#oneaday, Day 231: You Look Nice

Perhaps this is a “classic British reserve” thing. Or perhaps it’s just me. Either way, it’s weird.

Paying someone a compliment is difficult. It shouldn’t be. Because saying something nice about someone which is something which should get a universally positive response. Compliment someone’s choice of clothing and you are, by extension, complimenting their taste, their eye for choosing things that suit them and possibly even their financial situation. Compliment someone’s hairstyle and again, you’re paying them attention, giving them reassurance that the choices they made were the right ones and that yes, it looks good. Compliment something that someone’s done and they should be happy that they did a good job not only in their own eyes, but in other people’s, too.

So why is it so difficult to do sometimes? I think the picture above may have something to do with it. At least, within that strange and muddled place called my brain. Perhaps other people think this too. Or perhaps I’m just the freak here and should start being nicer to others!

It’s assumptions. Thoughts about what might happen next. What the result of said compliment might be. If I pay an attractive girl a compliment, is she going to immediately assume I fancy her and thus be put off talking to me ever again in case I try any sort of lecherous advances? If I pay a guy a compliment, is it a bit gay? Is he going to want to punch me in the face for being a “fahkin’ queer”?

Of course, most of these are moot points since I don’t exactly make a point of talking to strangers at the best of times. And if a stranger talks to me in the street, it’s usually to either 1) ask directions (it’s that way), 2) ask for a light (I don’t smoke) or 3) do this (fuck you).

But still. I feel the world would be a much nicer place if people felt that they could be at least civil to one another. As it is, here in Southampton, there’s a fairly constant air of insularity and borderline aggression at times. Perhaps it’s the nature of the populace here and if you went somewhere else it would be completely different.

In fact, I know that’s the case. After point 3) above happened to me once again the other day, I tweeted about it and several other people chipped in with their experiences. Some towns are definitely more prone to it than others. And it doesn’t appear to happen in the US anywhere near as much as it does here.

So why should that be? We British are supposed to be renowned for our reserve, politeness and general meekness. At what point did it become all right to insult people, and not all right to pay someone a compliment?

Perhaps I’m overthinking this.

I like your shirt/necklace/hair/tits.

#oneaday, Day 164: Healing The Mind, And Flying Spiders

Sometimes, whatever else is going on in your mind, it’s good to sit down with a friend and talk things over. Even if you’re not a big “talker” for the most part, there’s bound to be at least someone out there that you can open up to. Some lucky people can open up to pretty much anyone. Though that often leads to the whole “too much information” problem I alluded to some time back, when a former music performance partner decided to announce at the dinner table to my then-housemate whom she had never met before that day that she was suffering from considerable vaginal dryness and was there anything she could do about it as it was a little concerning?

No. Talking with someone you respect and trust is always good. So that’s what a friend (who shall remain nameless to spare her blushes) and I did today. We spent most of the day (well, afternoon) sitting and chatting over various beverages and sandwiches, starting with an enormous caramel latte (which my companion added at least three sugars to just for that “extra kick”, making a smiley face from the sugar and then stabbing it in the eyes because it “didn’t deserve to be happy”) and eventually moving on, having harassed our AV salesman mutual buddy at his place of work, to a large pitcher of delicious, summery, fruity cocktail atop the roof of Vodka Revolution.

We also saw a flying spider. This little dude, whom we christened Harold, had been attempting to crawl up the side of our pitcher in an attempt to get at the cocktaily goodness within, but was failing miserably. By about the fourth or fifth time he’d slipped down the side of the pitcher, he was obviously ready to give up. So imagine our surprise when he floated off the side of the pitcher and then whistled past my head at high speed.

We both blinked and looked at each other.

“That just happened, didn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“That spider just flew.”

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck?”

“I have no idea.”

There’s probably a perfectly rational explanation for it. Harold was only a tiny money spider after all, so it’s entirely possible he was just blown away by a passing breeze. Or perhaps there was a thread leading far away that we couldn’t see. But it’s a much nicer story to think that Harold was the one spider in the world who had learned to fly. I don’t normally like spiders, but I have plenty of time for a tiny little one that has learned to fly.

Anyway.

The day was technically completely non-productive, but after a few days of feeling something of a decline in my mood, it was exactly what I needed. I wouldn’t dream of speaking for my companion, but I certainly hope it helped her too. By the time both of us went our separate ways at the end of the afternoon, both of us had pleasant smiles on our faces; something which neither of us were sporting when we met up with each other around lunchtime.

So if you’re feeling low, take a day out. Call up a friend, perhaps one you haven’t seen for a while. Meet up. Drink coffee, beer, cocktails, whatever. Sit in the sun. Chew the fat. Set the world to rights. And you’ll find that things will feel much better. For a while, at least. And sometimes, that little perk-up is all you need to keep going a little while longer.

So a hearty thanks to my companion for a lovely day.

#oneaday, Day 98: Have You Heard…

It’s always a pleasure to find something entertaining and new to enjoy. A little while back, I discovered Kevin Smith‘s podcast, or SModcast as he calls it. I’d been following Smith on Twitter for some time. He tweets a lot, and the fact that he makes all his replies public irritates some people, but I’ve always found him extremely entertaining. He’s not afraid to speak his mind, at least, not on the Internet, as he claims he’d be a “pussy” in real life. I can identify with that. I speak my mind on the Internet too, but I sometimes find it difficult to do so face-to-face.

His podcast is such an entertaining listen because it has almost nothing in the way of structure. It’s a simple case of him and at least one other person sitting down and chewing the fat (no pun intended) about something or other, usually something that’s happened that week either in the news, or to the people involved personally. The talk is always spattered with absolute filth (even more so since his sponsorship deal with male sex toy maker Fleshlight) but it never seems to degenerate into total nonsense, despite Smith’s love of sparking up a doobie in mid-recording. There’s always a point, however much they may get off it throughout the course of their discussions.

The thing I love the most about the SModcast, though, is that it’s like sitting down with Smith and Mosier (or whoever is sitting in for him) and enjoying a thoroughly silly chat with them. You know, the sort of chats you have with your friends late at night when the drinks have been flowing and the “party” atmosphere has died down a bit. The kind of conversation that usually starts with “You know, I found out the weirdest thing today…” and generally meanders throughout diverse topics, including complete nonsense, without really settling anywhere for some time. The kind of conversation that easily falls into fits of the giggles. And Smith often gets the giggles, big time. I think I enjoy his giggle fits more because his laugh reminds me a lot of an old friend from school that I unfortunately haven’t seen for a long time now.

SModcast breaks every rule about what should be a “good” podcast, except for the “you should be regular” one. Smith and his team make sure there’s something for fans to listen to regularly. Each one may be completely different in terms of subject matter (but it’s a fair bet that there will be at least some mention of jerking off or anal sex in there) but they’re always entertaining. And they’re not always filthy, too. A couple of episodes a month or two back involved Smith talking to his mother and reminiscing about the “good old days”. Smith isn’t afraid to be a pottymouth in front of his mother, but the stories they told, despite their relative mundanity, were extremely compelling and interesting. Smith is nothing if not a good storyteller.

So if you want something interesting to listen to in the car or at the gym and don’t mind a bit of filth creeping in here and there (yeah… it’s totally not for kids) then you could certainly do far worse than show a fat man some support. Head over to SModcast.com and have a listen.