone, but I'm determined to stick with the project.
Instead, I decided to get proactive.
If I get resourceful, and avoid throwing a pity party, I can have a large debt paid off in two months, and I can say that I contributed to paying for my own education.
If not, I get thrown in pauper's jail and dine on my own limbs.
(Hey, I never said I'd give up being dramatic.)
My Mom was really upset with herself. She was crying and apologizing. A few years ago I would have berated her for being irresponsible and for getting me into a mess.
Instead, I told her that paying for college should have been my job to begin with, and she had more than done her part. I thanked her for everything she'd done for me up to this point, and I told her I love her and that I would figure out a way to help myself out of this situation.
Then I got off the phone and screamed at the top of my lungs in my car.
It was time for a perspective check.
I could owe more money. I could be unemployed. I could have kids to support. I could be participating in a "Be a Bitch" challenge and have no friends as of...probably now.
The only thing that's bothering me is eighteen hundred dollars.
It could be worse.
That being said--
I better start figuring out how I'm going to bring home the bacon.
Eighteen hundred dollars worth of bacon.
I was tested many times during the dating blog, and today, I was tested again.
A day that started out just fine immediately went downhill after a call from my grandmother.
Someone had called her looking for me.
That someone turned out to be a collection agency.
My mother had taken on paying my student loans, because she felt like paying for my education fell under her jurisdiction. I don't really talk about that a lot, because I feel like I'm admitting to be spoiled when I say that, and truthfully, I am. I'm lucky to have had her help.
Unfortunately, my mom has fallen under really tough times, and now she's no longer able to pay the remainder of the student loans. Also unfortunately, she's in a bit of denial about it, and so she missed two payments and now a collection agency needs the money from me--all the money--in two months.
Yes, there are payment plans where I pay less over a longer amount of time, but that would mean more interest and since I am now responsible for this debt, I'd like to get it paid off as soon as possible.
Eighteen hundred dollars.
Not a lot of money, but yes, a lot of money.
Money I don't have?
Yup, but still, it could be worse.
I wanted to scream and shout and blame and swear and beat up someone, but I'm determined to stick with the project.
Instead, I decided to get proactive.
If I get resourceful, and avoid throwing a pity party, I can have a large debt paid off in two months, and I can say that I contributed to paying for my own education.
If not, I get thrown in pauper's jail and dine on my own limbs.
(Hey, I never said I'd give up being dramatic.)
My Mom was really upset with herself. She was crying and apologizing. A few years ago I would have berated her for being irresponsible and for getting me into a mess.
Instead, I told her that paying for college should have been my job to begin with, and she had more than done her part. I thanked her for everything she'd done for me up to this point, and I told her I love her and that I would figure out a way to help myself out of this situation.
Then I got off the phone and screamed at the top of my lungs in my car.
It was time for a perspective check.
I could owe more money. I could be unemployed. I could have kids to support. I could be participating in a "Be a Bitch" challenge and have no friends as of...probably now.
The only thing that's bothering me is eighteen hundred dollars.
It could be worse.
That being said--
I better start figuring out how I'm going to bring home the bacon.
Eighteen hundred dollars worth of bacon.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Day #11: The Bunny Trick
I have two weaknesses in life.
Fat babies and pugs.
I see a large baby or a pug, and I turn into a new mother watching her infant suckle on its own toe.
So it stands to reason that in my quest to become a nicer person, I should start where it's the easiest--
Being kind to fat babies and pugs.
Unfortunately, I'm not around pugs nearly as often as I'd like to be, which just leaves the babies.
Luckily, I work in a library, so I am around kids every so often.
Where better to show kindness than to a rising soul?
So today I vowed I would be extra nice to every kid that came to the library.
Now, it's not very hard to make a kid smile when they're in a library. For one thing, they understand that it's sort of a solemn place, so whenever you show even a hint of humor, they can't handle it. The contradiction is too much, and pretty soon they're on the floor laughing trying to comprehend the gap in their universal understanding of where "library" goes since it can no longer be placed with "dentist's office" on the enjoyment scale.
Surefire ways to make kids smile from behind a circulation desk:
1) Let them stamp the books. Giving a kid what seems like an "adult" job usually makes their day.
2) Stamp their hands (only with Mom's approval) then say "You're due back in a week." Say it with a totally serious expression and they'll do that awesome giggle where their nose goes up into their face.
3) Tell their parents in front of them that they were the best behaved kid at the library that day. It makes the parents feel good, it makes the kids feel great, and most of the time it results in the kid behaving even better the next time they come to the library. (Kids like to maintain winning streaks.)
Today, however, I did all this and still couldn't win over this little girl who seemed determine to pout.
She didn't want to stamp the books, have her hand stamped, or believe that she was well-behaved.
(I understand the reluctance towards the last part--she was crying for a solid ten minutes.)
So I gave her one of the origami bunnies we have at the desk that a woman made for us. They're tiny, cute, and intricate.
Instantly, the little girl was mesmerized.
Me? She seemed to say. This is mine?
Understandable--it's a library. Nothing there is ever for keeps.
But the bunny was.
After that she was all smiles.
All because of a paper bunny.
Maybe I can master this whole kindness thing after all.
Fat babies and pugs.
I see a large baby or a pug, and I turn into a new mother watching her infant suckle on its own toe.
So it stands to reason that in my quest to become a nicer person, I should start where it's the easiest--
Being kind to fat babies and pugs.
Unfortunately, I'm not around pugs nearly as often as I'd like to be, which just leaves the babies.
Luckily, I work in a library, so I am around kids every so often.
Where better to show kindness than to a rising soul?
So today I vowed I would be extra nice to every kid that came to the library.
Now, it's not very hard to make a kid smile when they're in a library. For one thing, they understand that it's sort of a solemn place, so whenever you show even a hint of humor, they can't handle it. The contradiction is too much, and pretty soon they're on the floor laughing trying to comprehend the gap in their universal understanding of where "library" goes since it can no longer be placed with "dentist's office" on the enjoyment scale.
Surefire ways to make kids smile from behind a circulation desk:
1) Let them stamp the books. Giving a kid what seems like an "adult" job usually makes their day.
2) Stamp their hands (only with Mom's approval) then say "You're due back in a week." Say it with a totally serious expression and they'll do that awesome giggle where their nose goes up into their face.
3) Tell their parents in front of them that they were the best behaved kid at the library that day. It makes the parents feel good, it makes the kids feel great, and most of the time it results in the kid behaving even better the next time they come to the library. (Kids like to maintain winning streaks.)
Today, however, I did all this and still couldn't win over this little girl who seemed determine to pout.
She didn't want to stamp the books, have her hand stamped, or believe that she was well-behaved.
(I understand the reluctance towards the last part--she was crying for a solid ten minutes.)
So I gave her one of the origami bunnies we have at the desk that a woman made for us. They're tiny, cute, and intricate.
Instantly, the little girl was mesmerized.
