Day #91: Retail Nice

Now that I'm thinking about who I'm going to be after this project is over, I have one very specific idea in mind of what I don't want to be.

Retail nice.

It's what I call people when they smile and seem lovely, but there's something that just...doesn't sit right.

It's the way salespeople are nice to you, and then walk away, and you swear you can hear them mumbling about how much of a moron you are.

There are times when I feel myself doing that--smiling and just waiting until I can walk away.

Well, that's not really nice, isn't it?

If I'm going to continue to try being nice, then I have to be sincere.

Otherwise, what's the point?

Day #90: How Am I Doing?

I decided that with ten days left, I should do a little progress report by asking some of my friends and family whether or not I've actually gotten any nicer over the last ninety days.

Here were the responses:

MOM: You were nice before.
ME: But am I nicer?
MOM: No, not really.
ME: Well, how nice was I before?
MOM: You were...okay.
ME: Okay? So I wasn't that nice.
MOM: You're nice. You're just...you know...
ME: No, I don't. What was I?
MOM: Just...very...opinionated.
ME: That's just a nice way of saying someone is mean.
MOM: Outspoken.
ME: Mean.
MOM: Direct.
ME: Mean.
MOM: You were kind of mean.

. . . . .

BRAD: I'd say you're way nicer.
ME: Aww, thank you, Brad.
BRAD: I hate it.
ME: What? Why?
BRAD: I have nobody to gossip with anymore!
ME: We can talk about other stuff!
BRAD: Are you serious?

. . . . .

GRANDMA: You've always been sweet. You take after me. You got my sweet nature. Now, your mother can be a real bitch.

. . . . .

DAVID: You're not nice. You wouldn't put me in your monologue show.
ME: You wanted to do an impression of the Joker!
DAVID: Oh Kevin, why so serious?
ME: No.
DAVID: Wait, let me say it, then I'll laugh like him. Why sooo serious? Hahaha...
ME: No.
DAVID: And you call that nice?

. . . . .

MOM: Remember when you made that girl at the DMV cry?
ME: We waited two hours and nobody told us we needed the updated insurance! She's lucky I didn't kill her!
MOM: I can still remember her eyes. It was like watching Bambi's mother get shot by the hunter.

. . . . .

BRAD: So can we gossip once this is over?
ME: Brad, I want to become a better person.
BRAD: Do you have to be a better person all the time? Can't you be a bitch on Wednesdays or something?

. . . . .

GRANDMA: Your aunt's not that nice either. She gossips. But then again, that's probably all that medication she's on, but you didn't hear that from me.

. . . . .

DAVID: I can do Goofy.
ME: No.
DAVID: Nixon?
ME: Do you even know who Nixon is?
DAVID: I'm President Nixon. Why sooo serious?
ME: That's the Joker as Nixon.
DAVID: See? I'm putting characters together!

. . . . .

MOM: The guy at the deli, the girl at the supermarket...

. . . . .

GRANDMA: Your uncle's nice, he's just stupid.

. . . . .

BRAD: What if I talk shit and you just agree with me?

. . . . .

DAVID: When I was President, I ordered a hit on...the BATMAN! Hahaha!

. . . . .

Well, at least I know one thing:

My brother is never going to be in one of my monologue shows.

I don't think I'll ever be nice.

Day #89: Nightly Nites

Back when people still used AIM to communicate on a daily basis, I used to have a nightly routine.

I would send a goodnight to everybody on my buddy list.

At first, I took a few digs for it. People thought it was odd if not downright silly.

Then one night I passed out early, and didn't send out any "Nite"s.

The next morning I had fifteen messages from people asking if I was okay.

Apparently people had come to expect my nightly "Nite"s.

Now, Facebook chat has replaced AIM, and it's a little difficult to leave nightly messages on there. The other day I was thinking about my nightly sign-offs, and I realized I miss wishing everybody a goodnight.

It was a way to check in and let people know I was around if they needed me.

A few times people would respond to my "Nite" by asking if they could get something off their chest. Sometimes we just chatted. Sometimes it was a simple "Nite, Kevin" back.

Whatever it was, it felt nice to have that small connection.

Maybe there's an equivalent, and I just haven't found it yet.

Until then, I'll just wish you all goodnight and I hope you know I'm here if you need me.

Day #88: Channel Changing

Today I decided that I need to start taking the energy I put into being mean and channel it somewhere else.

