Resolution for New Year: No More “Mr. Nice”

I’ve made a New Year’s Resolution for 2013:  I will no longer try to be “Nice”.

Now, I’ve spent my entire life actively trying to be nice.  Honestly… I don’t even know why.  I look at how I was raised, and the schools I went to… and I have no clue where I even got the inspiration to want to be nice in the first place.  Sure, we always “heard” that we had to “be nice”, but the actions I witnessed always seemed to tell the exact opposite.  Any small courtesy I tried to show people wasn’t usually returned with the same.  Usually… it just became an advertisement of being a target for bullies. (I honestly cringe at the thought of what would have happened if there was Facebook around when I was in High School.)  My four years of High School… I don’t know if there was anything that “being nice” got me, except embarrassment, pain and rejection.  Why didn’t I change?

The only thing I can think of is that the trifecta of The Muppets, Fraggle Rock, and Charlie Brown must have had an overly-profound impact on me.  You may be laughing, but I’d say there’s a 94% chance that’s a non-exaggerated truth.

In The Muppet Show, I saw characters who were always trying… and usually failing.  Gonzo with his acts of insanity artistic genius, but never fully working being appreciated.  Fozzie with his horrible jokes, and constantly being heckled and insulted by those two old A-holes Statler and Waldorf (Yes, they’re lovable coots… but they were still A-holes).  Miss Piggy, with her grand diva-ness, making a grand entrance… and suddenly grandly tripping down the stairs.  Kermit trying to keep everything together and running smoothly… and it inevitably gets out of hand and becomes a disaster.  But amidst it all, they were silly, they had fun, and were always there for each other, trying to make a great show.  In that backstage world… No one hated each other, no one was overly cruel… and if they accidentally were mean, they apologized sincerely, and with meaningful gestures (usually a sweet song).

Fraggle Rock was even more so.  All of the Fraggles were nice to each other… that was simply “their way”.  They got mad, frustrated, and all of that… but they were always there for each other and treated everyone well.  Even if they were afraid of them… even if they had every reason to hate something, should that something be in trouble, they would still help.  Not wanting anything in return… doing it because they loved to help and liked being nice.  That’s a beautiful thing.

(It’s not a coincidence that both are Jim Henson projects.  I feel strongly similar about all of his projects, and am an eternal fan.)

With Charlie Brown, I felt like I found a kindred spirit.  He always fails, but more importantly, he keeps trying.  No matter how much he’s bullied and berated by the others… he’s always nice and courteous to them.  He did no wrong by anyone, yet they called him Wishy-Washy for it, and adults gave him rocks on Halloween for it.  (Seriously… who the bloody hell would give a child ROCKS on Halloween?  What kind of a sociopathic neighborhood did he live in?)  Come to think of it… maybe Charlie Brown is the opposite argument for those very reasons.  “If you be nice to everyone, they’ll make your life miserable.”  Somehow, I got the “be nice” message.

Yet, it still never paid off.  When the other kids see my Charlie-Brown like actions, they’d ask, “Why do you do that stuff?”  I say, “Just trying to be nice.”  Then, it was inevitably met with “Nice Guys Finish Last.”

Those words have been drilled into me time and time again.  And I *know* it rings true all too often.  I’ve seen it, experienced it, and been consistently frustrated by it.  But the weird thing is… I was okay with it.

Having been on the receiving end of people being A-holes, I’ve told myself several times, “I do not ever want to make someone else feel this way.”  Because I knew how horrible it was, and I could never think of intentionally inflicting that onto another.  I was never one to feel better with the role-reversal or revenge.  Maybe its empathy, maybe its guilt, I don’t know.

But being nice… DID make me feel good.  I know, its cliché, and seems like something in a badly-written kindergarten after-school special.  But I genuinely felt some warm fuzzies by performing an act of niceness.  It wasn’t because “Jeebus told me to”, or because “Karma will pay me back later”, and especially not because “This person can benefit me later.”  All of those… I don’t think are very good reasons.  If Jeebus told you to do something… It doesn’t sound like you could be trusted to do it on your own.  If you think Karma will pay you back… that seems a bit like a selfish reason.  You’re only doing something because you think you’ll be benefited later.  If you didn’t believe in Karma, would the other person be crap-outta-luck?  That’s doubly so with the last one… you’re expecting to benefit later, but just admitting it up front.

Well, I’m not religious in any way… and I don’t believe in Karma, either.  I always thought that the niceness wasn’t a means to an end… it was an end itself.  Because of that, I even attested that my niceness was, technically, selfish.  I like feeling good… being nice makes me feel good.  So to feel good, I’m nice.  With Karma, it’s an extra step.  “I’m doing something nice, so later something nice will be done to me… and I’ll feel good.”  My way was more efficient, frankly.

So I did all the “little things”.  Giving up my seat on a train or bus for someone else.  (The elderly, a pregnant woman, even a non-pregnant woman, or someone that just looked too dang tired), opening doors for others, picking things up for people that they’ve dropped… and I just called those things “Common Courtesy”.  Little things that everyone should be doing, and cost next-to-no effort.

Then, I looked out for the bigger things… the things that you have to go legitimately “out-of-your-way” to do.  The things people ask you to do… walk them home, run an errand for them, help move, etc.  Chances are, if you’re asking me to do something like that, we’re friends… and I would do absolutely anything for my friends.  But I’ve been asked of things like that by people who weren’t really “friends”… but I did it anyway.  Why?  Honestly… because they needed it.  The pleasure I got from being “nice” was actually secondary.  I was no longer thinking “this will make me feel good”… but rather, “They need help?  I’m there.”  My own convenience and pleasure became an afterthought.  (That’s partly why I think I’ve got a bit of a “superhero complex”.)

Now, I’ve still made all the cliché complaints:  “Women don’t want a nice guy, they only want the A-holes.”  “Oh, no… I’ve been friendzoned!”, “Everyone says they want a guy like me, but they don’t want *me*!”, and of course, “Why do they complain there are no nice guys, when I’m right here!” 

I admit, these are just statements of frustration about my horrible luck.  Ultimately, if a woman doesn’t want to go out with me… then she doesn’t have to.  That’s her choice, not a pattern of abused thinking.  (Granted, I wish some of them would *tell* me that instead of just not returning my phone calls… but I digress.)  I’ve never been able to get actually angry about it… only sad.  (The one type of Love I know the most about is the Unrequited kind.)  Because I know it really is “Luck”… and with my introverted personality, it can be a touch more difficult to really connect with someone in a romantic way early on.  So, I lick my wounds, feel bad for myself, question my masculinity, spout a few of the cliché complaints to let off steam, and in about a week or so, I’m back to normal, giggling incessantly at The Muppet Show. (You have your rejection-recovery system… I have mine.)

(By the way… a word about the “friendzone”:  No, it’s not inherently a “bad thing” to be “just a friend”.  But keep in mind, if we meet, have a date, and you decide you just want to be friends… that is basically starting a friendship on a rejection.  And as I am someone who is *extremely* careful about the friendships I do cultivate, that’s not exactly a comfortable way to start, especially if I was getting my hopes up.  Please realize that’s probably not going to happen.  Nobody’s fault… it just happens that way.  If we’re already friends for a good period beforehand, try it, and it doesn’t work… then maintaining the friendship afterwards is easier… I just need a little time to lick my wounds, feel bad, question my blah blah, etc.  Okay?)

Through all the (numerous) rejections in my time, I’ve still tried to maintain the “nice” part of me.  But you know… I never really liked saying the word.  Something about declaring myself as a “nice guy” always felt a little fake. I’ve done it on occasion, but it never sat right in my craw.  It’s a bit like a knighthood… you can’t declare yourself a knight and put “Sir” in front of your name.  Someone else has to call you that.

Yet at the same time… I got a little competitive over it.  I figured, “if I was going to be rejected over being “Nice” (socially and romantically), so be it… that’s who I am, reality be darned.”  So, I buckled in and wanted to embrace it.  But then I start hearing murmurings of some other guy… another “nice” guy.  Women that I had crushes on gave him high recognition as a “nice guy”, talked glowingly about him… and then say the dreaded sentence:  “He’s the nicest guy in the world!”

