On being nice.

I don’t like to surround myself with assholes. But sometimes they find their way into my life.

I always say that it’s not that hard to be nice. Here’s what I mean…

To me, being nice is an immediate reaction. It’s as simple as smiling back at someone, or even just biting your tongue when you really want to harm someone. It’s that split second right before you’re about to use hurtful words. That moment when you stop yourself and ask if it’s worth it. Is it really worth losing your character for a temporary sting towards someone who probably doesn’t really matter at the end of the day? Or should you just be nice?

Over the past few weeks, several people attempted to attack me, or my friends, because of opinion pieces that I wrote or shared. I thought that they were quite universal – men shouldn’t assault women, cops shouldn’t shoot black teenagers and comedians shouldn’t put on overly offensive sets talking about how they want to physically hurt women. Apparently these stances aren’t universal.

I was called a sexist, a bitch and an idiot. People told me that I was uneducated, overly sensitive and naive. As a victim of sexual assault, I was told that I didn’t understand sexual assault and as a comedian, I was told that I didn’t understand comedy. I was told that I had no right to speak from the point of view of a woman (uh, I have a vagina. What other point of view should I use…?) and that I was a racist (against my own race…?) who hated cops. I was even told to stop shoving food in my face and get on a treadmill by someone who I’ve never met (because the fact that I eat inevitably equates to… wait, what?)

I wish I could tell you that I read these comments and immediately brushed them off. But if I’m anything, I’m honest. And I’ll be honest – they hurt. Within ten minutes of reading a comment targeting my physical appearance, I was in the bathroom staring at the mirror… completely self-conscious about my looks. At lunch, I didn’t put feta on my quinoa because I realized that I needed to be more serious about my already pretty serious diet (and guys, lets be honest …I really deserved that feta today). After seeing that people were defending the comedian that I disagreed with, I started to doubt whether or not I wanted to stay in comedy. Maybe I didn’t understand it… maybe I was being too sensitive… maybe I’m just not cut out for it. After being called a sexist, I wanted to call up every man in my life that I love to make sure that they know that I’m not sexist. I wanted to tell any boy that I’m even slightly attracted to that he shouldn’t worry! I LOVE MEN! DON’T HATE ME!

So, yeah… I’m human. I still have emotions.

More than anything, I wanted to strike back. I wanted to spit in their face and insult them right back. Call them stupid or sexist or racist. Shove all the good that I have in life right into their face, and say “SEE! LOOK AT EVERYTHING I HAVE GOING FOR ME!!! WHAT DO YOU HAVE, FUCKER?!” Share posts from my blog where I talk about my emotions and vulnerability to show them that I’m a fucking human being.

But I let my own words echo in my head – it’s not that hard to be nice. It’s not that hard to be nice. Ironically, before any of this went down, I posted that phrase on my Facebook just in response to everyone having such heated debates over the horrid state of the world these days. I had no idea how much it would help me later on.

I waited before responding… really thought out what I wanted my message to be. Words from my grandma echoed through my ears – “Never put anything in writing that could potentially be used as evidence against your character”. I use that in regards to speech as well. At the end of the day, no one should be relieved when I die (I know, super bright thought. Whatever keeps me grounded, right?)

Instead of spitting out my gym regime to someone who made a fat joke, I told her that she’s right… I hate running. Good joke, you really figured me out. I’d much rather write than run… I’d much rather make people laugh and feel good than hurt them. Then I left her with some advice from my post – don’t be that person using comedy to hurt someone. You could be so much funnier than that.

So, here’s how to be nice… take a step back and simply remind yourself to be nice. Yes, it is really that easy. Consider the source – does the person who is trying to hurt you really matter in the long run? Am I going to let some random person from the internet insult my worth as a comedian instead of listening to the dozens of others in the comedy world who encourage me? No. Instead I’ll just be nice.

Only thirty minutes after saying my piece, I leveled out. I realized that I didn’t give a flying fuck what some random person thought of me. I was no longer angry or defensive or insulted. And because I didn’t write anything back that attacked anyone, I didn’t regret a single word I said.

Being nice is biting your tongue when you would much rather punch someone in the face.