So today instead of being mean or gossiping, I--

- Got my oil changed
- Wrote an Open Call piece for Open Salon
- Cleaned my kitchen and bathroom
- Went to Pikachu with JP and Lady Town
- Rehearsed with Phil for the Smizing Show
- Indulged in my Top Chef: Desserts Obession

And I started putting together the Holiday show at 2nd Story.

There's no better cure for being a bitch than being productive.

Day #87: Pop the Bubble

My mom forbid me to tell my brother that the Easter Bunny wasn't real.

10-YEAR-OLD ME: But he's not! You told me!
MOM: That doesn't mean you're allowed to burst your brother's bubble!

I guess that was the first time I found myself wanting to do it.

I like popping the bubble.

I see that someone likes a movie that wasn't any good, or a book that was lousy, or believes in something I find to be stupid, and I just feel the urge to pop their bubble.

Why? Where does that come from?

I tell myself I'm fighting stupidity, but most of the time, I'm just criticizing people for liking things that are a matter of opinion anyway.

Is it necessary? No.
Should I cut back? Yes.

Granted, Facebook doesn't help. It's a lot easier to avoid crusading for intelligence when stupidity isn't thrust at you in a nice, compressed newsfeed.

That being said, it's not my job to destroy everyone's hopes and dreams.

That's my friend Andrew's job.

I'm just there to like his comments.

Day #86: You're Not Going to Monologue Your Way Out of This One

The title of this post may be the scariest thing I have ever heard:

"You're not going to monologue your way out of this one, Broccoli."

In an effort to be more proactive, I decided that I should start making amends with people I've wronged in the past.

Unfortunately, that would probably take another one hundred days.

So instead, I focused on the one that bothers me the most.

After a series of bad decisions, my friend Evan and I no longer talk, and it's been that way for about a year now.

I never actually outright apologized to Evan, so I figured as soon as I did, I'd be good to go.

(Yup, I actually thought that. Sorry to those of you who considered me a step above caveman.)

Maybe it's because, for the most part, I'm fairly quick to forgive. When you've spent most of your life screwing up, the one virtue you receive is forgiveness.

When Evan didn't respond to my e-mail asking for his forgiveness, I decided to take the advice I posted on here a few days ago and just give him time.

Of course, while I was doing that, I thought I could help things along.

I wrote a post I knew Evan would like called "Every Other Sunday." It had the sort of style and subject matter he responds to.

After I posted it, I sat back and waited for him to come around, because I know he reads most of what I post.

That's when I got the message:

"You're not going to monologue your way out of this one."

It's scary because I fall into that old problem writers, artists, and other people who create anything have:

Sometimes we believe that making art excuses us from having to act like decent human beings.

If you watch the news, you see celebrities behaving badly all the time and receive forgiveness as soon as their next movie hits number one or they make one witty talk show appearance.

So you learn to believe that you can just be an ass when you feel like it as long as you paint something really pretty the next day.

And it doesn't always work that way. Maybe it shouldn't ever work that way.

I guess there's no monologue good enough to fix what you've done when you hurt somebody.

Day #85: There's Nothing Wrong with a Good Confrontation

So I've weaved back and forth on confrontations.

Here's my final decision--provided I don't come to a new final decision in fifteen days:

There's nothing wrong with a good confrontation.

Provided I stick to the subject and not get personal, a confrontation may actually be better than the alternative.

I'm saying this because I find that when I want to confront somebody about something, and I back down due to a fear of confrontation, I end up talking about them behind their back, which leads to them finding out, and us having a much more heated confrontation anyway.

When I just address the problem right away, it's usually a lot easier.

It's funny that when I started this project I was worried about being a doormat, and now I think I'm less of a doormat then when I began.

Talking behind people's backs doesn't make you a doormat, but it certainly doesn't make you all that honorable either.

At least now, when I have a problem, I speak up--while trying to remember to stay calm and keep to the point.

Aside from that one lady in Iowa, I think I'm doing all right.

Day #84: Sorry So Many Times

I gave this advice tonight.

I need to give it to myself.

You can only say sorry so many times.

You screw up, you apologize, you move on.

If people don't want to forgive you, that's their choice, but you're certainly not obligated to let them kick you in the teeth over and over again until they've decided you're worth their forgiveness.

We all make mistakes, and if somebody's decided a mistake you made was too big to forgive, then they should cut you out of their life, not keep you around to be their punching bag.

Say it, then be done with it.

That's all.