Me? She seemed to say. This is mine?
Understandable--it's a library. Nothing there is ever for keeps.
But the bunny was.
After that she was all smiles.
All because of a paper bunny.
Maybe I can master this whole kindness thing after all.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Day #10: My Celebrity Loophole List
I've decided it's become impossible to avoid making fun of certain celebrities, and I feel that I should have a loophole list.
Remember when having that "celebrity exception" list was big in the mid-nineties?
It'll be sort of like that, except rather than have celebrities I can sleep with, I have celebrities I can ridicule.
But I'm limiting myself to five.
Now, comes the hard part.
Choosing which celebrities I dislike the most.
Spencer and Heidi are so 2009, so they're out.
I should pick people that other people don't make fun of--that way I'm original.
Okay, #1: Katy Perry, because you can tell she thinks she's amazing, and her music is the equivalent of spiked punch.
#2: Ryan Murphy--this one mainly stems from jealously, but I'm going to pick him anyway. (Oh my GOD! A show where teenagers sing! Maybe it'll be a hit, you know, because High School Musical sort of was?)
#3: Tyra Banks--I'm only human.
Now comes the hard part--Train or Nickelback.
I feel like more people are aware that Nickelback are pussies without me chiming in, but then again, they have a new hit ready to shove down my throat every two months.
(We get a new Springsteen album every five years, but these guys pump out albums like the Duggars pump out kids. That should tell you something. By the way, the Duggars are 4.A.)
I'm going to go with Train, but I reserve the right to switch them out if Creed decides to reunite again.
That leaves one more slot.
There are still so many options. So many questions. Can the Jonas Brothers count as one slot? Can I make fun of someone and still sing along when "Let It Burn" comes on the radio...or on the mix CD I made myself? Does wanting to make fun of President Taft for that little pony just make me sound like a wiseass from 1912?
Hmm....
Slot #5...
Got it.
Seacrest.
Duh.
Remember when having that "celebrity exception" list was big in the mid-nineties?
It'll be sort of like that, except rather than have celebrities I can sleep with, I have celebrities I can ridicule.
But I'm limiting myself to five.
Now, comes the hard part.
Choosing which celebrities I dislike the most.
Spencer and Heidi are so 2009, so they're out.
I should pick people that other people don't make fun of--that way I'm original.
Okay, #1: Katy Perry, because you can tell she thinks she's amazing, and her music is the equivalent of spiked punch.
#2: Ryan Murphy--this one mainly stems from jealously, but I'm going to pick him anyway. (Oh my GOD! A show where teenagers sing! Maybe it'll be a hit, you know, because High School Musical sort of was?)
#3: Tyra Banks--I'm only human.
Now comes the hard part--Train or Nickelback.
I feel like more people are aware that Nickelback are pussies without me chiming in, but then again, they have a new hit ready to shove down my throat every two months.
(We get a new Springsteen album every five years, but these guys pump out albums like the Duggars pump out kids. That should tell you something. By the way, the Duggars are 4.A.)
I'm going to go with Train, but I reserve the right to switch them out if Creed decides to reunite again.
That leaves one more slot.
There are still so many options. So many questions. Can the Jonas Brothers count as one slot? Can I make fun of someone and still sing along when "Let It Burn" comes on the radio...or on the mix CD I made myself? Does wanting to make fun of President Taft for that little pony just make me sound like a wiseass from 1912?
Hmm....
Slot #5...
Got it.
Seacrest.
Duh.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Day #9: Fear the Silence
In addition to figuring out that on any given day, I think about seventy-three nasty things, I now know that I have a new fear.
Silence.
Everyone's been advising me to take up meditation and yoga, so today I tried the Beginner course.
I maintained silence in my car.
Wait, hear me out.
On an old episode of Oprah (yup, I'm going there) an expert on parenting advised a dad to leave his radio off on the way home from work.
He said it would give him time to reflect on his day, decompress, and enjoy some silence. That way, when he arrived home to two screaming children, he wouldn't be so irritated, because he would have already gotten his fix of silence.
It changed the man's life, so why not try it?
How did it go?
Not well.
On a short trip today, I left the radio off and the windows up, and tried keeping the negative thoughts at bay.
I wanted to see what would pop into my head.
What did?
Let's see...
How can I describe it...
You know the New York Stock Exchange ticker? Imagine that, but going eight times as fast.
Ishouldreallywriteafulllengthplaywhenisthatbookdueishouldreadsomemoretonightimbehindonmyreadingyouknowwhatshowishouldgetintocalifornicationibetiwouldlikeitandineedtostartlearninglineswhyarethekardashianspopularcanipretendtobeoneandthengetmyownshowihavedarkbrownhairisitmondayikeepforgettingbecauseitsaholidaythedowisdowntwentypointsyouknowwhatplayidliketoproduce--
Imagine that all the way to Thayer Street.
I know when you meditate you're supposed to reflect on things, but I was just looking for a few minutes of inner tranquility.
Is that impossible?
Maybe I have a hard time being nice because deep down I'm going fifty over the speed limit twenty-four seven.
FRIEND: Maybe you're just doing it wrong.
ME: When are you quiet?
FRIEND: In the morning when I'm trying to remember how I got inside the Panera.
ME: I'd love to be quiet.
FRIEND: I thought you were over this whole 'quiet means nice' thing?
ME: I am, but I could use a sense of serenity.
FRIEND: You know, they have pills for that.
ME: How do--
FRIEND: I've heard...from my dealer...
Maybe I should just limit my phone conversations.
That might free up some quiet time.
Silence.
Everyone's been advising me to take up meditation and yoga, so today I tried the Beginner course.
I maintained silence in my car.
Wait, hear me out.
On an old episode of Oprah (yup, I'm going there) an expert on parenting advised a dad to leave his radio off on the way home from work.
He said it would give him time to reflect on his day, decompress, and enjoy some silence. That way, when he arrived home to two screaming children, he wouldn't be so irritated, because he would have already gotten his fix of silence.
It changed the man's life, so why not try it?
How did it go?
Not well.
On a short trip today, I left the radio off and the windows up, and tried keeping the negative thoughts at bay.
I wanted to see what would pop into my head.
What did?
Let's see...
How can I describe it...
You know the New York Stock Exchange ticker? Imagine that, but going eight times as fast.
Ishouldreallywriteafulllengthplaywhenisthatbookdueishouldreadsomemoretonightimbehindonmyreadingyouknowwhatshowishouldgetintocalifornicationibetiwouldlikeitandineedtostartlearninglineswhyarethekardashianspopularcanipretendtobeoneandthengetmyownshowihavedarkbrownhairisitmondayikeepforgettingbecauseitsaholidaythedowisdowntwentypointsyouknowwhatplayidliketoproduce--
Imagine that all the way to Thayer Street.
I know when you meditate you're supposed to reflect on things, but I was just looking for a few minutes of inner tranquility.