Being kind, on the other hand, is a lifestyle. More on that to come…

He should be the one on stage

Today was my dad’s birthday. It’s the 9th one without him and I have to say it’s the toughest one yet. In November, it will be ten years since he passed away. Each year brings something different… this year is no exception. What people don’t understand is that the days get easier and you can find true happiness after loss, but deep down it always hurts. Every success has this bittersweet feeling to it because you can’t share it with them.

Why was this year harder than any other year? He would have fucking loved that I’m fully immersed in the Chicago comedy scene. My dad worshiped the comedians that the Second City cranked out. Every time I step foot in that building I miss him. Some days are tougher than others. This year when I had the incredible opportunity to meet Aykroyd and Belushi, it killed me that I couldn’t talk to him about it. He was who introduced these people to me… I grew up watching Coneheads and learned to play harmonica at a young age to compliment the Blues Brothers impression he taught me. My dad was, hands down, the funniest person I’ll ever meet in this lifetime. I feel guilty… like he should be the one on stage. He even had his own set of self-proclaimed “Three Amigos”:

A few months before my dad’s accident, he came and saw me in my first “real” show (that wasn’t held in my living room or elementary school cafeteria). It was a musical review that wrapped up a summer camp I went to in Newtown, CT… I pretty much just smiled, sang and did some choreography in the back all while trying not to pass out or puke. My first “big” show was the last one he would see. At the end of the show, he gave me some flowers with a card that simply said, “I feel like this is the beginning of a great career.”

It wasn’t until this year that those words really sank in. He chose the word career… not hobby, activity or pastime… career.

My dad understood following dreams. When he graduated high school, instead of going to college, he joined a minor league football team and was eventually drafted by the NFL. He worked hard and followed his passion. He paid his dues, took criticism from his coaches, applied corrections and didn’t once apologize for wanting to achieve his dream. So many people told him that he was foolish… but he did it.

Even though I have so many people in Chicago supporting me, I feel like there’s always going to be this void in my life. I was lucky to have parents who cultivated my creativity and allowed me to chase my dreams. I wish so much that my dad was still here to support me in this endeavor. I know that he would have been extremely supportive and excited for what each new milestone brought.

We shared comedy… we both understood it. We both had this insatiable desire to make other people laugh… to allow them to forget about all the bad in this world… all of their troubles and hardship for just a second. We were a duo… he would set me up and I’d go in for the kill. He used that word – career.

It’s hard to admit that I want this to be a career because other people aren’t as supportive. I don’t care in what capacity… I could be performing, directing, teaching or running the PR… shit, if someone offers me a fair wage to mop the floors, I’ll do it. I just want to be able to make a living off of it, to be surrounded by a creative and positive atmosphere. To make a living out of making people happy. A lot of people tell me to be realistic – which I am. I understand it’s tough and it will break your heart and there’s so much competition. I get it. I hear you. I just want someone to tell me what he did… that I’m in the beginning stages of what will be a great career. Someone I could go to and talk about wanting to make a career out of comedy without feeling the need to apologize for it. My dad would have been that person and it kills me that he can’t be.

But alas, if there’s one thing that I learned in the past ten years it’s that there’s nothing I can do about it. He’s never coming back. He’s gone. There’s no use in living in the past. So what do I do? I think of him often. I imagine what he would tell me. I think of the hard work, rejection and perseverance that he saw down his road to the NFL.

My dad was a wonderful man. Everyone loved him… and I mean everyone. He didn’t have enemies and his services were flooded with friends who were heartbroken by his loss. Think of that… no enemies. No one to talk poorly about your character at your services. Are you living a life like that?

While reading The Chris Farley Show, I came across a passage that was so closely related to my father, it took my breath away. I had to reread it over and over again to make sure that I was reading it correctly. I was allowed a brief second to relive the memory of my father. It read:

“There were times, for instance, when Chris and I’d be on the highway, going through a tollbooth. He’d do a bit in front of the tollbooth talker, and it’d make the guy laugh. [Let me note that my dad did the same exact thing at tollbooths] At first you were kinda like, oh, that was a little weird. But on the other hand it was like, you know, he just made that guy’s day. That guy’s gonna go home and tell his wife, ‘Yeah, this big guy came through in a car today and did this thing with the steering wheel…’ One of the cool things about Chris, and one of the noble things about Chris, is that if he made somebody’s day better, he could ease the pain and sadness in the world just a bit, that was why he felt he was here.”

I have big shoes to fill. I’m up for the challenge.