Day #83: Confidence and Arrogance

I'm always amazed that people don't know the difference between being confident and being arrogant.

Or maybe they do know the difference, and they've just decided that they'd rather be arrogant and label it "confidence."

Somehow, confidence has become walking around sneering at everybody you see, making fun of others, and patting yourself on the back.

If that's actually what confidence is, why would it be considered a good quality?

I think for a long time I've been arrogant, and only lately have I really noticed that although I have loads of arrogance, the last thing I am is confident.

I have my moments of confidence, and usually it's when I'm smiling or surrounded by people I care about or onstage acting.

It's never when I'm being a bitch. When I'm being a bitch, I'm at my LEAST confident, and I'm just protecting myself by pumping up the arrogance.

Confidence should be having the guts to smile at the people you know don't like you, laugh with the people who do, and not worry about how cool you look.

I always think confidence is somebody dancing like an idiot.

Right now I can only be that guy in my living room, but maybe in two weeks, that'll change.

Day #82: The Return of the Mean Lesbian from Iowa

Yesterday, I wrote a post that I was very proud of entitled "The Choice to be Gay."

I posted it on Salon.com, and received a lot of positive feedback from it.

The piece was about how you can choose to accept who you are or live a lie, and I talked about how my life has been much richer because I choose to do the former.

Everybody got that I wasn't actually saying being gay is a choice.

Everybody except--

--Say it with me now--

--Safe Bet's Amy, the Mean Lesbian from Iowa.

She decided to read the title of the piece, the first two lines, and pretty much nothing else.

At least, that's the only explanation I can come up with, unless she just flat out doesn't know how to read.

I guess I've become something of a punching bag for this mean lesbian from Iowa.

You know what, I'm going to stop calling her that. The fact that she's a lesbian has nothing to do with the fact that she's mean, and clearly angry.

Angry more than anything.

I decided to send her a message rather than engage in a comment war with her.

Oh, please don't misunderstand me. I wanted nothing more than a comment war.

Because I WIN comment wars. I slay in comment wars.

The problem with comment wars on Salon--actually, the overall problem with Salon--is that nobody's forced to stand behind their statements.

Say what you want about Facebook, but on Facebook, your name is next to everything you say. Oh sure, you can delete it, but that's practically an admission that you were wrong.

On Salon, you can post obnoxious things anonymously and then disappear into cyberspace.

Well, although I have over two weeks of nice time left in me, I wasn't letting SBA walk away from this one without hearing what I had to say.

I sent her a message telling her that I had no idea why I was her personal punching bag on Salon, nor did I care. I told her that I find her to be angry, and perhaps she feels that taking it out on me is all right, but when I post something that comes from my heart, I plan on defending it.

I didn't take offense to her attack as a gay man, but as a writer, who put time into something only to have it dressed down for being exactly what it wasn't.

I told her that I'd be happy to discuss anything I've written with her, but that at the end of this little project, though I hope to carry some kindness from it with me into the next phase of my life, if she decides to go after me again, she will find out why I had to learn to be nice in the first place.

I didn't get personal, curse her out, or make assumptions about her despite the fact that she didn't grant me the same respect.

As my Mom would say, I walked away the better man.

I signed it with--

Bless your heart,
Kevin

Mark the calendar.

On Day #82, I learned that I can be nice and still not be a doormat.

It is possible.

Day #81: The Monologues

When I was an actor, I was always worried about myself.

What's my next role?
Why don't people think I can play this role or that role?
Don't I deserve a lead?

When I started writing and giving away monologues, I found that my acting became better, the opportunities multiplied, and I became a much happier person.

Moral: Give.

Easy, right?

Day #80: Act As If They're Listening

There was once somebody I didn't like.

(I know, shocker, right?)

I only knew them through outs and what I perceived to be their personality, but I never actually tried to get to know them.

I was always had a lot to say about them behind their back, but I was very careful that they never found out what I was saying.

After awhile, we ended up talking and I realized that my initial impressions about this person were wrong, yet she admitted that she noticed there was an uneasiness between the two of us even though we had never spoken.

It occurred to me that it was foolish to think that just because this girl had never heard what I was saying about her, that didn't mean she couldn't sense the nastiness I was putting out there.

Sometimes it doesn't take someone hearing what you have to say for them to be hurt by it. Let's face it, when you're being a bitch, you're putting bitchiness out into the world, and nobody benefits from it.

Wouldn't it be better if we all just acted as if the people we talk about are listening?