That… has always been a red flag to me.  I admit… there’s a good chance it’s jealousy.  But when I’ve gone out of my way, throughout my whole life, to try and be “nice”, and always do the right thing… hearing of someone that has apparently beaten me at the “Nice Guy Olympics” (Because that statement is an absolute… there can’t be 2 “nicest guy” winners) is… well, a bit jarring.  Especially, if he is seemingly being celebrated for that which I was always rejected for.  Now, sure… the statement was maybe a bit of hyperbole, and I don’t know if anyone was saying that about me to other people.  But for probably the only time in my life… I actually felt competitive about this.  If I finally got to meet this mystery “nice guy”, it was always with a very critical eye.  Most of the time I came up with the conclusion, “He’s not that nice.”  Oftentimes… I thought they were A-holes.  Maybe a couple of those were unfounded, and spurned by jealousy… but mostly, I would see genuine evidence of A-holishosity (Yes, that’s a word.  Now.).  It actually drove me a little nuts to think that THIS individual is seen as “nicer” than me.

A friend of mine in Grad School once told me of a survey he read about something like this.  (I don’t know the source, so as far as I know, this is not much better than anecdotal, but anyway…)  Some sociology class set-up an experiment.  They brought in people to give responses, and had them meet up to 4 different kinds of people.  The first was someone who was nice and pleasant for the entire interaction.  Second was someone who was a Jerk for the entire interaction.  Third was someone who started off as a Jerk, but then became nice during the interaction.  And finally, was someone who started off as Nice, but then became a jerk.

According to the findings of this survey… they found that the individuals who started off as a jerk, and became nice were perceived as then being MORE nice than the people who were nice the whole time.  Likewise, those who started off as nice and became a Jerk, were then seen as a BIGGER Jerk than the Jerk who was a Jerk the whole time.  That concept blew my mind.  It was the first time I actually said to myself, “Have I *really* been doing it wrong this whole time?  Is that why Assholes are seen as Nice people?”  What the hell????

Now, believe me… I see the irony here.  The very fact of getting jealous and a raised ire do not seem to be traits of a “Legitimate Nice-Guy”.  Well, guess what?

Niceness is not a benchmark of Perfection.

I have always tried to be nice, but I also try to be aware of my mistakes and flaws.  In no way have I tried to be perfect.  There are a couple of times; I’ve been the one to do the rejecting.  I’ve neglected to follow-up on what could have been a good thing with someone, and in doing so, did not show the respect to that someone who should have received it.  I’ve had a few times where I willingly let my ego get in the way.  I’ve said mean things that I haven’t regretted, and I’ve even had to purposefully turn on the “A-hole” switch a couple times in life.  (I never liked doing it… and I hated myself afterwards, but at the time, I determined it had to be done.)  I know I can’t please everybody all the time, and on rare occasions, you need to make people hate you.

Maybe that will be easier now.

And maybe you’re saying, “Wait, if you genuinely enjoyed the experience of helping people, of being courteous and all that… why stop being Nice?”

Hey, I didn’t say I was planning to become an Asshole.  I don’t even *want* to change anything about my personality right now.  I’ve just been thinking a lot lately, and in my reflections, I’m seeing a none-to-pleasant trend:

The large majority of “Nice Guys” are total douchebags.

I don’t just mean the ones I had experience with in the past.  There’s a website on Tumblr called “Nice Guys of OkCupid”.  (It seems to be down as of this writing, but a quick Google search will pop up several articles and examples talking about it.)  It has their picture, the part on their profile where they talk about being a “Nice Guy”, and a selection of some of the “Match Questions” and their answers.  It’s the “Match Question” part where most of them reveal they are not exactly “nice”.  Rather, they are a bit misogynist, homophobic, racist or even a potential rapist.

One of the questions is a statement: “No means NO!”, and the answers to select from are degrees of agreement or disagreement.  So when some “Nice Guy” answers, “A No is just a Yes that needs a little encouragement”, suddenly the bile starts to rise in my throat.  Same happens when an inordinate number of them answer “Yes” to the question “Do you feel there are any circumstances in which a person is obligated to have sex with you?”

Now, I do take some solace in the fact, that my own answers to those questions have already been answered… and they are all widely different than these tools.  I guess I just took it for granted, thinking that it was shockingly obvious that no one ever “owes” me sex.  (I wouldn’t even want it if it’s only being offered out of obligation.  What fun is that?)

I realized… THESE are the people that share the label I’ve been trying for my whole life?  Seriously?  I got depressed, because technically, these guys are “my peers”.  No thank you.  Not anymore… I’m seceding.  I’m getting rid of the “Nice Guy” label.

First part to go… the “Guy” part.  I don’t know about you, but I feel like there’s a distinct difference between “Guy” and “Man”.  I think “Guy” implies something more of a college-aged mentality.  With bikini-calendars, and posters covering the walls.  Neither of which I’ve had since I was in Undergrad in the late 90s.  During calendar- shopping season, I’ve on occasion considered, “Maybe I’ll get one of those with the pretty ladies this year…” but quickly switch to, “Nah… I’m long over that.”  The prospect of a cool travel-themed one just seems more entertaining to me to look at every day.  (Besides, air-brushed models aren’t as attractive to me anymore.  Reality is sexier.)  As for posters… I don’t think I’ve had one on a wall since before my first apartment in California.  Any picture on my wall is in a frame.

“Man” sounds more mature, and that’s appealing.  Maybe it’s an “alpha” kind of idea… but growing up, I always thought about the “Man I want to be”, not “The Guy I’ll probably end up”.  And yes, even though I read comics, quote from The Muppets and Monty Python, and squee when I watch a new Doctor Who episode… I do try to think of myself as a somewhat mature(ish) “Man”.

So, it’s “Man” over “Guy”… and I certainly don’t want to be an asshole.  Therefore, instead of being a “Nice Man”… I think I’ll just try to be a Good one.

I like the term “Good Man”.  A Good Man implies having a sense of honor.  A Good Man may not always do the nice and pleasant thing… but will always try to do the “Right” thing.  Won’t always succeed… but will at least try.  (And the “Right” thing is rarely the Nice, Happy thing.)  That’s something I wouldn’t mind seeing on my tombstone.  “Here lies a Good Man.”

When I really think about it… maybe that’s what I’ve been shooting for all along.  Being “fair” has always been important to me; If I had a choice of being really nice to one person (which meant screwing over someone else), or being “fair” to both, with not particularly nice to either… I tended to go with “fair”.  I felt like that was the better long-term solution.  The times I’ve had to turn on the “Asshole Switch”… I did it because I was trying to be fair.

So that’s what I’m doing, trying to be the Man I want to be:  A Good Man.  Maybe I’m there already, but that’s not my call to make.  I hope I never stop striving for it.

Yes, this does mean that I’m not actually changing anything about my personality… I’m just changing the terminology I use.  Frankly, I think that’s a much easier New Year’s Resolution to make… and those are my favorite.

Nice guys may finish last… but a Good Man doesn’t need to make it a race.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Metrosexual Tendencies: The W.C. Suite

I was just wondering what the most inane topic I could write about…

I’m an Old-Fashioned shaver.

Okay, maybe not “Old-Fashioned”. I think that actually involves lying back in a barber’s chair and letting some other guy do the work for 25¢, hoping to Jeebus that he doesn’t go all Sweeney Todd on you with a straight edge blade.

Or it means scraping my face with a jagged rock by a river… guess it depends how far back “Old-Fashioned” means…

So, maybe I’m a Neo-Classical Shaver… or something. I don’t know… I was looking for a good opening-line.

But I do it the non-electric way, I can say that much for certain. This is yet another way I differ from the other men in my immediate family: My dad and two older brothers. Not 100% sure about my oldest brother, but I think I recall him using an electric razor years ago. My other brother, the middle one… always uses electric. Don’t recall him ever using anything else. Even today, half the time he’ll walk out of the bathroom with the familiar “buzzzzzzzzzzzz” humming along while he multi-tasks his morning, scraping away the little bit of fuzz that accumulated overnight. My dad… I’m pretty sure he’s strictly electric now… but he used to have the “safety razors”, that he obviously must have used at some point. They were the cheapest little plastic things that could be found… 50 of them for about 2 dollars (today’s prices), with one dull blade on each one. With the lone period of time that I tried to use those, they tore my face up pretty bad… so I’m not sure how “safe” they really were.

