Thursday, November 17, 2016

Naughty or Nice

Before bestowing the bounty of toys on Christmas Eve, that's Santa's litmus test. Have you been naughty or nice? He really doesn't give a shit if you have deep, passionate feelings about certain things, attachments that you're willing to fight for, or an outrageously tight and innate sense of justice. He just wants to know if you've been naughty or nice.

When you think about it, it makes sense. He doesn't have time to check on all the little nuances that make each child a worthy and wonderful little person.

But Santa is for suckers. There's no way that one old, fat dude can get all that crap to all those kids. I'm just sayin'.

We, however, are not suckers. We are individuals who must deal with each other as other individuals. Naughty or nice. Or in the parlance of today's political realm, nasty or nice.

A friend recently wrote on her Facebook wall that someone accused her of being not nice. Later, she said the other person thought she was nasty.  Is that all? Is that the litmus test for friends? Nasty or Nice.

Personally, I find both superficial and boring.

"Oh, she's real nice."

It makes my skin crawl to hear people describe others this way. (Partly because, obviously, I'm nasty and partly because "real" is not an adverb)

Nice.

Nice? What the hell does that even mean? She's giving and loving, or she always has a big smile and always agrees with me.  I suspect it's more of the latter these days, but either way, when used as the primary descriptor, nice is a synonym for doormat to me.

As for nasty, I think that people don't like to be contradicted. About anything. Nasty is usually reserved for those who are not only opinionated, but also get a little heated when stating those opinions.

You can reject my connotation of nice, but I adamantly reject the connotation of nasty. Nasty should be reserved for people who try to rile up others but really have no concern about the matter at hand. For those who snipe, mumble rather than speak their differences. For those who are uninterested in discourse unless they are guaranteed to get the last word.

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

Living Large

Last night I went with a friend to see the National Theatre's movie presentation of Hamlet starring Benedict Cumberbatch as the tortured Dane. I was so proud of myself for agreeing to go out on a weeknight and see a movie of a Shakespearean play that I didn't think my night could get any better.


It did. 

There was a bar at the theatre! 

It's not that I would in any way need a bar to sit through four hours of Shakespeare. No! It's just that it was such an unexpected delight. It's almost like I hadn't been to the movies since they invented the reclining seats. But, I digress. 

Not only did the theatre have a bar, but there was "real" food.  (By "real" food in this context I mean anything not made by Mars, Incorporated or deep fried.)  As it was the Ides (of November, so not really), I ordered the Caesar chicken salad wrap. After many, many minutes and missing the beginning of the Cumberbatch mini-interview, I got my food and settled into my recliner to watch. Wrapped up in the witty words, I then proceeded to dip my down vest into the dripped Caesar dressing. After a while, despite their elevation, my feet started to swell because of the salty food and I thought I was going to have to strip naked because of the heat in the auditorium. 

Other than that, and being completely appreciative that my friend drove in the rainy dark, I am totally killin' it with my sassy, devil-may-care, I-can-stay-out-past-10-on-a-weeknight attitude! 



Regarding the play, not only was Mr. Cumberbatch a wonderfully physical Hamlet, but Claudius was none other than Ciaran Hinds! (I love him!) While some of the smaller parts were not as well inhabited (I could not really understand Horatio and his was not a small role), the massive and creative staging contributed perfectly to the somber mood and big drama.  

I'd do it again.
On a weekend.
Minus the Caesar salad.