If we spent as much time and effort being friendly as we do worrying about people finding out that we talk about them, I'm thinking we'd all have a lot more friends.

Day #79: The Ugly Kid

When I was in junior high school, I determined that I was the "Smart Friend."

In any group, I would be the "smart friend" and I was...sort of okay with that.

Then I got to high school, where there were many people smarter than I was, which meant being the "smart kid" was off the table, and the thing about being the "smart kid" is that, even though nobody explicitly points it out, you're also "the ugly kid."

The other side of being the "smart kid" is that you're also the "ugly kid."

But now, I wasn't even the "smart kid." Now I was just "the ugly kid."

So I was determined, instead, to be the "funny kid."

The problem was, I wasn't very funny. I couldn't tell a joke to save my life. I didn't have any good stories. Wacky things didn't happen to me.

That left me with one option:

I could be mean.

I could make fun of other people and people would laugh and I would be beloved because that's how high school works.

You can either be pretty and loved, or bitchy and loved.

I had to live with the latter.

Then I came out my senior year, and suddenly I didn't have to be the "mean/ugly kid" anymore, because now I was just going to have to be "the gay kid."

And believe it or not, I didn't actually mind being the "gay kid," but as it turns out, being the "gay kid" meant I was still expected to be "the mean kid."

Once I got out of high school and started dating, I found that I was no longer "the gay kid," obviously, but I was still the "ugly kid" and occasionally the "funny kid" but only if I was being a bitch.

To this day, I laugh off jokes about my appearance, or what I wear, or a bad haircut, but if you want to know what feels like a knife to the heart, it's when somebody makes me feel ugly, and it doesn't take much.

Sometimes people don't even mean to do it. They say something like "It's so nice to have friends you're not attracted to" or "You're so smart."

Okay, obviously, that last one shouldn't signal to me that I'm ugly, but you have to remember, ugly kid equals smart kid.

Hey, what am I telling you this for? You all went to school. You know ugly kid = smart kid. That's just how the Universe works when you're twelve.

Sadly, twelve sometimes stretches all the way to twenty-six.

This is going to sound ridiculous, but there were times when I would have given up everything else I had inside of me to make the outside look undeniably great for just a day.

It seemed like the people who were attractive didn't need to do anything else, whereas I was always pickling my soul to drag a few laughs out of the pretty people just so I could hang out at their lunch table for another few minutes.

I think I'm starting to understand a little bit more about who I was when I started this project seventy-nine days ago.

I was mad at myself.

Oh sure, people think you can write. Some people think you can act. Maybe a few people find you charming or sweet or, at best interesting, but face it, Kevin Broccoli, nobody on this planet thinks you're attractive.

I think up until now everything I did was in an effort to change that.

I pimped out my writing, and my acting, and anything else I could to try and make myself seem more appealing, because Billy Joel is not exactly a gorgeous guy and somehow he wound up with Kristy Brinkley.

Well, not "somehow." When you write "Piano Man," you wind up with Kristy Brinkley.

Making great art is the only loophole in life. The only thing that makes non-attractive people attractive.

And I've been killing myself for two years trying to make great art, and I still feel like the ugly kid.

So maybe that's why I'm so damn angry all the time.

I'm good at being the angry kid. I'm good at being the ugly kid. I'm good at being the guy who can make eight nasty comments about one person in under a minute.

I'm good at it, because I'm scared to embrace other possibilities.

I'm scared that I can learn to be the nice guy who can write and act, but who sits in a corner and watches while all the pretty people dance.

I'm scared that I might end up accepting that.

And I'm not sure I'm ready to yet.

I'm not sure there isn't a balance between the two.

And I've still got three weeks left to figure it all out.

Day #78: Right Track/Wrong Track

Setbacks.

Sort of.

I might be on the right track because people seem I haven't ever conversed with regularly before have started attempting to actually create friendships with me.

And then yesterday someone I would say I have a good rapport with defriended me on Facebook.

I guess it could be something like a technical glitch (not likely), or maybe a misunderstanding (not likely), or the fact that I inadvertently screwed up (super likely).

My problem is that I've always been an all-or-nothing type of person.

If I have a plan or a project, and something goes wrong, I just want to throw the whole thing out and start again.

So when I realized that despite my efforts to be Mr. Nice Guy, I had apparently still ticked someone off, I just wanted to say 'Screw it.'