But they’re all electric guys. Probably for the convenience sake. After a few weeks when your skin gets used to it, you can buzz your face every day, and you’ll always have that “clean” look forever after. Plus, the one-time cost of it is probably more economical in comparison. I even got an electric razor for the holidays one year… I think I used it for about 2 months before I stopped. For one… it was a pretty cheap model, and wasn’t going to last much longer anyway. But also… as close a shave as it did, it wasn’t as close as the non-electric way was. I’d feel my face after the electric, and it’d feel pretty smooth. But after the non-electric way? It would feel SUPER smooth! Yes, I could tell the difference. I liked that better. Plus, due to the lotions and balms and everything… the non-electric way was more refreshing, soothing. The electric way? Just kind of… Vibrate-y.

The first time I shaved was getting ready for my Junior Prom when I was in High School. I was given a “sample kit” from the place I rented my Tux from, and thought, “Cool… I’m old enough to shave now!” Sure, all I really had was a little peach fuzz… but it felt symbolic to be doing it that night. That night was also my first actual date… ever. (It didn’t go like, end like, or lead to anything as most “real dates” do… or even like other “Prom Dates” stereotypically do…but that’s another story.) So, symbolism abounded for me that night, and I wanted to do it right. (And I only cut myself twice!)

Thereafter, I didn’t shave that often (again, I had nothing but peach-fuzz really), but I’d do it once every week, week and a half. I had heard that “once you start shaving, you have to do it regularly because the hair will start growing faster!” Well, apparently my actual facial hair didn’t get that memo, because the “needing a shave-look” wasn’t much different from the “freshly shaved-look”. At the time, shaving was more of a formality… a zen-like practice that served no practical purpose; but I felt good doing it, and I also felt less like an overly-awkward teen. (I still was… I just didn’t feel like one.)

The first time I actually realized that I honest-to-goodness NEEDED to shave… was when I was in college. The director of a show I was in had asked all the men in the show to “Not Shave”. It was a period piece, set in Russia, so we were all supposed to have facial hair. (I also got to wear a wig and a padded belly for that show.) So, I stopped shaving… and thinking, “I’ve never actually grown anything but peach fuzz… will I even be able to?” But taking those few extra weeks and not shaving… I did start to get some real, rough stubble, and then became a beard. The design team then designated mine to be a “Van Dyke”, so I could shave the neck and sides. (Good, cause it was itching like hell!) I even kind of liked it… so much I kept it for awhile after that show. It was different for me… together with my glasses, it even made me feel a little more intellectual and “collegiate”.

The beard came and went a few times over the next few years. Sometimes growing it for a show, other times shaving it for a show. I’ve done quite a few things for shows, actually. The most extreme was not only shaving my face… but my arms, legs, chest, and head. The play I was doing it for was a very odd Tennessee Williams play called In the Bar of a Tokyo Hotel, and at one point, I strip down to this Japanese Shinto-Diaper-Thingy. And every bit of skin that was exposed was shaved. The only part that wasn’t was my eyebrows… that would have looked too weird, we agreed. The character was this weird, intense, crazy artist, who we figured would want to do a ritualistic head-shaving (like a monk)… only he’d take it to the absolute extreme, and shave everything. So we went with it. I ended up looking like some intense, homicidal, overgrown baby… which was interesting on its own, for sure. (Add to that me smearing latex interior housepaint over me… like I said, it was an odd show.) Several times I would talk to people about this and mention how I had to “shave everything”.

They’d look at me with a raised eyebrow and say, “EVERY-thing?” Clearly implying about parts under the Shinto Diaper that weren’t being seen.

“No, I did not shave my crotch for the show.”

They’d seem almost relieved and say “Okay” at that. There *are* limits to Method Acting, thank you. I most certainly did not shave my private parts for that show.

The fact that I shaved those parts ANYWAY, I didn’t mention. So yes, I was completely bare during the show. But I didn’t shave the bathing suit area *purposefully* for that show, so I wasn’t lying… it was simply a personal preference. (You think shaving feels nice on the face? Just imagine that sensation down there… very soothing in the summer, let me tell you.)

Okay, I’m sure that’s way into the realm of TMI (Too Much Information)… Oh well, cope.

I’ve always considered shaving to be one of those “manly man” things to do. I’ve seen it on lists of “sexiest things a woman can see a man do” (supposedly written by a woman, or taken from a survey of women), alongside “tying a tie”, “interacting with a child”, “cooking”, “juggling”, and “zombie-defense-preparation”. (Okay, maybe those last two are from *my* list of what should be sexy) If that’s true… then I’m one hell of a Sexy Manly-Man. Well, unless your list consists of MORE then those… then I only have these points down.

I love the smoothness of the end result… the crisp, clean feeling. It’s awesome, it really is. My face feels refreshed, rejuvenated… and helps me to feel damn Sex-ay. (And I’m sure adult women can think of other, practical advantages for a man having a smooth face. No, I’m not “going there”… because You just did.) I don’t know what it is about the existence of certain body hair that makes me feel not-as-sexy… but the fact it is probably explains why I have no problem getting rid of it.

On rare occasion, I’ll shave my legs. Usually just in the summer, solely for the comfort factor. My chest… sometimes I’ll shave for the summer comfort, but I don’t mind a little hair on that part. But I do try to keep it trimmed…. I don’t like it getting long, twisty and out of control. Keeping it to the level of “pleasant fuzz” is my preference.

Armpits… I shave regularly. Using the Norelco Body Trimmer helps with this. Hey, I don’t think you noticed, but armpits stink. You know why? The sweat is trapped in the hair and it ferments. I may not sweat any less, but my pits are a LOT less stinky, thank you.

And thanks to my genetics… I’m cursed with a hairy back. Not the kind of hairy where the Gay Community would put me in the “Bear” category, but enough that it itches and makes the heat less tolerable. I’ve tried to shave it… but I have to bend my arms in very unnatural ways to do so, and that hurts. I tried using the “Nair” and removal creams, which works decently for a few weeks at a time, but application is difficult. I did get help on a few occasions… one really good friend slathered it on me, and another time, a girlfriend did it. While she said she didn’t mind, when I look back on it, I can’t help but think, “That was unfair to ask her to do that for me.” Why? Well, it may not be horror-movie disgusting… but still an unappealing task. So, come the future, I shall not ask of that in a relationship again. Nope… so, now, and for the past few years… I’ve been getting waxed.

Figured if I’m going to enlist help, it should be a professional, and one who gets duly compensated for it. Plus, the waxing has the benefit of lasting longer then the creams.

On the downside, it hurts like a Motherfucking-Hurt-Machine. (But I am a sensitive lad, dontchaknow?) Granted, after doing it almost 10 times by now… it hurts less then it did at first, but I still don’t look forward to it.

Now, I can get a good 8 weeks of pure hairlessness, and then another month or so as it grows back, and there’s no chance of missing spots. They’re pretty thorough. They get a good way up my neck, the tops of my shoulders and all the way down the back. When I’m asked, “How far down do you want me to go?” (No, I don’t make an innuendo. They have hot wax and are already causing me pain, do you honestly think I want MORE of it?) I say, “If you see crack, you’ve gone too far.”

Now, I may not have female companionship to take advantage of the super-smoothness, or recognize the pain I’ve experienced and wish to “make it up to me”… but I do it anyway. If I relied on sexual rewards as my reasons for shaving and hair removal, I’d look like Grizzly Adams by now.

Nope, shaving is for me. It’s my Zen thing, thank you.

Over the years… I have refined my technique since my first facial shave. It really is more then Lather, Scrape, Rinse. There’s an order. There’s a procedure.

I like procedures.

First… hardware selection. I’m currently using the Gillette Mach 3 Turbo. I don’t know exactly why they call it “Turbo”, but it does work a tad better then the regular Mach 3, I know that much. I just buy the refills in bulk from Costco so I’m not paying as much as from the normal store. As the whole shaving thing can get expensive if you’re not careful… I therefore try to be careful. (The “Fusion” razor is really nice too, and even gives a better shave, but its still way more price-wise.)

Then, you need the heat. Steam heat, to be precise. I used to just splash a bunch of warm-to-hot water on my face for a few minutes, but I prefer to simply shave in the shower. I helps to open up the pores.

