2011 Top Ten “Not That Special” Moments

In case you missed it on Frontpsych.com, Nothing Special’s Top Ten most decidedly Unspecial moments of 2011.

These are the moments in which, whether it be Governor, Kardashian, or small European country,  some entity entered 2011 feeling pretty darn special, and left with the simple thought, “Oops, I stink.”  Because of some change of circumstance, running out of luck, mental lapse, righting of the market, intrinsic character flaw, or other working of destiny, these previously high-flying Special sorts were made to taste the meanness and ordinariness of existence.  Does it feel good to laugh a bit at them?  Of course.  Does it bring about a small feeling of Karmic justice?  How could it not.  But lest Schadenfreude get the better of us, let’s also remember that we at Nothing Special, at one time or another, suffered from the realization of massive failure.  Let’s look at the suffering of these 10 as an opportunity for them, and us, to be liberated from the quest for greatness: of always having to be the best Governor, the most debt-free country, or the perfect congressman who never tweets himself naked.

Let us applaud these people for helping to remind us how freeing it could be to admit that we’re human.  We spent plenty of our childhood years trying to be the best.  2011 was a year to renew our quest to be average.  Not special, not touched, just ourselves: pathetic, forgetful, broke, damaged, huddled naked mole rats.  And that’s on our good days.  Here’s to the 10 most Unspecial people of 2011.  The curtain is down—they now know they are thoroughly mediocre.  Let’s hope the same for ourselves in the coming year!

Happy New Year’s to all of our readers and many UnSpecial tomorrows!

10.  Arnold Szwarzzeneger:  I may not be back.
May 2011

One minute you’re a box office star/governor of the most populous state in the country, the next you’re tossed-out of office as a budget-busting politician, and your home for a Clintonesque affair with the live-in maid.  This reversal of fortune would have been enough by itself to land him a spot on the NTS top ten.  But there’s more.  2011 was also the year this video began to go viral.  It’s a brilliantly compiled montage of Arnold’s comments for the “Total Recall” DVD special features segment.  You’ll notice that rather than add any actual insight to anything we’re seeing, Gubernator, like Beavis, decides to just narrate exactly what’s happening on the screen.

9.  Rick Perry: “Oops”
November 2011

While it would be easy to just have a good guffaw over Rick Perry’s Oops moment, and of course we all did, we at Nothing Special are also fascinated by the psychology of these public “blanks.”  For those who don’t remember, during the CNBC Republican Presidential Debate, Perry, when attempting to list the three Federal agencies he would eliminate as President, named the Department of Commerce, Education, and then completely, utterly blanked on the third.  So much so that, after turning down Romney’s generous suggestion of the EPA, he was left, naked and helpless before us, to form only the one simple word he remembered from childhood: “Oops.”  How could we not feel sorry for him?  And why do we feel sorry for him?  Because as smart as we like to feel by laughing at him, we know that this could be us.  Perform this simple test on yourself.  In the next 15 seconds, name the five other federal agencies.  Go!  Did you do it?  Now try this.  In the next 15 seconds, name 5 presidents from before 1900 who are not on Mt. Rushmore?  Did a vast wasteland of nothingness pop into your mind?  Or maybe racing thoughts of how badly you’re doing?  Now imagine having to answer these in front of an audience of 5 million people.  From Jan Brewer, to Herman Cain, to Governor Perry, we love jumping on these public blanks and pointing out how stupid the blankers are.  But are the panicked lapses really indicators of low intelligence?  Or are they examples of times when the mind says “Don’t screw up, don’t screw up, don’t screw up!” so loudly, that we screw up.  Is this something unique to politicians, or could this happen to any of us at any time?