Is that impossible?
Maybe I have a hard time being nice because deep down I'm going fifty over the speed limit twenty-four seven.
FRIEND: Maybe you're just doing it wrong.
ME: When are you quiet?
FRIEND: In the morning when I'm trying to remember how I got inside the Panera.
ME: I'd love to be quiet.
FRIEND: I thought you were over this whole 'quiet means nice' thing?
ME: I am, but I could use a sense of serenity.
FRIEND: You know, they have pills for that.
ME: How do--
FRIEND: I've heard...from my dealer...
Maybe I should just limit my phone conversations.
That might free up some quiet time.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Day #8: The 73 Reasons I'm Doing This Project
I realize I've been unclear with this project.
On the surface, it must look like I'm fishing for compliments. It seems like I'm beating myself up and want confirmation that I'm a nice person.
The fact of the matter is, I'm not very insecure. For the most part, I like myself. If anything, I would be more worried about inflating my ego.
Everything I do has a purpose to it. The last challenge blog I did was a way for me to examine dating and relationships. Now I want to examine what it means to be "nice." I think what we as a society think of in terms of "nice people" is inaccurate.
Do "nice" people gossip?
If yes, how much are they allowed to gossip until they're "not nice" people?
If no, do nice people get angry?
What if "nice" people get angry unjustly?
Are they still nice when they're wrong?
My father is an asshole eight hours a day at his work. His work doesn't call for him to be an asshole. He just finds that it makes things a little bit easier for him. He could be "nice," and his employees would be happy, but he doesn't look at it that way.
"I'm nice when I'm at home. I'm not nice at work."
So can you be conditionally nice and still be a nice person?
I wanted to examine all this, and have all of you give me your feedback on it, because I think it's something we don't really think about enough.
Basically, are we really good people?
And I know the easy answer is, "Sometimes," but is that a fair answer?
Let me tell you the 73 reasons I'm doing this project:
The other day, as part of the challenge, I decided to document how many times I WOULD be mean if given the chance. How many times would I make a rude comment or be catty?
I figured it would be somewhere around the fifteen to twenty mark.
Ready for this?
Seventy-three times.
And these weren't provoked. I'll give you some examples.
A man driving in front of me on my way to work was going the speed limit. He was a little old man going along, not doing anybody any harm. His only fault was that I was running late for work.
What would I have said in my car if given the chance?
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? SPEED THE FUCK UP OR GET OUT OF MY WAY. YOU'RE SUCH A FUCKING IDIOT. IT'S NOT LIKE YOU HAVE ANYWHERE TO BE SINCE YOU'RE EIGHTY-FUCKING-YEARS OLD."
That, my friends, is not something a nice person says.
And don't say--Well, you have your moments.
I realize when I stopped myself from saying that that I make a comment like that at least five times on any given trip anywhere while in my car.
Road rage, you say?
Okay, how about at the supermarket--
There was a woman in front of me with lots of items. She's food shopping. Of course, she's going to have lots of items. She was going at a brisk pace trying to check out. I wanted to go home because I was hungry.
My response in my head had I not checked it?
"WOW, YOU FUCKING NEED ALL THAT FOOD DON'T YOU? IF I WERE YOU, I'D LOOK INTO LETTUCE. UGH, FUCKING STUPID BITCH."
Real nice, right? My grandmother would cut me up for that comment, and she'd have a right to.
Ignore the caps lock in this one, because this wasn't a rage thing. This was someone irritating me simply by existing.
Where do I get off getting mad at someone for not rushing so I can get home?
One more example--
I'm at Dunkin Donuts getting coffee, and there's a small line.
Nobody's being loud. Nobody's being obnoxious. Nobody's doing anything but waiting patiently for their turn.
What goes through my head?
"You all are such fucking white trash. I wish I lived somewhere rich where I wouldn't have to see you people. Maybe some of yo should have stayed in school. Jesus fucking Christ."
Um...not okay.
Not okay at all.
Now consider that my head had SEVENTY-THREE things like this floating around in there on an average day.
This was without going out to a club, without seeing family or friends, without really interacting. This was all simply from living in the world.
This has to change.
I know I'm not an awful person, but until I started this project, I didn't realize how much awful stuff was living inside my head. I'm going to use the project to figure out why that stuff is there and how I can get rid of it.
I invite all of you to read this, or not. Or do the same for yourselves, or not. I'd love to have discussions about why we get mad at what we get mad at, or why we're quick to judge, or why we're impatient.
Impatience is a big one.
Until recently, if you had asked me if I was patient, I would have said 'Yes. Absolutely.'
Then when I started checking in on myself, I realized I was losing my temper every three seconds.
So this is my confession: I'm not a patient person, and that kills me.
I value people who are patient, and I refuse to accept that I'm not one. I'm not going down without a fight.
I have a lot of people in my family who have taken the "That's who I am, deal with it" approach, and I think maybe I fell into that trap, but I'm about to climb out.
I'm not looking for compliments or agreements or even much support, because as I said, I'm strong enough to do this without it shattering my perception of myself.
I'm doing this because I can do better. I can be better than I am. I think everyone can, so there's nothing self-deprecating about that statement.
Seventy-three nasty comments is too much for someone who has so much good stuff in his life.
Hopefully in ninety-two days, I'll have a lot less.
On the surface, it must look like I'm fishing for compliments. It seems like I'm beating myself up and want confirmation that I'm a nice person.
The fact of the matter is, I'm not very insecure. For the most part, I like myself. If anything, I would be more worried about inflating my ego.
Everything I do has a purpose to it. The last challenge blog I did was a way for me to examine dating and relationships. Now I want to examine what it means to be "nice." I think what we as a society think of in terms of "nice people" is inaccurate.
Do "nice" people gossip?
If yes, how much are they allowed to gossip until they're "not nice" people?
If no, do nice people get angry?
What if "nice" people get angry unjustly?
Are they still nice when they're wrong?
My father is an asshole eight hours a day at his work. His work doesn't call for him to be an asshole. He just finds that it makes things a little bit easier for him. He could be "nice," and his employees would be happy, but he doesn't look at it that way.
"I'm nice when I'm at home. I'm not nice at work."
So can you be conditionally nice and still be a nice person?
I wanted to examine all this, and have all of you give me your feedback on it, because I think it's something we don't really think about enough.
Basically, are we really good people?
And I know the easy answer is, "Sometimes," but is that a fair answer?
Let me tell you the 73 reasons I'm doing this project:
The other day, as part of the challenge, I decided to document how many times I WOULD be mean if given the chance. How many times would I make a rude comment or be catty?
I figured it would be somewhere around the fifteen to twenty mark.
Ready for this?
Seventy-three times.
And these weren't provoked. I'll give you some examples.
A man driving in front of me on my way to work was going the speed limit. He was a little old man going along, not doing anybody any harm. His only fault was that I was running late for work.
What would I have said in my car if given the chance?