Next… shaving cream? NO! Now’s the facial scrub. I use an exfoliating facial cleanser. I really like the one from Nivea.

Now, the shaving cream, right? WRONG! Now is the pre-shave oil. Yes, it’s called a pre-shave oil. It’s a tiny little bottle, and you only use a few drops at a time, like 5-6… about the size of half a penny. (A little goes a long way) It’s got a bit of the menthol-thing going on, which sometimes feels counterproductive to the steam heat… but it works really well. Helps the hairs to stand up a bit. According to the bottle, you could actually shave using JUST this oil if you had to, but I never have. The kind I use… (and the only kind I can find, though it works so well, I don’t care) is from King of Shaves.*

*if the company is named King of Shaves, you can assume they know something about it.

Okay, now has to be the shaving cream, huh? NEVER!! I use a shaving “gel”. The old shaving cream/foam…besides smelling funny, it also makes it hard to actually see the hair you’re shaving off. It’s not that fun to go completely blind when having a sharp object near your face. Just sayin… No, shaving technology has made some leaps and bounds. The gel type of shaving lube is pretty clear, and makes it a lot easier to do things like keep the sideburns even, or even care for that goatee you’re trying for. Plus, it really does work a lot better. I’ll occasionally try different brands, but I do keep coming back to the King of Shaves brand again… the Sensitive Skin formula. (I *do* have sensitive skin, dontchaknow?)

Then… the actual removal. I’ve always read you’re only supposed to scrape “with the grain”... but when I do that, I always feel stubble left behind. So I always go back up the other way, “against the grain” as well, and that removes it all. And I’ve never had a problem with in-grown facial hairs or gashing my face open or whatnot as a result. I just go easy, methodical… and get that super-smoothness I love so much.

But it’s not over! After the scraping, I’ll obviously rinse off thoroughly (easy enough as I’m already in the shower), finish up all the other shower-business, and out. Then I pat dry my face… and then break out the… anyone? Anyone?

After-shave lotion? What am I, a masochist? (Don’t answer that.) Alcohol on microscopic wounds? Hell, no. Nope, I go with the “post-shave balm”. It’s a thicker kind of goop, that’s non-alcoholic, non-painful… and gives that nice bit of smooth polish to the face, with an extra moisturizing kick. Again, a little goes a long way. I don’t stray from the Nivea brand on this one.

And that’s my shave. I do this every 4 days or so. I can get away doing it after 3 days, but any less then that, and my face gets torn up a bit. No, with my face, the blade needs a decent bit of stubble to get a grip on to. In fact, the longer I go without, the easier it is to shave it, oddly. Unless it’s more then 6 days (meaning I have no dates or social plans)… in which case, it’s too long. So I’ll take my regular old-clippers and trim down the face to a shaveable length.

It works for me. Maybe it is a “manly-man” thing to do… I just do it because it makes me feel “good”.

So… nyah.

The Cut of My Jib

During my unintentional sabbatical… I ended up hitting the gym… a lot. I really just needed to get out of the house, because staring at my computer screen just wasn’t working for me. (and by “not working” I mean, “driving me crazy”) Before, I always went to the gym on my way home from work… because it was on the way, and extremely convenient. Now, of course, it had to be a special trip. So let’s see: Special trip… or sit in the house and be depressed, lazy and crazy. I’ll take “Special Trip”, please. I needed something, anything, to do… and going to the gym seemed like a nice, healthy option. Hey, I was paying for it anyway… might as well get my money’s worth out of it.

So I went every day, Monday through Friday, and took weekends off to recuperate. Mondays and Thursdays was arms and upper body, Tuesday and Fridays lower body and abs, and Wednesday was nothing but Cardio. I was silently proud to be sticking to my make-over plans, and occasionally getting nice compliments from friends. But due to my own critical view of my self, and judging by the horrible dating luck I was having, I always saw/see the flaws and knew/know I still had/have a long way to go.

Then, when I gotten into August of that year, the Temp agency I was going through gave me the distinct impression that “things were picking up” and I would be having some impending interviews approaching. So I pulled out my suit… the one I’ve previously mentioned as “my first suit”. Now, I bought this during another bought of unemployment, again for the purposes of interviews (and also since I had nothing nice to wear should the occasion arise). When I did that, I had been in a period of “letting myself go” a little too much. This was after my old medical problems, in which my weight fluctuated wildly from too low to too high, and then settled on “too high”. So when I was being fitted for this suit… I was given the “Executive Cut”.

I understood from the get-go that “Executive Cut” was just a friendly euphemism. It meant I was tubby. Any guy that takes offense to that, saying, “Hey… I’M wearing an Executive Cut suit!” Guess what? Nothing wrong with it. It just is what it is. You’re no less a quality person… now shut up and accept it. All that matters is that you have a suit that looks good on you, so chill.

Well, now my suit *didn’t* look as good on me. I know I had lost a little bit from my waist, and the suit (and sportcoat) were a little big on me. So, I had to go on a little errand… one that I was actually looking forward to doing.

I brought the suit and the sportcoat back into Men’s Wearhouse (the one with the tailoring department), went up to the counter and said, “It gives me great pleasure to finally be able to say this: I need to have my suit taken in.”

Yeah, it did feel good to say it… to know that I’ve made enough progress with exercising, and that it was noticeable enough to affect my clothing (in a good way). It was a nice positive reinforcement, and I was smiling. The tailor said, “That’s great. If you would please go put it on, we’ll take the measurements and then take it in.” So, I went into the little dressing room, put on my Executive Cut suit, and stepped back out onto the sales floor, waiting for the tailor.

He came over, started measuring, and soon said, “Well, this isn’t going to work.”

Me: “What do you mean?”

“This was YOUR suit?”

“Yeah, I even bought it from here, it’s on your records.”

Then he excused himself for a second, and brought over a saleswoman, and they both started tugging and pulling on the suit, folding it up against me, etc… basically using me as a mannequin… and both seemed…. Amazed.

I’m just standing there, not sure what the problem is… I just need the suit taken in a little bit, right?

Wrong.

The pants of the suit I had brought in (which were tailored for me when I got it) had a 40-inch waist.

I now needed a 34-inch waist.

Keep in mind that on a suit, the waist isn’t just above the hips where we normally wear our pants, but rather higher up, just under the belly button. So I lost 6 inches around my belly… a hell of a lot more then I thought I lost.

So the pants now look like they were another hand-me-down, and the suitcoat and blazer are similarly swimming on me now. They asked me, “How much weight did you lose?” “Well… according to the scale, only about 5 lbs.” (I guess this is proof I’ve been replacing it with muscle, huh?) They looked at each other and back at me, amazed and smiling… all the while looking over the racks of clothing.

Uh… are they trying to find one that’s my new size to use as a template for cutting these down? I wondered hopefully… and futilely, it would turn out. No, they were looking for a new suit for me.

I asked them, “Can’t you just take this one in?”

The tailor then proceeded to explain how they “could”… but he would have to take so much material out that the suit wouldn’t look right. He couldn’t guarantee that it would look good. To put it bluntly… it would look like a Picasso. (His Cubist period, for you Art-History Majors. Never say I don’t show you any love.)

The old suit, with the Executive Cut, was created with a belly in mind… every cut and stitch of it is molded around that idea. A belly of which I apparently didn’t have anymore (even if I do still see it when I look in the mirror… man, am I self-critical or what?).

If they can’t take it in… and I obviously can’t wear it to interviews without looking like an 8-year-old playing in Dad’s wardrobe… It looks like I don’t really have much of a choice.

Thinking of the personal accomplishment, I cheerfully thought, “I need a new suit!”

Then the logistical aspect came to mind, and I thought, “Oh… I… need a new suit?”

Then the dawning of financial horror… “Holy crap… I need a new suit…”

I’ve always tried to not be “cheap”, but as someone who’s never HAD a lot of money, shelling out a few hundred on the spur of the moment isn’t exactly something I’m used to. Anything that costs over $50, I feel hesitant, and over $100, I feel I have to “think about it” because it feels like an “investment”. (Which, yes, this is an investment.) And being unemployed at the time sure didn’t help, to put it mildly. I felt my heart beat faster, and thought I was starting to panic. It was something I *had* to spend right there. (You probably don’t want to hear my inner monologue when I need to have expensive car repairs done… I want to curl into a fetal position and shut out the world.) And I never got to wear the old suit that often… so that was feeling like I had to throw away $500 worth of clothes I didn’t get to enjoy.