8.  Kim Kardashian:  “Love can’t be produced like T.V.?”
November 2011

This story has been so overly reported there’s not much we can add, other than to say that at Nothing Special, we don’t believe that this 72-day-marriage was a sham from the beginning.  We believe, rather, it was an example, albeit a spectacular one, of how easy it is to confuse the excitement of “falling in Love” with the work it takes to “be in Love.”  Everything we Special people were raised on, from movies like “Mannequin,” “Can’t Buy Me Love,“ and most notably “The Princess Bride,” to later love competitions like “The Bachelor,” and “The Bachelorette,” taught us that we “fall” in love, helpless to resist its overwhelming powers.  Kim is part of our generation.  We think love enters with a boom and continues to make us want to move mountains daily, rather than work at a relationship that includes burps, farts, warts and, at times—the sheer terror of it—boredom!  It might behoove Kim to look to Erich Fromm for more realistic expectations.  In The Art of Loving, Fromm choses the term “Standing” in love rather than “Falling” in love.

We don’t get to be the Dread Pirate Roberts, fall for a beautiful farm girl, die for her, get brought back by Miracle Max’s pill for her, and finally ride off with her into the sunset while Peter Faulk and Fred Savage gurgle and coo.  Yes it’s fun at the beginning, but we then have to “stand” in love.  Falling in love only lasts for, well, around seventy-two days.

7.  Oh Sh$%#@, the Republicans are coming!
January, 2011

87 Freshman GOP members are sworn in on the Capitol Steps after a rout in the 2010 election midterm election.  If this wasn’t a reminder that just because we got a progressive in the Oval Office, we’re still not that Special, we don’t know what is.  In 2008, a collective sigh went out among progressives around the country.  Every Deaniac, Wellstone-loving, Truman and FDR-quoting one of us at last let ourselves collapse into the post-election easy chair of complacency.  Now the trend is set for decades, we thought.  Now all of the Rovian groundwork that was laid in local elections, redistricting and wedge-issue-referendum launching that had put a cold grip on our hearts for the past eight years was put to rest.  The country was safe.  Obama would bridge the divide.  The nation would heal.  We had, as a friend said to me, “gotten our USA back.”  Then this happened, and we realized, it’s never that easy.  After a year in which simple debates have been turned into threatened shutdowns and an unseen puppeteer has held more power than all of these Representatives put together, one thing is certain for the 2012 election.  Nothing is being taken for granted.  We are not Special.

6.  Chelsea Clinton:  I didn’t hit a home run on my Rock Center debut.
December 2011

If anyone was rooting for Chelsea, it was we at Nothing Special.  Like her, we were raised with large expectations.  We went to a great private school in DC, a wonderful college and had all the world looking at us as the first daughter—a genetic combination of two of the most intelligent people on the planet  (OK, that last part was just Chelsea).  So when we heard that Chelsea was a little tired of her corporate career, and had decided to report on do-gooder people for Brian Williams’ show (http://rockcenter.msnbc.msn.com/), it was almost as if we ourselves were making our debut with her.  And when the media panned Chelsea, calling her slightly underwhelming and not exactly electrifying, it was as if we ourselves got panned.  But all this really means is that Chelsea, like the rest of us, is human, is finding her way, is not her parents, is normal, is unSpecial.  And tis better to be panned than praised—ask anyone here at Nothing Special!  Chelsea will have her ups and downs, just like the rest of us.  And hey, she has good paying job, nu?

5.  NFL 2007 Number One Draft Pick JaMarcus Russell:  Hey, you’re my life coach!
April, 2011

This may have not been the biggest sports headline of 2011—not Derek Jeter’s home-run-sealing entrance into the 3000^th hit club, or Clemens’ perjury mistrial, but it was surely the dearest to our heart at Nothing Special.  Former number one draft pick JaMarcus Russell, still teamless after being dumped spectacularly by the Raiders in 2007 (he’s been accused of being lazy, falling out of shape, and imbibing codeine via “purple drank”) decided to turn things around this year.  So he hired life coach and former NBA player, John Lucas.  Now whether Lucas, whom this editor remembers from the Washington Bullets solely for being “that guy with the drug problem” is the best-suited coach for Russell, is another story.  The main point is that Lucas fired Russell for not having a strong enough work ethic.   To us this is like getting tossed out of cooking class for burning the chicken.  That’s why I was taking the cooking class, man!  Anyways, if being fired by your life coach doesn’t give one that “Not so Special” feeling, then we’re not sure what will.  May 2012 be the year JaMarcus Russell finds a life coach that won’t run out on him!