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? SPEED THE FUCK UP OR GET OUT OF MY WAY. YOU'RE SUCH A FUCKING IDIOT. IT'S NOT LIKE YOU HAVE ANYWHERE TO BE SINCE YOU'RE EIGHTY-FUCKING-YEARS OLD."
That, my friends, is not something a nice person says.
And don't say--Well, you have your moments.
I realize when I stopped myself from saying that that I make a comment like that at least five times on any given trip anywhere while in my car.
Road rage, you say?
Okay, how about at the supermarket--
There was a woman in front of me with lots of items. She's food shopping. Of course, she's going to have lots of items. She was going at a brisk pace trying to check out. I wanted to go home because I was hungry.
My response in my head had I not checked it?
"WOW, YOU FUCKING NEED ALL THAT FOOD DON'T YOU? IF I WERE YOU, I'D LOOK INTO LETTUCE. UGH, FUCKING STUPID BITCH."
Real nice, right? My grandmother would cut me up for that comment, and she'd have a right to.
Ignore the caps lock in this one, because this wasn't a rage thing. This was someone irritating me simply by existing.
Where do I get off getting mad at someone for not rushing so I can get home?
One more example--
I'm at Dunkin Donuts getting coffee, and there's a small line.
Nobody's being loud. Nobody's being obnoxious. Nobody's doing anything but waiting patiently for their turn.
What goes through my head?
"You all are such fucking white trash. I wish I lived somewhere rich where I wouldn't have to see you people. Maybe some of yo should have stayed in school. Jesus fucking Christ."
Um...not okay.
Not okay at all.
Now consider that my head had SEVENTY-THREE things like this floating around in there on an average day.
This was without going out to a club, without seeing family or friends, without really interacting. This was all simply from living in the world.
This has to change.
I know I'm not an awful person, but until I started this project, I didn't realize how much awful stuff was living inside my head. I'm going to use the project to figure out why that stuff is there and how I can get rid of it.
I invite all of you to read this, or not. Or do the same for yourselves, or not. I'd love to have discussions about why we get mad at what we get mad at, or why we're quick to judge, or why we're impatient.
Impatience is a big one.
Until recently, if you had asked me if I was patient, I would have said 'Yes. Absolutely.'
Then when I started checking in on myself, I realized I was losing my temper every three seconds.
So this is my confession: I'm not a patient person, and that kills me.
I value people who are patient, and I refuse to accept that I'm not one. I'm not going down without a fight.
I have a lot of people in my family who have taken the "That's who I am, deal with it" approach, and I think maybe I fell into that trap, but I'm about to climb out.
I'm not looking for compliments or agreements or even much support, because as I said, I'm strong enough to do this without it shattering my perception of myself.
I'm doing this because I can do better. I can be better than I am. I think everyone can, so there's nothing self-deprecating about that statement.
Seventy-three nasty comments is too much for someone who has so much good stuff in his life.
Hopefully in ninety-two days, I'll have a lot less.
Day #7: Define "Nice"
With so much talk about being a nice person, I realized today that I never actually sat down and thought about what I consider a nice person to be.
I'm not talking about what I perceive other people's perceptions of a nice person are--because a) that's subjective, b) it's my perception of the the perception of others which is both b.1) confusing to follow and b.2) probably wrong, and c) where was I going with this?
So I decided to define what I think a "nice" person is, and you're welcome to contribute your own ideas as well.
Top Ten Ways You Know Someone is "Nice"
1) They pick up the phone at 3am to make sure you're okay when you call them.
2) They show up. That's it--they show up. They're there. They're present.
3) They're able to tell you that you're wrong without making you feel bad about being wrong. Then they tell you how to make it right.
4) They laugh more than they yell.
5) They look at you when you're talking to them.
6) They smile when they see you.
7) They're inclusive.
8) They don't tally up how many favors you owe them.
9) They offer to help without being asked.
10) Stolen from one of my own monologues--"They put 'You're crazy' and 'I love you' right next to each other."
So basically, if I can be these things, I'll have achieved my goal of being "nice."
Okay, let me hear your criteria.
I'm not talking about what I perceive other people's perceptions of a nice person are--because a) that's subjective, b) it's my perception of the the perception of others which is both b.1) confusing to follow and b.2) probably wrong, and c) where was I going with this?
So I decided to define what I think a "nice" person is, and you're welcome to contribute your own ideas as well.
Top Ten Ways You Know Someone is "Nice"
1) They pick up the phone at 3am to make sure you're okay when you call them.
2) They show up. That's it--they show up. They're there. They're present.
3) They're able to tell you that you're wrong without making you feel bad about being wrong. Then they tell you how to make it right.
4) They laugh more than they yell.
5) They look at you when you're talking to them.
6) They smile when they see you.
7) They're inclusive.
8) They don't tally up how many favors you owe them.
9) They offer to help without being asked.
10) Stolen from one of my own monologues--"They put 'You're crazy' and 'I love you' right next to each other."
So basically, if I can be these things, I'll have achieved my goal of being "nice."
Okay, let me hear your criteria.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Day #6: Family Time
I decided that I needed to be more active when it comes to being nice.
What better place to start than with my own family?
MOM: What do you mean you're being nice?
I probably should have known better.
ME: I want to know what you'd like me to do for you.
MOM: I'm confused.
ME: Something nice.
MOM: Why are you being nice?
ME: Aren't I always nice?
MOM: Is that a trick question?
And you wonder why this whole "nice" project has been a challenge.
ME: I just want to do something nice for you.
MOM: Can you stop doing those shows where you swear and talk about sex?
ME: ...How about I just take you to a movie?
MOM: Can we see Charlie St. Cloud?
ME: Not a chance.
MOM: I thought you had to be nice?
ME: That's not being nice. That's killing your own brain cells.
MOM: Why don't you just call your brother?
ME: I can do something nice for you and him.
MOM: Tell him to stop fighting with me about moving out. That'll be your good deed.
My brother decided to move out of my parent's house, and it's been an issue of contention. I've always been good at being the mediator in the family, so I figured this was the perfect challenge for me.
DAVID: She's an evil shrew.
This is my brother David.
ME: I'm not allowed to say mean things about people.
DAVID: We're not talking about a normal person here. We're talking about Mom.
ME: She can be a little forceful with her love.
DAVID: She told me that if I move out of the house she'll throw herself into the lake.
ME: She's an Irish mother. That's what they do when their children grow up.
DAVID: So what do you want me to do?
ME: Stop fighting with her.
DAVID: Tell her to stop nagging at me.
ME: That's like telling an ostrich to stop being awkward.
DAVID: That's your problem.
I could see I was going to need a little help with this one.
GRANDMA: I just finished framing your review!
ME: That's sweet of you.
GRANDMA: I didn't even know you were in 'Little Shop of Horrors!'
ME: ...Um, I'm not.
GRANDMA: Yes, you are. I'm looking right at you.