But the tailor and the saleswoman started looking through the racks, and found a nice suit for about $300. That’s a good price for a suit… but still… $300. I did refuse when they asked about replacing the sport-coat… I figured that wouldn’t be a good idea at that time. They were able to do the few needed alterations right there, and I could leave in an hour with it.

So, while I was waiting for that to be done… I had to just walk around the mall and kill some time. And what else am I going to think about other then, “Oh God… I just spent a crapload of money on something that *feels* frivolous (after all, a suit isn’t necessary for actual caveman-like day-to-day survival), and I don’t really have money coming in.” Sure, I had to collect unemployment, but I feel guilty using that for anything that isn’t vital to caveman-like survival. (I hate feeling like a leech on the system, and I was hesitant to even apply in the first place)

Yes, I know normal people don’t think like this, and wouldn’t have a problem with it, or even for the reasons that I do. Whatever made you think I was normal?

But all these things… these possibly unfounded neuroses running through my head… and then I go and end up making the biggest mistake I could at the time.

You see, I was feeling vulnerable. I was feeling stressed, and a more then a bit worried. I needed encouragement. I needed to hear, “Its okay. Needing and getting this suit is a VERY good thing. You’ve made a great accomplishment, losing those inches. You deserve this, it’ll look great. Keep your chin up, it’s gonna work out wonderfully.” I needed some kind words… I needed assurance.

I needed to call and talk to my Emotional Support System.

Instead, I called my parents.

Apparently, I had a lapse of memory, and thought they were in that category. Sure, that sounds cruel and unfair. But my parents are “every silver lining has a dark cloud” kind of people… and as thankful as I am to them for bringing me into this world and doing what they can for me over the years; emotionally speaking… they are NOT the people I can talk to for that kind of support. I think the fact that I tried in this instance may say that I wish they WERE, but every instance of trying to tell them anything, good or bad, has pretty much blown up in my face.

My mom answers, and I tell her what’s going on. Instead of what I wanted and needed to hear, she said, “Well, can they just take the other suit in a *little* in case you gain some weight back?”

“… I’m sorry, what?”

Is it just me, or did that sound… how shall I say it? A bit “un-encouraging”? Is that essentially a vote of no-confidence in my efforts at the gym and eating better? Because it sure as hell sounded like it.

I tried to explain exactly how much I’d lost, and how taking the old suit in “a little” wasn’t exactly an option. When my father got in on the conversation later on, he remarked how if I keep going to the gym, I’m “just going to need ANOTHER suit.” Now, that one may be more of a “delivery” kind of thing… because where he was putting the emphasis did not sound like it was celebrating the accomplishment of slimming down, but of the annoyance of having to do this errand again. (Even though it was for me, and nothing to do with him)

Now, if I lost *another* 6 inches from where I am now… I wouldn’t be worried about a suit that fits… I’d be worried about a hospital gown that fits, because that’s where I’d be treated for malnutrition. No, I wouldn’t be crossing another tailoring-threshold, and any adjustments to a smaller size would be minor ones, fixed with a simple “taking in”. It wouldn’t be changing the “cut” of the suit. His reply echoed my Mom’s initial statement; “Well, you better keep the old suit for when you gain the weight back.” (Notice his has a bit more certainty in it then my Mother’s.)

Wow. Just… wow. I have to wonder if my family ever actually *listens* to themselves.

So, back to when I was waiting at the mall for the suit to be finished… and NOT feeling as good as I had hoped at this point… I went to look outside my immediate family. (I definitely wasn’t going to try my brothers… at best I’d get an “Okay, so?”) I texted a friend of mine, summarizing the situation… and thankfully, she told me what I needed to hear. This *was* a good thing… it’s a great thing! Sure, I didn’t get much use out of the old suit, but why should care about a suit that looks crappy on me? I worked hard, and I deserve this… I deserve to look good, dammit. This was definitely the right thing.

When I picked up my suit… I did, in fact, feel a hell of a lot better. If anyone ever wonders why I’m so fiercely loyal to my friends… it’s for things like this.

And I would come to realize later… the financial hit wasn’t as bad as I thought. My months of being frugal hadn’t sapped my savings like I was afraid it was, and monetarily, my situation was a-okay. I *probably* could have afforded a sport coat as well… but I still figured it wiser to wait on that.

But eventually, when I did start working again… I went and bought myself a SECOND suit. So I could have some variety. And then this winter, I even bought two sport-coats. In both instances, I had considered and decided ahead of time, so the buying was actually a pleasurable experience rather than a spur-of-the-moment-stress event. (And in neither case did I bother to tell the ‘rents.)

Now I’m looking for more opportunities to wear them.

Do-over Make-over

I seem to be going through a bit of a makeover. Granted, it’s a slow, subtle makeover… but a makeover all the same.

I just got a new pair of glasses, for one. The last time I had glasses was the pair that I lost when I was in Grad School… about 8 years ago. I never bothered to replace them, and have just used my contact lenses ever since. I had that particular pair for about 7 years by that point… and they just didn’t go well with my face, anyway. (Maybe they did at one point… but in growing, my face changed shape a little, and I just didn’t like the way they fit… so I wasn’t heartbroken or even slightly stressed when they got misplaced)

I had shopped around a couple months ago, toying with the idea of going with glasses again (because putting in the contacts everyday can be annoying)… but the store I went into had the salesman wanting me to try on “all the latest styles”. I asked for a particular shape of frames, and he just told me how they “don’t really have any in that shape… they’re not in style. But these look good on you!” Yeah, thanks Sparky. But this isn’t a t-shirt or a funky pair of jeans… these are significantly more expensive… and are meant to last upwards of a few years, at the very least. So the LAST thing I want is the “latest style”… which will look very stupid as soon as the NEXT style is “in”. I want something that’s going to look good on ME… and compliment my face, no matter what the latest “style” is. No matter how often I said, “I don’t care what the latest style is”, he kept saying it. I eventually left, making it clear I wasn’t buying anything from him. Screw his commission. Maybe he should try actual customer service.

Then, a little over a week ago, I got a notice at work… I’ve been paying into a “flex medical spending” account all year. (If you buy anything vaguely medical… you can get reimbursed from this fund, as you’ve already paid for it. Mainly a handy way to keep some money aside for random medical stuff that comes up.) Apparently, if I don’t use up what’s in there before the end of the year… I completely lose it. So, I could just buy a bunch of cough syrup in December… but then I figured this is a good time to get those new eyeglasses.

So, I put the call out to some female friends and relatives… looking for anyone in the area who’s available to help me pick out a pair, or give suggestions. A female friend did say that she thought I’d look “delicious in glasses”… which was nice encouragement. One of my cousins said she was available, and recommended a store that she always had good luck with. I also got suggestions from my gay friends. (Because that’s who I trust for fashion advice… women and gay men. It seems to work.) I was told to look for “round, frameless lenses”… as they would compliment the shape of my face (which can look a little “blocky”), and be subtle enough to let my face be seen and not distracted.

That part actually fits my personal tastes. I don’t want something that says, “LOOK I’M WEARING GLASSES”. It’s like my shirts… I don’t do a lot of printed t-shirts with logos or funny sayings on them. I’d rather have people look at me and see *me*… not some clever art or gag that someone else wrote.

I think I did well with the glasses I picked out. They are frameless… and roundish (if not perfectly round). Not many people seem to notice them at first… but some eventually said, “Did you wear glasses before?” Yeah, I think that means they’re subtle enough.

The other big makeover element… is that I’ve been hitting the gym. Now, I don’t want to get to a point where I invalidate last year’s post about my fat days… but rather, I think this move compliments it. In the past, I had started working out after I was feeling particularly good about myself… this particular instance started a little differently.