There are people who act like jerks all the time and everyone still loves them, and then there are nice people who mean well and people can't stand them.

Maybe I'm destined to be in the latter category.

It's frustrating, but me being me, I'll probably still throw myself up against a wall trying to fix the situation.

Bad idea, you say?

Maybe.

But it'll sure make for some good blogging.

Day #77: Opening Night

Tonight was the opening of "The Miss Firecracker Contest" at the Barker Playhouse.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that I'm incredibly lucky to be a theater person, if for no other reason than that I get to have about twenty extra birthdays a year.

That's basically what opening night is--you get to do what you love, have fun, and then get applauded for it.

Most people just get their birthdays and maybe a retirement party.

I have to say if there's anything in my life that keeps me nice--it's theater.

Day #76: Getting Away With It

My Mom gave me some good advice.

"Some people can get away with being mean. You're not one of those people."

For a long time, I figured it was okay to be mean as long as I was witty while doing it.

After all, wasn't Dorothy Parker mean? Wasn't Cole Porter mean? Wasn't my dead Uncle Robert who always smoked long cigarettes and wore a monocle mean?

(Okay, maybe I imagined that last guy.)

It seems like some people can say nasty things and somehow manage to illicit laughs rather than punches in the face.

Before I started this project, it used to bother me that some people could say anything and get away unscathed, but I would make even slightly catty remark and get raked over the coals for it.

Now I sort of see it as a blessing. Being aware of the fact that I can't say whatever I want forces me to think about what I say.

Oh sure, it would be easier to get away with saying anything, but it would also let me get away with being a jerk, and let's face it, if you can get away with it, you're going to immerse yourself in it.

So no, I can't get away with being bitchy, but maybe that's just the Universe's way of making sure I turn out all right.

Day #75: Just Walk Away

I made a comment on my Facebook wall regarding the Joy Behar-Bill O'Reilly-Whoopi Goldberg brouhaha on The View.

The short side is that Joy and Whoopi walked out on Bill O'Reilly after he made some rather inflammatory comments.

The funny thing is that I agreed with them walking out.

I feel like seventy-five days ago, I would have criticized them for not staying and fighting the good fight. I would have wanted them to do everything short of punch him in the jaw (and perhaps, just go ahead and do it).

Yet here I am, three quarters of a way through my little project, and I liked the fact that they removed themselves from the situation.

I still believe in fighting the good fight, but an argument where nobody is listening is not an argument; it's just a lot of people yelling.

If there's anything I've learned from this project it's removal. Remove things and people from your life that aren't good for you. You're allowed.

Just walk away.

Day #74: Dedication

I'm going to dedicate today's blog to my friend, Jeffrey Thomas, who is sincerely one of the nicest people I know.

That's all.

Day #73: How You Say It

Something I've learned:

If you come at someone with anger, you're just going to get anger back.

Or you'll get excuses, rationalizing, wit, comebacks, arguments, and/or personal attacks.

Most of the time, you're not really angry. You're just disappointed, hurt, or frustrated.

So just say that.

You don't change the way anybody thinks or acts by getting angry at them.

You can do a lot better when you let them know that they're important to you and what they did hurt you.

See?

I'm learning.

Day #72: Nice and Sick

I'm sick.

Not sick of being nice, although I've certainly felt that a few times as well.

I'm physically sick.

Of course, this usually happens during Tech for a show, because being sick is no fun unless it happens at an inopportune moment, right?

Luckily, it's easier for me to be nice when I'm sick.

Mostly because being cranky takes too much energy.

Instead, I just lie down whenever I can and pump chicken soup and tea into my body as if my entire body is a barren field in need of hydration.

I also try to remember that there are many people sicker than I am now, and I'm lucky to just have a cold.

It also helps remind me that I'm human and that my hectic pacing isn't always sustainable.

Plus, let's face it, everybody loves soup.

Day #71: A Ten Second Confession

Sometimes I worry
That giving up my guilt
Means I'm accepting things I've done
That were wrong

I know I should just try to do better
And that guilt really doesn't do anybody any good
But does being a good person
Entail realizing when you've been a bad one
And remembering that
So you don't screw up again?

Are the two mutually exclusive?

Less than thirty days left
And the unending reflection continues

Day #70: Theater and Funerals

I once posted a "This I Believe" essay on my Facebook wall about going to funerals.

In it, a woman talks about how if you're a person of good character, you go to funerals. You go to them because you never want to go to them, and it's almost always a selfless act because of the fact that you don't want to go and you do because it makes someone else feel better to have you there.