ME: I don't know who you're looking at, but I'm not in 'Little Shop.' I've never been in 'Little Shop.'
GRANDMA: Well, who the hell is this in my scrapbook then?
ME: I couldn't tell you.
GRANDMA: Oh well, too late now.
ME: Grandma, I need you to tell Mom to back off David about moving out.
GRANDMA: David's moving out?
ME: Yeah.
GRANDMA: Your mother never tells me anything!
ME: Well, he's moving out and--
GRANDMA: She's going to hear about this!
ME: No, I don't want you to yell at her. I want you to reason with--
GRANDMA: I'll call you back!
Five minutes later.
MOM: You ratted me out to your grandmother?
ME: Ma--
MOM: You call that being nice?
ME: I didn't know you didn't tell her David was moving out!
MOM: Because she'd say he was right!
ME: Because he is!
MOM: ALL MY SONS HATE ME!
ME: WE DON'T HATE YOU WE JUST DON'T WANT TO LIVE WITH YOU.
. . . . .
MOM: I'm going for a drive.
ME: YOU BETTER NOT BE GOING TO THE LAKE!
How did being nice end up with me screaming at my mother not to pull a Virginia Woolf?
What better place to start than with my own family?
MOM: What do you mean you're being nice?
I probably should have known better.
ME: I want to know what you'd like me to do for you.
MOM: I'm confused.
ME: Something nice.
MOM: Why are you being nice?
ME: Aren't I always nice?
MOM: Is that a trick question?
And you wonder why this whole "nice" project has been a challenge.
ME: I just want to do something nice for you.
MOM: Can you stop doing those shows where you swear and talk about sex?
ME: ...How about I just take you to a movie?
MOM: Can we see Charlie St. Cloud?
ME: Not a chance.
MOM: I thought you had to be nice?
ME: That's not being nice. That's killing your own brain cells.
MOM: Why don't you just call your brother?
ME: I can do something nice for you and him.
MOM: Tell him to stop fighting with me about moving out. That'll be your good deed.
My brother decided to move out of my parent's house, and it's been an issue of contention. I've always been good at being the mediator in the family, so I figured this was the perfect challenge for me.
DAVID: She's an evil shrew.
This is my brother David.
ME: I'm not allowed to say mean things about people.
DAVID: We're not talking about a normal person here. We're talking about Mom.
ME: She can be a little forceful with her love.
DAVID: She told me that if I move out of the house she'll throw herself into the lake.
ME: She's an Irish mother. That's what they do when their children grow up.
DAVID: So what do you want me to do?
ME: Stop fighting with her.
DAVID: Tell her to stop nagging at me.
ME: That's like telling an ostrich to stop being awkward.
DAVID: That's your problem.
I could see I was going to need a little help with this one.
GRANDMA: I just finished framing your review!
ME: That's sweet of you.
GRANDMA: I didn't even know you were in 'Little Shop of Horrors!'
ME: ...Um, I'm not.
GRANDMA: Yes, you are. I'm looking right at you.
ME: I don't know who you're looking at, but I'm not in 'Little Shop.' I've never been in 'Little Shop.'
GRANDMA: Well, who the hell is this in my scrapbook then?
ME: I couldn't tell you.
GRANDMA: Oh well, too late now.
ME: Grandma, I need you to tell Mom to back off David about moving out.
GRANDMA: David's moving out?
ME: Yeah.
GRANDMA: Your mother never tells me anything!
ME: Well, he's moving out and--
GRANDMA: She's going to hear about this!
ME: No, I don't want you to yell at her. I want you to reason with--
GRANDMA: I'll call you back!
Five minutes later.
MOM: You ratted me out to your grandmother?
ME: Ma--
MOM: You call that being nice?
ME: I didn't know you didn't tell her David was moving out!
MOM: Because she'd say he was right!
ME: Because he is!
MOM: ALL MY SONS HATE ME!
ME: WE DON'T HATE YOU WE JUST DON'T WANT TO LIVE WITH YOU.
. . . . .
MOM: I'm going for a drive.
ME: YOU BETTER NOT BE GOING TO THE LAKE!
How did being nice end up with me screaming at my mother not to pull a Virginia Woolf?
Friday, August 6, 2010
Day #5: Reagan Rule Applies
I knew if anything was going to make me break, it was going to be Reagan.
Of every political figure in history, Regan is the one that always makes me blow a fuse.
For one thing, there is enough information out there about this man to show that all he did was wave a flag and people loved him, despite the fact that his own children couldn't stand him, the economy was in terrible shape while he was President, and he actually came out and said that AIDS wasn't real.
That last part really chaps me, moreso than anything else.
When he died, I found myself constantly battling with people who wanted to put his face on a new thousand dollar bill.
Granted, it would be appropriate since he was pretty much the model for American greed for an entire decade.
So when someone brought up Regan, I told myself to just be quiet, because there was no way I was going to be able to keep my temper intact.
Then I realized--why should I keep my temper?
This whole project is about learning to be a better person while not becoming a bore. What I usually dislike about "nice" people is that they seem to have no opinions about anything. They don't seem to have any passion or personality.
So I went ahead and ranted, and have been subsequently ranting ever since. Maybe I'm going a little overboard, but it's only because it feels good to actually voice a negative opinion about someone. Granted, I'm still trying to keep it from getting personal, but if I fail at that, oh well. I'm not gossiping about a friend, I'm commenting on a dead politician. I'm sure if I started talking shit about Napoleon nobody would care. So why should Regan get off any easier?
I instantly started to feel more like myself than I have for the past five days. Many of my friends have told me that being nice isn't being a doormat or being quiet. I think the problem is that all the "nice" people I've thought of in my life have been quiet and reserved. But why do I want to be like those people? I never LIKED those people! And the people who did like those people only liked them because they were able to project idealistic images onto those people, when in reality those people probably weren't like that at all.
Hmm...not sure I followed that.
FRIEND: I can't follow it either, but then again, I'm on my third after-tini.
ME: It's one thirty in the afternoon.
FRIEND: What part of after-tini didn't you understand?
ME: So what do you think of my new approach?
FRIEND: I love it! By the way, who the hell is Ronald Regan?
ME: Are you kidding?
FRIEND: Honey, I was born in 1998. I don't go farther back than that.
ME: That would make you twelve.
FRIEND: And?
ME: Do you not remember the Spice Girls either?
FRIEND: ...Well, there's history and then there's religion...
Hmm, what other dead guys can I take issue with?
This might just stop me from getting that ulcer I could feel coming.
Of every political figure in history, Regan is the one that always makes me blow a fuse.
For one thing, there is enough information out there about this man to show that all he did was wave a flag and people loved him, despite the fact that his own children couldn't stand him, the economy was in terrible shape while he was President, and he actually came out and said that AIDS wasn't real.
That last part really chaps me, moreso than anything else.
When he died, I found myself constantly battling with people who wanted to put his face on a new thousand dollar bill.