I was at a friend’s house for his 8-year-old daughter’s birthday. I was there making animal balloons, juggling, etc… most of the stuff I used to do when I did children’s parties back West. Anyway… those kids tired me out WAY too quickly. And when I used to work with a Kid’s Theatre Group… I was helping to deal with 30+ kids every day for 5 days a week, for up to 6 weeks at a time. Now, one day for a few hours… I’m dead tired. Some pointed out, “Yeah, but you were in the Bounce-House… that will tire anyone out!” Which is true… maybe I shouldn’t feel so bad… but I still felt like I should have lasted longer than that. I so quickly got to the point of “over-exertion” that it seriously felt like something was wrong. So the next day, I went to the gym closest to my work, and signed up. (It helps that my work reimburses me for half the cost of the gym)

I do like this gym… much better than when I used to go to Schmally’s Total Fitness. Here, they tout it as a “judgment-free zone”. (Nice thought… but how do you control someone “thinking”?) They also have a trainer on-hand to help you out, almost all the time. When I joined Shmally’s… one of their bonuses was a “free hour with a personal trainer”, which was basically a one-hour advertisement to spend $1,000 to hire him. Wasn’t useful at all. Here, they actually sit down with you and create a personalized workout plan based on you and what your goals are. (My goals: “To have more energy, and to look good naked.” Hey, everyone’s thinking that… I just had the balls to say it.) That’s exactly what I need… a structured plan. If you just give me a bunch of machines and say “Go for it”… I’ll do a bunch of excercises, but I’ll end up missing a lot of key muscle groups, because I won’t know what I’m doing. They also gave me a little dietary advice, and they’re always willing to answer my questions whenever I ask. This is a much better place than Bally-… I mean, Schmally’s. (Don’t want to do any endorsements either way)

I started that program in mid-August. My goal was to hopefully see some decent results by Halloween. Figured 2 ½ months was a reasonable amount of time to do so. Well, since then, the bathroom scale has constantly said “205 lbs”… then again, my cat stepped across it the other day, and I could have sworn it said “205 lbs”… so I’m thinking I can’t exactly trust it. My arms have gotten a little bigger… and my legs are a little slimmer… yet I haven’t really noticed anything in the belly-area… the part I was mainly concerned about. But last week, when I went for a haircut… the girl that I go to asked me if I’ve lost weight, saying I look a little slimmer. That comment just ensured me going back to the gym for the next 2 months.

Some minor elements of the slow-make-over… I’m trying harder to upgrade my wardrobe. Last winter, I sprung for a new suit… which was a big step for me, actually. The first suit I ever got was the one my parents bought for my Senior Pictures in High School. Which I ended up also using for my Senior Pictures in College… and several other instances in between and after. I also got some hand-me-downs from relatives and whatnot… but no matter how often they said, “Wow, it looks like it was *made* for you…” I knew it wasn’t. It wasn’t *my* suit. None of them were. So this… in a very real sense… is my first suit. (I also picked up a navy blazer with it. Thank you, Men’s Wearhouse.)

Fashion-wise… my tastes are fairly simple. Most of my dress shirts and even t-shirts, are solid colors. I’m not big on patterns… but I’m trying to keep an eye out for striped shirts that I think look good. Again, though… it needs to be a simple pattern for me. Not 17 stripes of different shades of the same color… that’s too noisy for me. Even if they look good on me… I don’t like it. Pants… I like khakis mainly, but I’ll only wear my black slacks for work or something.

One of the qualities I’d really like to find in my next relationship is someone with a good sense of style. Someone that I can go shopping with and will do well with helping me to look nice. (Yes, I’m a man that doesn’t mind going shopping.) With my last relationship, we didn’t do that very often… I would have liked to, but not having a lot of money to do that with puts a damper on it. (The curse of the starving artist) She did help me pick out my first leather jacket… which I never wore that often, actually. I think the reminder of her (this was *that* relationship) dissuaded me from wanting to wear it… but thankfully, it doesn’t bother me that much anymore. (Which is good… because it’s coming up on the not-so-happy anniversary. Yes, I hate the fact that I still remember that.) So, these days I’m trying to wear it more often.

Now, I’ve tried to go through a few “make-overs” over the years… and oddly enough, usually whenever I did try to have a make-over… or at least make some “change” to myself that was noticeable to others… I found I got noticed by the opposite sex a lot more than usual, and sometimes would end up in a relationship within a couple of months. After I shaved my head (for a show) and sported the “bald” look for a while, I found several instances of being noticed. Same thing after I started dyeing my hair blonde and returned to school after working out for a summer. Maybe it was the confidence of feeling like a new person that showed through… or the drastic change that caught their attention… or maybe a bit of both. Who knows?

This certainly didn’t happen ALL the time… in fact, only a few relationships started after a make-over. Most of the time it was just little ole me from start to finish.

But the thing that I’ve noticed about make-overs… they’re not permanent. We think of them as potentially life-changing kinds of things… but after a period of time, we do fall back into old habits. At best, make-overs tend to be “temporary ego-boosters”… which can be a good thing. Many of us need more self-confidence more often. (I know I wouldn’t mind it) But the brief nature of them… can be a bit depressing.

Maybe that’s why I’m sticking to the “slow” make-over. Doing it slowly, over a longer period… trying to work on one element at a time, which will hopefully be healthier for me both physically and mentally. If it’s a choice between feeling FABULOUS about myself for a very short time… or feeling “pretty darn good” about myself for life. I’ll take the latter.

Sure, the changes will be subtle and gradual… so anyone that already knows me won’t overtly notice it right away. Plus, it’s a LOT harder to do it long-term… it’s easy to shave the head or dye the hair or get a new suit. But the hair grows in, the dye fades, and the suit won’t get worn all the time. But just maybe, while walking around on a normal day somewhere down the line, I’ll be able to catch the eye of someone new… someone that’s worth noticing, and who will find me to be noticeable, too.

At least now I’ll be able to see them… because I gots new glasses. :)

Be an Individual... like everyone else.

One of the biggest hypocrisies that I can think of which exist in this world is the concept of Individuality.

Especially so, when you put it with its opposite: Conformity.

…And even MORE so when you put this battle into the gladiatorial arena known as Youth.

On one hand, with Conformity, the arguments in favor of it are usually along the lines of, “Don’t rock the boat”. Hearing this, some of us might picture a very straight-laced, suit-and-tie, corporate-type saying it… or a pair of ultra-conservative parents… or you may just think of the word, “fuddy-duddy”. (Which, for some, are the exact arguments AGAINST it) At the very least, I think most people at least subconsciously think of the word “boring”. That is… taking the word and concept at total face value.

For Individuality… it’s presented as the greatest idea since sliced bread. Something about the word gives the image of exciting, fun, cool and sexy. I think you ask anyone the straight-up question with no qualifier or previous information or points of view… “Which is better: Individuality or Conformity?” I think you’ll be told “Individuality” at least 85% of the time. (Allowing the 15% fuddy-duddy factor. This is only my theory, with no scientific evidence to back it up.)

It helps that it’s kind of pounded into our heads… we’ve all had the art teachers that stress “finding yourself” and “being your own person”. Or the James Dean wannabes that say, “Come on, Man, don’t be a sheep”. And not to mention all the fashion advertisements from clothing companies telling you to “express your personal style”. Listening to the words… Individuality is the way to go.

So why do the actions tell us something completely different?

If artists were all truly “individuals”… there wouldn’t be categories like Impressionism, Surrealism, Expressionism, etc. Everyone would be in their own, separate category.

Why does the guy saying, “Don’t be a sheep” want me to follow what HE’S doing?

You know, if it really is my “personal” style… why do they make 500,000 copies of the same shirt and ship all over the country? Shouldn’t they just make ONE and sent it right to me? Hell… why are THEY even involved??? The whole fashion industry is sold on individuality but based on conformity (getting thousands of people to buy the same thing).

When I was young, and even now, we get bombarded with “be an individual”, “be yourself”, “don’t follow the herd”. There are critically acclaimed movies that point out the “Dangers of Conformity” (Dead Poets Society, anyone? Which preaches the dangers of conformity, but actually *demonstrates* the dangers of individuality) and give an overriding message to “be you”.

It definitely SOUNDS like the best option… and I can’t really think of an argument to ever NOT “be you”… but why doesn’t it always feel that way? Because when you ask any kid that’s feeling lonely and ostracized, “What they want”… they’ll tell you they’d give their left arm to just simply “Fit in”.

Hell, I’d almost rather hear the Conformity arguments from the Fuddy-Duddys… at least with them, you know where you stand. A lot of the “Individuality Bombardment Brigade” can seem like they’re not living in the real world.