In some ways, theater is like this.

People always comment that I see a lot of theater. The truth is, I barely ever want to see theater.

Oh don't get me wrong, I love theater. I get excited about shows. I talk about it constantly.

Yet, the night I have tickets to see something, I'm usually tired, hungry, moody, had a bad day, forgot there was something I wanted to watch on tv, or I just don't feel like getting off the couch.

In those instances, I make myself go anyway.

Because usually there's someone I know in the show. Oh sure, it's also enriching for me personally, but more than that, I'm there because whoever happens to be onstage needs me there. They need the support, and the energy, and in some cases, the laughter.

And, similar to funerals (or the gym), I always feel better after I go.

Don't get me wrong--I've skipped my share of shows. I've pulled out the same excuses that everybody else has: Money, work, overslept, etc.

The truth is, I find we're always able to somehow do the things we want to do for ourselves, yet rarely ever do we find time to do things for others.

Theater is an opportunity to do both.

How can you go wrong?

Day #69: It's All in How You End the Day

I'm a big believer in good endings.

Most of the time, if the ending of something is good, you can forgive almost everything else.

This goes for movies, books, and most recently--days.

The past few days haven't exactly been banner ones. I've been feeling sluggish. I'm not writing as much as I normally do. This isn't really something that's tearing me up because I've been organizing a few different things that had to take priority over the writing.

Still, I can't but feel...out of shape.

And because my routine's been disrupted, I become disrupted. Meaning, I become cranky, irritable, and antagonistic.

It's resulted in more than a few days that have left me feeling like I should have stayed in bed.

Tonight I learned that there's a solution to that:

The ending.

A bad day is only bad in retrospect, so the solution is to turn the day around before you go to bed.

Sometimes it's difficult. Maybe something goes wrong right before bed.

If that's not the case, then I have to remember I have options.

I have time to change.

I can go to a movie, I can call up a friend, I can do something productive.

I can write.

In other words, I control the ending.

And if you end on a high note, the rest of the day doesn't seem so bad.

Day #68: Kindness on an Awful Day

After finding out that my dog was put to sleep late last night, I went to get a haircut.

As I was sitting in the chair, the woman--who had never cut my hair before--said to me:

"Are you okay, honey?"

You know when people ask you that at exactly the appropriate (or inappropriate, depending on how you look at it) time and you just lose it.

Yeah, I lost it.

I got all teary-eyed, and somehow managed to sputter out that my dog had passed away.

The woman put her hands on my shoulders, took a deep breath, prompting me to take one, and said--

"Well, if you're that upset about it, that means your dog had a wonderful life."

It's true, isn't it?

Sometimes the measure of our grief is actually the amount of joy the person or pet we're grieving for enjoyed on this Earth.

It made me feel better, not just that someone pointed that out, but that someone took the time to be kind to a guy who probably just seemed crazy.

I'll think of that the next time I find it hard to be nice.

"Every human being is an opportunity for kindness."

The mantra works.

Day #67: Don't Answer E-Mail Before Noon

Rule: Do not answer e-mail before noon when you are a notoriously cranky person in the morning.

I got an e-mail simply requesting that I do someone a small favor I had offered to do but didn't think I would actually end up doing.

As a result of actually being asked to do what I had offered to do, I became irritated and considered firing off an angry e-mail back.

Then I remembered the Nice Project, and instead, I left the e-mail in the my inbox, had some tea, and came back to it at noon at which time it didn't seem nearly as antagonizing.

Still, if you can help yourself from e-mailing me before noon, it wouldn't be a bad idea.

Day #66: The Evil Twin

Sometimes I wish I had an evil twin.

Allow me to explain.

Throughout this process there have been times where I've seen something absolutely ridiculous (admittedly, on my Facebook feed) and I feel compelled to respond.

If there's one good thing about Facebook, it's that it alerts us to how much stupidity there is in the world and allows us to respond to it by putting up passive aggressive statuses.

Unfortunately, I no longer have that option.

As a writer, I imagine the solution--an evil twin.

A mean version of me who can walk around saying whatever he wants and it won't matter that everybody hates him, because there will still be Good Me, which I suppose would be me.

I don't actually need to be the one standing up in the face of stupidity all the time, I just need SOMEBODY to, and it always seems like there never is anyone.