Granted, it would be appropriate since he was pretty much the model for American greed for an entire decade.
So when someone brought up Regan, I told myself to just be quiet, because there was no way I was going to be able to keep my temper intact.
Then I realized--why should I keep my temper?
This whole project is about learning to be a better person while not becoming a bore. What I usually dislike about "nice" people is that they seem to have no opinions about anything. They don't seem to have any passion or personality.
So I went ahead and ranted, and have been subsequently ranting ever since. Maybe I'm going a little overboard, but it's only because it feels good to actually voice a negative opinion about someone. Granted, I'm still trying to keep it from getting personal, but if I fail at that, oh well. I'm not gossiping about a friend, I'm commenting on a dead politician. I'm sure if I started talking shit about Napoleon nobody would care. So why should Regan get off any easier?
I instantly started to feel more like myself than I have for the past five days. Many of my friends have told me that being nice isn't being a doormat or being quiet. I think the problem is that all the "nice" people I've thought of in my life have been quiet and reserved. But why do I want to be like those people? I never LIKED those people! And the people who did like those people only liked them because they were able to project idealistic images onto those people, when in reality those people probably weren't like that at all.
Hmm...not sure I followed that.
FRIEND: I can't follow it either, but then again, I'm on my third after-tini.
ME: It's one thirty in the afternoon.
FRIEND: What part of after-tini didn't you understand?
ME: So what do you think of my new approach?
FRIEND: I love it! By the way, who the hell is Ronald Regan?
ME: Are you kidding?
FRIEND: Honey, I was born in 1998. I don't go farther back than that.
ME: That would make you twelve.
FRIEND: And?
ME: Do you not remember the Spice Girls either?
FRIEND: ...Well, there's history and then there's religion...
Hmm, what other dead guys can I take issue with?
This might just stop me from getting that ulcer I could feel coming.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Day #4: Sweet Talk
What can you talk about if you can't gossip?
I thought I could handle it.
I'd just stay focused on being nice, discussing ideas, and having intelligent conversations.
Little did I know that my old tragic flaw was going to do me in--
Morning.
I'm not a morning person.
I'm grumpy.
I'm irritable.
I'm quick to bite someone's head off.
So this morning--the first morning of my week where I open at work--I was trying to stay on my best behavior.
Then politics reared its ugly head.
Now, here's something I decided about the project:
Being nice doesn't mean bullshitting. It doesn't mean not expressing how I feel. It just means that if I happen to get into a fight, I have to fight fair.
So of course, I got into a fight.
While I was trying to avoid talking about people, I somehow wound up talking to two of the older people who come into my work about the state of the country and whose fault it was.
I did manage to avoid name-calling, but I still let my voice get a little loud at times.
When it was all said and done, I could tell they were ticked off at me. I guess that's a reasonable response to somehow categorically disagreeing with your belief system, but it was frustrating to me that I had stuck to the points, never gotten personal, and still came across looking like a jerk.
What am I supposed to do? Tell everyone they're right or just avoid potentially lethal conversation altogether?
I know people say stay away from religion and politics, but what does that leave?
Lasagna recipes and America's Got Talent?
FRIEND: Is that even a show anymore?
ME: No wonder the nicest people are always the quietest. They presumably have no personalities, so everyone can love them, because there's nothing to get offended by.
FRIEND: Sounds like you're being mean.
ME: I'm stating my disapproval with an unfortunate reoccurring situation in society.
FRIEND: You're bitching.
ME: I know.
FRIEND: And rationalizing.
ME: I KNOW!
FRIEND: Don't yell.
ME: Aaahhh!
I don't know if I can keep doing this.
I thought I could handle it.
I'd just stay focused on being nice, discussing ideas, and having intelligent conversations.
Little did I know that my old tragic flaw was going to do me in--
Morning.
I'm not a morning person.
I'm grumpy.
I'm irritable.
I'm quick to bite someone's head off.
So this morning--the first morning of my week where I open at work--I was trying to stay on my best behavior.
Then politics reared its ugly head.
Now, here's something I decided about the project:
Being nice doesn't mean bullshitting. It doesn't mean not expressing how I feel. It just means that if I happen to get into a fight, I have to fight fair.
So of course, I got into a fight.
While I was trying to avoid talking about people, I somehow wound up talking to two of the older people who come into my work about the state of the country and whose fault it was.
I did manage to avoid name-calling, but I still let my voice get a little loud at times.
When it was all said and done, I could tell they were ticked off at me. I guess that's a reasonable response to somehow categorically disagreeing with your belief system, but it was frustrating to me that I had stuck to the points, never gotten personal, and still came across looking like a jerk.
What am I supposed to do? Tell everyone they're right or just avoid potentially lethal conversation altogether?
I know people say stay away from religion and politics, but what does that leave?
Lasagna recipes and America's Got Talent?
FRIEND: Is that even a show anymore?
ME: No wonder the nicest people are always the quietest. They presumably have no personalities, so everyone can love them, because there's nothing to get offended by.
FRIEND: Sounds like you're being mean.
ME: I'm stating my disapproval with an unfortunate reoccurring situation in society.
FRIEND: You're bitching.
ME: I know.
FRIEND: And rationalizing.
ME: I KNOW!
FRIEND: Don't yell.
ME: Aaahhh!
I don't know if I can keep doing this.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Day #3: The Opportunity
Today I had a minor epiphany.
Rather than a light bulb moment, I guess it was a flashlight moment.
After having a near nervous breakdown yesterday when I wouldn't allow myself to be mean at work, I thought about the quote I first poster when I started this whole project.
"Wherever there is a human being there is an opportunity for kindness" ~ Seneca.
I realized that I wasn't taking advantage of the opportunities this project offers me. I work with the public. I have a chance everyday to have a kind interaction with someone. It might be the only moment like that they get that day.
And here I was bitching about it.
I decided to suck it up and smile.
(I also decided to eat about a pound of chocolate to buoy my mood.)
I found myself checking in on my own thoughts. It was amazing to me how many times a day I think nasty things.
"Ew, look at the way she's dressed."
"Wow, way to control your kids."
"Maybe if you weren't stupid..."
Why do I allow this much negativity to reside inside my mind? How do I have any happiness at all with all of this going on within me?
FRIEND: You're starting to sound like one of those people I hate.
ME: Scientologists?
FRIEND: Nice people.
Wow, it's working!
FRIEND: Pretty soon you're going to be boring.
ME: Do you really need to talk about people in order to be interesting?
FRIEND: What else is there to talk about?
ME: Ideas.
FRIEND: Like what?
ME: Um...
Um...
ME: I'll think of something.
FRIEND: Can we at least talk about how stupid Scientologists are?
ME: Sorry, kid. It's against the rules.
FRIEND: It's like you don't want us to be friends anymore.
Hmm, what can you talk about if you don't talk about people?
I guess I'll explore that one...tomorrow.