In school, if you’re different enough in the eyes of others… the last thing the majority are doing is celebrating your “uniqueness”. Unless by “celebrating” you mean such statements as, “Why are you so weird?”, “What a loser.”, “Ugh… freak”, and the ever popular “Why can’t you be normal?”.

Not seeing a lot of incentives to “be yourself” there… or is it just me?

Sure, a lot of kids that say that are the kind that “aren’t worth it”… and that’s what we usually tell ourselves… but it still hurts to hear it. That’s when you start to realize that a synonym for “individuality”… is “alone”. Once you know what its like to feel completely alone in a room that’s filled to the brim with people… you start thinking that maybe “being an individual” isn’t such a great idea.

Now, I am by no means giving 100% endorsement for Conformity. Actually… far from it. I’ve never been one to consciously follow the notion of Conformity… But if I simply did the “preaching what I practiced” without forcing myself to look at a different angle… then this would just be another piece of useless propaganda that you could see in any magazine ad or feel-good-self-help book.

What I *am* doing… is trying to find the right balance.

When you’re young… you’re a bit of a blank slate. Sure, some of us have chemical imbalances, or trouble at home, or whatever life-altering conditions… but it is by no means “too late” for any kid. The person you are in 5 years from that point will be COMPLETELY different, and again so another 5 years beyond that. I believe any situation can be changed given time.

At that age, we’re all filled with advertisements, music videos, flashy images, and at best… *other* people’s opinions. Such as, if your dad is a Cubs fan… YOU are a Cubs fan. (You can figure out some “not-so-nice” variations of that on your own) All the jokes you know were read from a joke book or heard from someone else… who most likely got it from a joke book. (And no kid has ever mastered the art of “the delivery” at that age) Originality doesn’t exist yet… it’s all a spin-off or teeny-tiny variation of something else that you loved… whether it’s a comic book, song, story, drawing, etc. It’s almost like we’re not so much “people” as we are pop-culture repositories… but at that age, you rarely complain about that.

And everyone is on the path to try and “find themselves”. Some just give up the search before others. And we all love the idea of being individuals… because we like to think we’re “special”. Though deep down, we all recognize (and we can credit the movie The Incredibles for this wording) that “saying everyone is special is the same as saying that no one is.”

In a world of Individuals… how does one be truly unique?

Which could also bring up the argument that NO ONE is a true “individual”. If “Conformity” truly is the opposite of “Individuality”… then a synonym is “Non-conforming”… and everyone, no matter how “individualistic” they are… does some kind of conforming.

What is friendship… but a version of Conformity? Two people (or more) finding some kind of a common ground, and bonding over it in some fashion. (Look at any group of Goth kids for an example. All considered freaks and weirdoes… all actively trying to be “individuals”… yet all wearing black, listening to Industrial music and being morose.) The simple nature of BEING friends with someone is changing and “conforming” you… it’s just conforming you in ways that you *want* to conform to. Without the friends I’ve met, I never would have gotten into gaming, horror movies, Doctor Who, or most of the Geek hobbies I have. My friends have influenced me, and I’ve influenced my friends. No, I haven’t drastically altered the way they live their lives… nor have they to me. But “conformity” doesn’t have to be major.

Several months ago, I mentioned/stressed how I have “similarities” with my friends, but ultimately, we’re all different from each other… which is true. And the opposite is true. Sure, we’re all different… but we have some things in common… that’s how we *became* friends.

We’re always going to have qualities in common with *someone* in this world… there’s 6 billion of us, and not as many human traits as that. It may take us time to find each other, but eventually you do. In the right settings, those like-minded people tend to gravitate towards each other.

So when we think of “individuality”… it’s never going to be 100% completely-different-from-everyone-else-in-the-world. But the best we can hope for is a unique COMBINATION of particular traits. And when you are “finding yourself” and discovering the hobbies, likes, dislikes, traits, and morals that you want to have and employ in your life… try to make sure you’re picking and choosing the particulars for YOU… and not for/because of someone else. (Parents, that hot guy/girl, the government, etc)

I look at the lesson like this:

Conformity… helps us to love others. Individuality… helps us to love ourselves.

Both are pretty important, if you ask me. And as many will tell you… it’s important to love yourself before you can love others. I think it all goes together nicely.

A certain amount of conformity is important… and to some who’d agree with that… “probably not as much as your thinking”.

Likewise, individuality is important… but to some that would agree with *that*… “Don’t let that go to your head.”

Balance. It’s all about finding the balance.

As for what that balance IS….

What the hell are you looking at me for? How would I know?

I'm Having Fat Days

Now truth be told, I’m not fat.

I’ll be the first to admit I don’t have a 6-pack stomach… never have. Though, when I was a little kid, I was so thin you could count my ribs. (Which, in retrospect, was probably a tad disgusting and a sign of malnutrition… but I digress) Then, when my family moved and I entered 6th grade (or as I called it: The 1st Circle of Hell)… I had trouble making friends. I became a shy loner (another topic for another blog)… and in lieu of “hanging out” after school or on weekends… I watched TV and snacked.

I never got disgustingly roly-poly… but I did get a belly. I sure wasn’t going to be earning any letter-jackets (always thought they looked silly anyway). I didn’t discover any me-friendly after-school activities until the 5th Circle of Hell… and didn’t find reasons to feel good about myself until I went away to college. (Not saying the reasons weren’t there… I just didn’t find them) Yeah… I got bullied at school… but also got some at home. Such is the perils of being the youngest of 3 boys…. Didn’t want to be at school, and I didn’t want to be home.

Part of which… because I felt fat.

I’m going to refer to my 2 elder siblings as A-hole 1 and A-hole 2. Not to paint them as the epitome of Scum… there are times they’ve both, collectively and separately, been very decent. I’m referring to them that way for 3 reasons: 1) To keep my theme of anonymity on this blog. 2) When it popped in my head, it sounded like something from Dr. Seuss:

“Would you like to see something
Dumber than the slime on your shoe?
Then let me introduce my brothers…
A-hole 1 and A-hole 2.”

And 3) On this subject… especially back then… they WERE complete and total assholes.

It sure felt like they took it as their personal hobby to make my life miserable. I dreaded hearing them walk into the room, because I knew I was going to be insulted. More often than not I was right. What seemed like one of their favorites (especially A-hole 1) was calling me “Fat”.

“Hey Tubby, how are those sit-ups working for you?”

“Mmmm… that looks nice and fattening.”

“God, I can hear you gain weight.”

Like I said, I wasn’t fat… there were kids much bigger in girth than I who were still considered part of the “Beautiful People” crowd. So I kept telling myself AND the two A-holes, “I am not fat!”

But what I knew and what I felt… were apparently 2 different things.

I’m sure they would defend themselves by saying they were “trying to help me”. Perhaps that was their idea of motivation; “If he hates hearing it… he’ll lose the weight, so we’ll stop saying it.” But in the several years of using that 1 tactic… it never worked. Looking back on it now, it especially amazes me as that most people, when something doesn’t work… they try another approach. A different one. They change tactics. There are only 2 types of people that will continue to do the SAME thing and expect a different result. The Insane… and the Incredibly Stupid.

No, insulting me never did motivate me to working out. Though, to his credit, A-hole 1 did try to take me out to the garage to work out with him on his weight set… and I’ve never found “working out” to be more Uninteresting. It just wasn’t fun. I did try to honestly get into it… but eventually A-hole 1 would say something insulting (possibly unintentionally) and then the whole thing wouldn’t feel like a “new” approach… but rather a variation on the old one. And a healthy habit would not be formed. And I would go back to feeling fat.

Feeling fat and Being fat are two different things. How else do you explain the mindset of supermodel wannabes the size of sticks looking at themselves and saying, “I’m so fat!”?

When you feel fat… you feel weak. Emotionally and physically. You don’t think you have the tools, the ability, or the right to defend yourself… so when you’re attacked, you do what every Military general does when they realize they are out-gunned, out-manned, out-powered, out-flanked… they retreat. And when the attack is pressed, they keep retreating… until there’s no where to retreat to. And that’s where they get annihilated.