Luckily, my friend Andrew takes up that torch most of the time, and so I've started a new Twitter account (Name: ALLMYGAYFRIENDS) chronicling everything he says as a way of putting it out into the Universe and out of my head, since eerily enough, most of the time Andrew and I are thinking the same thing.

For now, he'll have to be Evil Kevin, until that sheep I cloned learns to talk.

Day #65: The Kid on the Playground

I only have one singular terrifying memory from childhood.

It involves being a kid on the playground, and hearing a group of kids near the swings make fun of me.

I turned around and saw them--laughing, pointing, exploding with glee at the expense of myself in that way only children seem to know how to do.

Say what you want, but children can tap into pure cruelty the same way they can tap into pure innocence.

It's pretty horrifying.

I remember turning to those kids, walking up to them, opening my mouth, and not being able to speak.

I stood there, silenced by my own fear, knowing they were ridiculing me. And I couldn't come up with anything. Believe it or not, I'm not very fast on my feet when it comes to quips. I learned to be from people like--

VOICE: Hey!

My friend Sarah at the time. The second grade bitch.

SARAH: Were you all making fun of him?

Sarah loved me because I had black hair. (This was second grade, people.)

Nobody said anything. Suddenly the kids were silenced.

SARAH: Well, you know what I would make fun of?

Sarah then proceeded to go down the line of the four kids that were laughing at me. One had a weird birthmark on her arm. One had a stutter. One cut her hair short and looked like a boy. One she just labeled--

SARAH: Chunky.

And that was that.

It was that day that I thought I figured it out.

I had to be like Sarah.

Life--and especially schools--are prisons. You want to survive? You have to be tough.

And being nice is not being tough.

Thinking back on when I became so bitchy, I think of that moment.

I'm still appreciative to Sarah for standing up for me, but that was the point where my cattiness solidified. That was when I thought it was the only way a scrawny, dorky kid like me could make it out alive.

So I learned to tear people apart.

And to be honest, most of the time it's a lot easier than smiling and showing them they're not getting to you when they are.

The problem is you start forgetting how to discern between the people who need tearing up and the people who are laughing at something other than you.

Part of doing this project was addressing that kid on the playground that never really went away, and letting him know that there was an option that day when he went up to that group of laughing kids.

Looking back, I shouldn't have said anything. I should have just smiled at them and walked away, but when you're a kid, you don't have that kind of assurance in yourself.

Okay, so what's my excuse now?

Day #64: Just Do Better

Every once in awhile, you screw up.

Yesterday, I got into a combative conversation with a woman on Salon, and though I managed to stay civil, it definitely set me back energy-wise for the rest of the day.

The problem with me is that when someone is mad at me, even a lesbian from Iowa I've never met, I start getting paranoid. It starts to feel like everyone is mad at me.

Sometimes when you write and post what you write online (or just when you put yourself out there in general) you risk getting what you put out there thrown back at you--with complaints.

My response to ticking someone off used to be simple--eviscerate them.

I would tear the person apart, then try to get everyone else to turn on them. It's a little bit like lighting someone on fire and then throwing them in quicksand.

In reality, I was throwing myself in the quicksand too.

I didn't know how to respond to the fact that I screwed up, so instead, I just dug the hole deeper. I took the "F**k them" approach. I got caught up in the fact that I messed up, instead of trying to just move on.

That's the knowledge I lacked--people aren't as concerned with forgiving you as they are with seeing you redeem yourself through your actions.

You see it all the time in the entertainment industry.

Nobody wants to hear an actor apologize for making a bad movie, they just want the next movie they make to be worth the price of the ticket.

So today, rather than continue on with a pointless argument with some woman I haven't met nor will ever meet, I decided to just keep on writing.

I've got mouth-sized feet, and I can't avoid committing an error every now and again, but the bigger error would be to stay in one place and try to undo it.

Instead, I just have to do better.

Believe it or not, Mondays are my favorite day. Yes, we go back to work. Yes, we no longer have the weekend. Yes, we're all tired and cranky.

But we're also allowed to start at Day One again, and do better.

And I'm grateful for the opportunity.

Day #63: The Mean Lesbian From Iowa

In some ways, deciding to be nice is a little bit like giving something up.

I've heard that the hardest part of giving up smoking or drinking for some people is having to be around people who haven't given up smoking or drinking.

At some point during this process, I realize--Ohhh, I'm the only one obligated to be nice. Everybody else can be a jerk.

...That sucks.

And it does, folks, it does.