I'll look at it as another opportunity.
Rather than a light bulb moment, I guess it was a flashlight moment.
After having a near nervous breakdown yesterday when I wouldn't allow myself to be mean at work, I thought about the quote I first poster when I started this whole project.
"Wherever there is a human being there is an opportunity for kindness" ~ Seneca.
I realized that I wasn't taking advantage of the opportunities this project offers me. I work with the public. I have a chance everyday to have a kind interaction with someone. It might be the only moment like that they get that day.
And here I was bitching about it.
I decided to suck it up and smile.
(I also decided to eat about a pound of chocolate to buoy my mood.)
I found myself checking in on my own thoughts. It was amazing to me how many times a day I think nasty things.
"Ew, look at the way she's dressed."
"Wow, way to control your kids."
"Maybe if you weren't stupid..."
Why do I allow this much negativity to reside inside my mind? How do I have any happiness at all with all of this going on within me?
FRIEND: You're starting to sound like one of those people I hate.
ME: Scientologists?
FRIEND: Nice people.
Wow, it's working!
FRIEND: Pretty soon you're going to be boring.
ME: Do you really need to talk about people in order to be interesting?
FRIEND: What else is there to talk about?
ME: Ideas.
FRIEND: Like what?
ME: Um...
Um...
ME: I'll think of something.
FRIEND: Can we at least talk about how stupid Scientologists are?
ME: Sorry, kid. It's against the rules.
FRIEND: It's like you don't want us to be friends anymore.
Hmm, what can you talk about if you don't talk about people?
I guess I'll explore that one...tomorrow.
I'll look at it as another opportunity.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Day #2: Patience, Little Broccoli
Today's word of the day was "Patience."
Up until today, if you asked me if I was a patient person, I would have said "I don't have time to answer stupid questions."
I think everyone believes they're patient, but until you're focusing on being a nice guy, you don't always realize how short your fuse really is.
On top of all that, it's easy to be nice on your day off.
Try doing it while you're working.
I work with the public, and I pride myself on being able to deal with people in a quick, effective, and (I assumed) polite manner.
Well, two out of three ain't bad.
Yesterday, I found myself chanting "Be nice, be nice" every once in awhile.
Today my mantra became more like white noise--"Benicebenicebenicebenice"
All I needed was an abandoned hotel and Shelley Long, and I would have been ready to yell "Here's Johnny!"
Soon, I was becoming frustrated with my lack of patience, which only made me even more irritated, and pretty soon I was ready to throw the entire project out the window.
When I started this endeavor, I knew being nice wouldn't exactly be an easy fit, but I didn't realize that at times it would mean feeling like I'm throwing myself into a wall over and over again.
If it feels like I'm going against my very nature every time I'm nice, does that mean that by nature I'm just a huge bitch?
All I can hope is that by forcing myself to be nice it'll eventually start to feel more natural.
Hey, I didn't love Big Love when I first started watching either.
ME: Would you say you're a patient person?
FRIEND: I don't have time to be patient. I could be dead tomorrow.
ME: You're twenty--
FRIEND: AHHH!
ME: Never mind.
FRIEND: Don't you think it's a little late in life to try turning into a saint?
ME: I'm only twenty--
FRIEND: AHHH!
ME: Hey! It's my age.
FRIEND: Right. Sorry. So you're eighty-seven.
ME: And I can still kick this bitch thing.
FRIEND: So you're not giving up?
ME: Not until I get myself a secondhand halo.
FRIEND: Aw, a secondhand halo. Sounds like Taylor Swift's autobiography.
Lets hope it sells as well.
Up until today, if you asked me if I was a patient person, I would have said "I don't have time to answer stupid questions."
I think everyone believes they're patient, but until you're focusing on being a nice guy, you don't always realize how short your fuse really is.
On top of all that, it's easy to be nice on your day off.
Try doing it while you're working.
I work with the public, and I pride myself on being able to deal with people in a quick, effective, and (I assumed) polite manner.
Well, two out of three ain't bad.
Yesterday, I found myself chanting "Be nice, be nice" every once in awhile.
Today my mantra became more like white noise--"Benicebenicebenicebenice"
All I needed was an abandoned hotel and Shelley Long, and I would have been ready to yell "Here's Johnny!"
Soon, I was becoming frustrated with my lack of patience, which only made me even more irritated, and pretty soon I was ready to throw the entire project out the window.
When I started this endeavor, I knew being nice wouldn't exactly be an easy fit, but I didn't realize that at times it would mean feeling like I'm throwing myself into a wall over and over again.
If it feels like I'm going against my very nature every time I'm nice, does that mean that by nature I'm just a huge bitch?
All I can hope is that by forcing myself to be nice it'll eventually start to feel more natural.
Hey, I didn't love Big Love when I first started watching either.
ME: Would you say you're a patient person?
FRIEND: I don't have time to be patient. I could be dead tomorrow.
ME: You're twenty--
FRIEND: AHHH!
ME: Never mind.
FRIEND: Don't you think it's a little late in life to try turning into a saint?
ME: I'm only twenty--
FRIEND: AHHH!
ME: Hey! It's my age.
FRIEND: Right. Sorry. So you're eighty-seven.
ME: And I can still kick this bitch thing.
FRIEND: So you're not giving up?
ME: Not until I get myself a secondhand halo.
FRIEND: Aw, a secondhand halo. Sounds like Taylor Swift's autobiography.
Lets hope it sells as well.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Day #1: A Southern Gentleman
I failed first at midnight.
There I was at the gas station fueling up when I heard a voice behind me.
"Nice night, ain't it?"
When I turned around, there was a jolly, bald Southern man about to fuel up his Cadillac.
My response?
"Que?"
Or something to that effect.
I guess there are going to be a lot of admissions over the course of the next hundred days, so this is the first--
Sometimes when a random stranger tries to talk to me, or when I'm passing the kids collecting money for their little league team outside the supermarket, or when my grandfather calls...
...I pretend not to speak English.
I'm Portuguese and Italian. One of the perks of that mix is that if you don't shave for three days you look like you just snuck across the border.
When the man at the gas station heard my "Que" and saw me shake my head, he went back to fueling without saying another word. Then I realized that it was August 1st, and within the first hour of my project I was already falling behind.
For the next three and a half months, I'm supposed to be polite, nice, and even sweet.
Clearly this was going to be tougher than I thought.
I realized I had to make amends with the Southern gent. The problem was that I couldn't just suddenly speak semi-decent English.
So, with a slight Mexican accent that came across as half-Russian, I said--
'Is nice night, yes yes.'
The gentleman looked at me kind of funny, then drove off muttering something about Ellis Island.
What an auspicious start, huh?
. . . . .
I went into this project with one big fear.
When I was kid, I was barely ever allowed to talk. When I turned fourteen and subsequently turned into Damien from The Omen, I never stopped talking.