I retreated. Into my room… into myself. I didn’t feel like I was being “helped”… I felt like I was being attacked. My only ally was my cat who loved me for me… and who witnessed many tears before I went to sleep. My family just thought I was anti-social for no reason.

Sometimes, when I’m feeling particularly morbid… I wonder how I actually managed to survive that time through the “7 Circles of Hell”. And I don’t say “survive” to be metaphoric.

When I was left alone at college on that first day… and I was on my own… I felt such a wave of relief over me, I’m surprised I didn’t burst into tears, I was so happy. I soon made friends… REAL friends, not study-hall-acquaintances… friends that I’m still in touch with 13+ years later. I quickly got involved with my major and department… and the extra-curricular activities that went with it. I was going full-force, running myself practically ragged (and keep in mind, I wasn’t a “partier”. I never drank or smoked or anything like that) and I was loving every minute of it. During Winter Break… there was a short session of classes and activities before the Spring Semester began, but most people stayed home. That 1st year, I spent it at home… and hated it. For every other Winter Break, I made sure I was involved in something that required me to be there soon after Christmas.

I was getting at school 2 things I felt I had never gotten before… Encouragement… and Opportunity. Even if I failed at a task… it still felt good to not be berated for doing so, but rather a “we’ll do better next time”. That’s a much better environment to be in.

And I have no idea if I lost weight. I got my last little “growth nudge” of that inch that got me to 5’11”… but I don’t think my weight changed. To tell the truth, I didn’t weigh myself for a good few years going. I had other things going on that mattered more to me.

And I think I was actually eating healthier… especially when I started cooking on my own. I don’t know if I was losing weight… but I sure wasn’t gaining any. When I went to California (the fact that I had an opportunity to go to a place 3,600 miles away from “Hell” sure didn’t hurt my decision), I probably got healthier habits… never before realizing how tasty Spinach, Collard Greens, Asparagus, Avocado, Artichoke, etc… could be.

And during one Spring Break, visiting friends in Los Angeles for the first time, something happened. I was feeling REALLY good about myself… I was doing great at Grad School, I had some plays I wrote that were going to be produced at another college in L.A., and I had my hair colored blonde just for the hell of it. It was like the start of a make-over… and then, for no reason really… I picked up a couple of weights and started to do a little working out.

And… I actually found it FUN.

I did it more… and more often. I was actually finding it FUN and enjoyable. I realized that all the times I had been hearing, “working out will make you feel better about yourself”… were WRONG.

Feeling better about myself… made me start working out.

Suddenly, I found what was missing from all those failed work-out attempts back on the other coast. I wasn’t doing it to impress anybody… I just did it because I wanted to… and I was having fun with it.

And there was a noticeable difference. I got into a nice habit with it, and at the start of the next Fall, after a summer of this… people were noticing that my arms were a little bigger, and more defined. I still didn’t have a six-pack stomach… nor was it really flat… but I didn’t have a problem with taking my shirt off. And seeing as how I was about to do a show that required me to run around in a Loincloth… that quality helped. But it turned out, I actually GAINED 10 lbs… but it was muscle, and I was trimmer than I ever had been. So, I was feeling pretty good about my own body.

Don’t know if the family noticed any differences when I came home for Xmas… but if they did, they didn’t say anything. Either they didn’t want to compliment me… or didn’t care to see anything different from what they knew, and didn’t. Who knows. I had long stopped caring, so not hearing anything didn’t bother me. (Which in some ways, may be a tragedy unto itself)

After Grad School ended, I tried to keep a work-out schedule going… but it didn’t always happen. I think it became one of those things where “life got in the way”… and I was still happy where my life was… even if I was doing the “starving artist” thing.

The only real big change in my weight… came when I got sick 2 years ago. The time that laid me up something fierce. I couldn’t keep anything down, went on a liquid diet for a few straight weeks… nothing but misery. When I finally got on the medication that worked, and I started to recover… they found I had gone down to 138 lbs.

Sweet Screaming Jeebus, I haven’t been 138 lbs since Freshman Year of High School! When I was 5’3”!!! That’s not the BEST way to lose weight… and I don’t recommend it.

After a few months, I was doing better getting that weight back to a healthier place. But from losing all that weight so fast… I also lost some muscle mass. So I was gaining the weight back… but it wasn’t the kind I wanted. I found it difficult to get to the Gym again… my self-esteem had taken a bit of a drop. (Being cheated-on does that to you) And after a VERY rough year all-around and in many areas of life… I decided to take a break from Los Angeles… and I came back home to be with family.

I often wonder if I made a mistake.

So, I’m back up to my normal weight… and then some. I even went up one pant size. I’m none too happy about that… but I also don’t think it’s a big deal. It doesn’t change the person I am… and that’s a damn good person, thankyouverymuch (if I do say so myself). Sure I don’t have a fantastic high-paying job as a corporate drone, nor am I around my closest friends all the time… but I’m still hopeful life will improve. It’ll take little baby steps… for my physicality AND professionally. I try to remind myself often… to keep me going to save that money to continue making the art I left behind… only now controlling it all myself.

And it turns out I *have* to remind myself often, because the other day, A-hole 2 said to me, “You’re eating THAT? Hold on, let me see what’s in this… oooh, just what a growing boy needs. You know that’s thoroughly unhealthy for you, right? And how are those sit-ups working for you?”

Now, I find it an incredible amount of self-control on MY part to not smash the small bowl of melted Velveeta I was stirring for my broccoli, right in his A-holish face. I couldn’t believe he was using the SAME TACTICS from 15 years ago!!! Hell… the same WORDS!!! I tried to push it off (again), saying, “Yeah, sure. Very funny.” And when he kept it up, I (understandably, I think) got a little pissy, saying, “Thank you! You can shut up now.”

And A-hole 2 does what A-hole 2 usually does when I start to get agitated at him. “What’s the problem? Why are you getting upset?”… said in a stern tone.

If I tell him, “it’s because you’re being an asshole.” He gets defensive… saying how he was just kidding… only “joking around” and how *I’m* the bad guy for being “too sensitive about it”… and how he didn’t mean anything by it.

Fine, maybe I’m the bad guy. I’ll be A-hole 3, gladly. But maybe… just maybe… I’m not.

I know I’m sensitive. Too sensitive for most of my family’s tastes, that’s for sure.

But being “too sensitive” is not something I’m going to apologize for.

It is fairly hard for most people to insult me intentionally. It is VERY easy for someone to insult me accidentally. My family seems to have mastered both of these aspects.

But 1 thing that none of them seem to have mastered… is differentiating between INTENTIONS and ACTIONS. What you do… and how its interpreted by someone else… can be wildly different.

If he’s just “joking around”, and I’m getting upset… maybe I am too sensitive. Or maybe… just maybe… his words are being “misinterpreted” (to put it kindly)… and if they’re being “misinterpreted” so often… maybe he’s just not as articulate and concise as he thinks he is.

Or maybe he hasn’t figured out that those are sentiments and implications that I … JUST… DON’T… CARE…TO… HEAR. Under ANY circumstances.

Or he doesn’t care.

You’d think that if you know something upsets someone you’re supposed to be close to… you’d be savvy enough to NOT do it or say it.

Yet when he asks, "What's the problem?"... I *can't* explain it. Because its the kind of thing that if you can't figure it out... explaining doesn't do any good.

He sees it as me just pulling away from the family again. I see it as another reason to not like him. I’ve never felt so far away from my “immediate family”. We were closer when I was 4,000 miles away.

So is this an exploration of my own self-esteem… or of my contempt for immediate family? *shrug* Maybe a little of both. Ultimately, I can only take responsibility for myself… so while I may be able to see the beginnings and sources of my hang-ups… throwing blame won’t do any good. What’s done is done. The family doesn’t seem to care to change… and I’m tired of changing to accommodate their NOT changing.

I think one day… I will find working-out to be fun again. I know I’m going through a rough time… and have been for awhile… but I still remain hopeful for myself. Hopeful that I’ll find happiness on MY terms. Because I’m NOT A-hole 3. I’m just me.

Maybe this “wedge” between me and my family will one day be completely cleared away. Maybe not. I lament the fact that I’m not closer to them… and I’ve tried. I’ve tried to be “not so sensitive”… and it doesn’t work. What that means for the future… for my future family and children… I don’t know.

I can only ever come halfway.