Because sometimes being nice is a little bit like someone poking you in the chest and knowing you can't haul off and clock them.

It's difficult.

For example, when I posted my piece on the Rutgers suicide on Open Salon.com, I got a lot of flack--mostly from middle-aged straight women, disagreeing with me on my opinion.

Of course, it's fine that they disagree with me, and most were civil about it, but when they started posting comments beginning with the phrase--

"As a young gay man in the closet, this young man must have felt..."

That's when I had to say something.

I would never presume, as a man, to understand what it is like to be a woman. I have never commented on a post about abortion by writing "As a young pregnant girl, this young woman must have felt..." because that is a very specific experience I have never had, nor will I ever.

Being a gay man, in or out of the closet, is a specific experience. When I commented back by saying, "I am not okay with a bunch of straight women telling me what it's like to be a closet case, or what that sort of torment is" all I was saying was, comment if you like on what it's like to be bullied, to be discriminated against, to be the victim of sexism, to be anything you want--just don't comment on a specific experience you have not had.

To be fair, I pulled the gay card. I absolutely pulled it. I wasn't trying to speak for every gay man or woman, I was just saying that I personally wasn't interested in what these women had to say about being gay since, you know, they're not. Fair enough, I thought.

That's when the mean lesbian from Iowa showed up.

She goes by the name of Safe Bet's Amy, and to be honest, I've always had a distaste for people who use what sound like AIM names as their Open Salon name. If you're going to state an opinion, put your name behind it or don't bother stating it.

SBA was pretty damn mad about my comment to the straight gals, and she let me know it.

Now, she could have called me out on using the gay card, or what I said, or my opinion, but instead she just chose to call names.

Her profile lists her as being a mother, so imagine my horror when she called me "prissy" and "queer." Are those terms a mother and a fellow gay person should be throwing around? I didn't think so.

She also called me misogynist--another term I don't think you should label someone with unless you actually have something to back it up. I didn't think my comment was anti-women, it was anti-anybody talking about something they haven't experienced.

I didn't know what to do.

Engage her in conversation? Try to make her see my point of view? Or at least chastise her for being so rude?

Where was that going to get me? Clearly, this was a woman with her armor on 24/7, and I wasn't going to be getting her to take down that shield.

And did I even want to justify what she had said with a response?

Then of course there was the part of me that just wanted to say "Go build a treehouse in your cornfield, you dumb bitch."

Then I thought, Yes Kevin, that's a great idea. Let's insult lesbians, people from the Midwest, AND toss out the word 'bitch' when she just called you a misogynist. That'll really show how wrong she is about you.

Instead, I deleted her comment.

Maybe it wasn't proactive. Maybe it was the chicken way out. Maybe it was even bordering on rude, but it effectively eliminated the situation and allowed me to stick up for myself without getting into an online brawl with someone.

Yes, I have chosen to be nice, and the world has not. I've given up a bad habit, and I didn't say--"But only when everyone else is being nice to me!" What's the challenge there?

For the next thirty-seven days, I have to learn to exist in a not-always-nice world.

But just so we're clear, just because other people are still drinking, smoking, and being a**holes--

It doesn't mean they're allowed to do it in my house.

Day #62: How LiveBait Makes You a Better Person

There are occasions that help me to remember that the human race is, in fact, worth whatever aggravation may come from being nice.

After a rather lousy Friday, I went LiveBait at Perishable, and as always, I felt myself become inspired by the fact that every time someone goes up, they share something personal, funny, touching, or just plain interesting.

Lately, I've been constantly reminding myself that everyone has a story, and the easiest way to be nice to people is to realize that their story is as good, as difficult, and as complicated as mine is.

It's one thing to say that in your own head, but it's another to actually hear those stories out loud.

If I had to pick a misconception people have about me, it would be that everyone knows everything about me. People think because I talk and blog and write that there's nothing personal about me that everybody doesn't already know. What most people don't realize is that I talk and blog and write to distract from the fact that I keep a lot more in than I put out there.

I don't intentionally keep things from people, and there isn't much that I wouldn't share, but there's a lot I don't offer up either.

Going to LiveBait reminds me that a lot of people do the same thing. So when you see someone in a bad mood, or hear someone say something they shouldn't, or watch someone make a mistake, it's best to remember that you're only seeing a tenth or a tenth of a tenth of what's really going on inside of them.

I think keeping that in mind is the best way to keep kindness in mind as well.