Still, my biggest fear is not being able to express my opinion, speak my mind, or have my voice heard.
Basically, I'm terrified of being a doormat.
Somehow that fear translated into me becoming a giant, gossiping, catty bitch.
Oh sure, to many people I'm a selfless sweetheart...most of them being named Mom, but I've never been Mr. Nice Guy.
A part of me really wants to know what it's like to be the universally-liked one, but there's another part of me that worries that means being the quiet one.
When I tell people that, they tell me that it's possible to be nice AND firm.
My problem is that every time someone is firm with me I walk away calling them a jerk in my head.
I don't just want to be nice and firm. I want to be firm and still have people think I'm awesome.
There's a way to do that...
...Right?
. . . . .
My first day presented a big challenge.
Theater.
Let me explain what a normal theater outing entails for me:
Before the show, I make assumptions about who or what I'm going to hate about it.
When I get to the show, I look around to see who I can gossip with at intermission.
During the show, I pick one or two things I don't hate so I can say something nice to the people in the show. Then I proceed to pick out the weakest link, the worst elements, and any other rough spots.
About ten seconds after the show is over, I'm on the phone cackling with a friend as I give my thumbs down review.
It ain't pretty, kids, but I promised to be honest, right?
Why do I do all this?
Normally it's because anytime I see a great show, I'm usually jealous that I wasn't in it. The quickest way for me to make myself feel better about it is to tear it down.
Now luckily, today I was seeing a show that I already love, and it was being put on by people I think are fantastic. Even so, once I got there, I felt myself itching to pick the thing apart.
I started biting my nails, tapping my feet, and bobbing my head like Rain Man.
Who knew quitting a bitchy attitude could actually bring about a physical withdrawal?
Then the show started, and I actually felt...relieved.
It was so nice to watch a show knowing I wasn't allowed to do anything but enjoy it. When I thought about how I normally behave when I see theater, it started to seem so appalling.
As the day went on, I realized that the hardest part of this project might be realizing how often I'm unkind and how infrequently I smile or compliment people or behave like a good person.
On top of all that, more and more questions were pouring into my head--
Am I allowed to do imitations of people?
Decision: Yes, as long as they know I do it.
Am I allowed to say nasty things about celebrities?
Decision: Not if I can help it. (Thank God I wrote my anti-Liev Schrieber post before the challenge began.) It's still putting negativity out into the world, so I should avoid doing it.
Am I allowed to scream curse words in my car when I'm stuck behind someone going ten miles an hour?
Decision: Yes, but I'm going to try not to. Instead I'll sing Stevie Wonder and take deep breaths.
No, I can't help thinking bad thoughts, but I can certainly control my words and actions.
I already have a new catchphrase.
Rather than say "F**k off," I will now be saying "Bless your heart."
I'm sure the Southern gentleman would approve.
There I was at the gas station fueling up when I heard a voice behind me.
"Nice night, ain't it?"
When I turned around, there was a jolly, bald Southern man about to fuel up his Cadillac.
My response?
"Que?"
Or something to that effect.
I guess there are going to be a lot of admissions over the course of the next hundred days, so this is the first--
Sometimes when a random stranger tries to talk to me, or when I'm passing the kids collecting money for their little league team outside the supermarket, or when my grandfather calls...
...I pretend not to speak English.
I'm Portuguese and Italian. One of the perks of that mix is that if you don't shave for three days you look like you just snuck across the border.
When the man at the gas station heard my "Que" and saw me shake my head, he went back to fueling without saying another word. Then I realized that it was August 1st, and within the first hour of my project I was already falling behind.
For the next three and a half months, I'm supposed to be polite, nice, and even sweet.
Clearly this was going to be tougher than I thought.
I realized I had to make amends with the Southern gent. The problem was that I couldn't just suddenly speak semi-decent English.
So, with a slight Mexican accent that came across as half-Russian, I said--
'Is nice night, yes yes.'
The gentleman looked at me kind of funny, then drove off muttering something about Ellis Island.
What an auspicious start, huh?
. . . . .
I went into this project with one big fear.
When I was kid, I was barely ever allowed to talk. When I turned fourteen and subsequently turned into Damien from The Omen, I never stopped talking.
Still, my biggest fear is not being able to express my opinion, speak my mind, or have my voice heard.
Basically, I'm terrified of being a doormat.
Somehow that fear translated into me becoming a giant, gossiping, catty bitch.
Oh sure, to many people I'm a selfless sweetheart...most of them being named Mom, but I've never been Mr. Nice Guy.
A part of me really wants to know what it's like to be the universally-liked one, but there's another part of me that worries that means being the quiet one.
When I tell people that, they tell me that it's possible to be nice AND firm.
My problem is that every time someone is firm with me I walk away calling them a jerk in my head.
I don't just want to be nice and firm. I want to be firm and still have people think I'm awesome.
There's a way to do that...
...Right?
. . . . .
My first day presented a big challenge.
Theater.
Let me explain what a normal theater outing entails for me:
Before the show, I make assumptions about who or what I'm going to hate about it.
When I get to the show, I look around to see who I can gossip with at intermission.
During the show, I pick one or two things I don't hate so I can say something nice to the people in the show. Then I proceed to pick out the weakest link, the worst elements, and any other rough spots.
About ten seconds after the show is over, I'm on the phone cackling with a friend as I give my thumbs down review.
It ain't pretty, kids, but I promised to be honest, right?
Why do I do all this?
Normally it's because anytime I see a great show, I'm usually jealous that I wasn't in it. The quickest way for me to make myself feel better about it is to tear it down.
Now luckily, today I was seeing a show that I already love, and it was being put on by people I think are fantastic. Even so, once I got there, I felt myself itching to pick the thing apart.
I started biting my nails, tapping my feet, and bobbing my head like Rain Man.
Who knew quitting a bitchy attitude could actually bring about a physical withdrawal?
Then the show started, and I actually felt...relieved.
It was so nice to watch a show knowing I wasn't allowed to do anything but enjoy it. When I thought about how I normally behave when I see theater, it started to seem so appalling.
As the day went on, I realized that the hardest part of this project might be realizing how often I'm unkind and how infrequently I smile or compliment people or behave like a good person.
On top of all that, more and more questions were pouring into my head--
Am I allowed to do imitations of people?
Decision: Yes, as long as they know I do it.
Am I allowed to say nasty things about celebrities?
Decision: Not if I can help it. (Thank God I wrote my anti-Liev Schrieber post before the challenge began.) It's still putting negativity out into the world, so I should avoid doing it.
Am I allowed to scream curse words in my car when I'm stuck behind someone going ten miles an hour?
Decision: Yes, but I'm going to try not to. Instead I'll sing Stevie Wonder and take deep breaths.
No, I can't help thinking bad thoughts, but I can certainly control my words and actions.
I already have a new catchphrase.
Rather than say "F**k off," I will now be saying "Bless your heart."
I'm sure the Southern gentleman would approve.
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