4.  Zynga:  Buying the FarmVille
December, 2011

Hot off the presses, on Dec. 16th, Zynga realized its Unspecialness in a very public fashion—an initially public fashion.  The day it went public, the company, which makes money by selling virtual bartering goods for its Apps (mostly via Facebook, where it does 95% of its business) lost its investors an immediate 5% on their investment, or a total of $50 million.  Ouch.  Investors seem to be worried that Zynga relies too much on the Facebook and gives too much power to its CEO, Marc Pincus.  We’re no experts, and we can proudly say that we utterly loathe reading any Facebook posts that even mention FarmVille or CityVille, but we certainly can spot a Not that Special moment when we see one.  Mr. Pincus, you lost your investors $50 million dollars on a day that was supposed to be your shining hour.  Congratulations!  You flopped!

3.  Nothing Special Editor:  “I have few life skills.  I think I’ll blog.”
September 2011

It’s a brisk fall morning.  This humble editor is on his way to the bank, pockets filled with change that he plans to exchange for bills.  At the bank he receives those brown paper rolls with which he must hand roll the change in order to procure the $23.54 cents to which he, by the law of full faith and credit of the United States, is entitled.  Despite every other alarm bell that should be going off that this is his current plan for raising cash, all he can focus on is how much trouble he’s having adding the change, and whether this indicates a huge falling off of basic math skills that seemed so promising in third grade (where he was taught borrowing in a small group of four select students). Out of this shocking realization, the blog “Nothing Special” is formed—a place where all formerly-great people whose actual paths have been more modest than their predestined ones—could converge and share in one common realization:  We’re not that Special.

2.  Greece: “Hey.  Didn’t we build the Parthenon?”
October 2011 and throughout

A deal is reached whereby European banks will take a 50% hit on the debt they’re owed by Greece.  Barely passing Parliament in Greece, this deal is hardly a cure all.  If successful, it will bring Greek debt down to 120% of GDP by 2020.  Talk about low standards!  Now the problem here is of course not just that Greece did terrible budget keeping and is now broke—it’s the fact that they have to go to France and Germany to bail them out.  Greece was inventing Democracy and the golden ratio centuries before France and Germany were a glimmer in the eye of Caesar!  This is like being broke and unable to hold onto a job, then having to go to your younger brother for rent payments.  For this reason, we give Greece place number two spot on the NTS scale.

And the number one Not that Special moment of 2011…drumroll please!!!

1.  Anthony Weiner:  “Love me!  Love me!  All women I have met.  Love me?”
June 2011

If we ever needed a moment to confirm to ourselves that sometimes highly “successful” people have bottled up all of their failures, fears, the need for love and for sexual praise, and that these needs, like anything trapped too tight in a bottle, must, at some point, blow the top off and make a big mess, it was six-term Congressman Anthony Weiner tearfully confessing to Bill Clinton his sexting improprieties.  We at Nothing Special, admiring Weiner for the progressive battles he fought (for example, his defense here of the public option in healthcare) take no joy in his downfall.  We only hope that he gets the help he needs.  Specifically, this means realizing he won’t find self-esteem by sending nudie photos of himself to every campaign cutie.  In the end, he’s just an aging guy with a lovely wife and that’s OK.  He’s not that Special, and that’s a good thing to embrace.

The Tiny Line between Greatness and Failure

The Duke Fightmaster Show...where lies madness?

Everyone likes to drop into conversation the story they just heard on “This American Life” that relates to the topic at hand, so why shouldn’t we?  At Nothing Special, we were particularly moved by this story  about Duke Fightmaster, a former credit card debt counselor who decides, on a whim, to try to be the one chosen to replace Conan O’Brien when O’Brien was moved into Jay Leno’s spot (a move which, incidentally, was a big “Not that Special” moment for NBC).  Duke does this by starting, from his bedroom, a talk show using his best friend as sidekick, his wife as guest, 2 neighbors as audience, and another shaky-handed friend as camera crew.

Duke Fightmaster’s tale is part of a “This American Life” segment called “Last Man Standing.”  His story follows one about the lone juror who refused to convict Governor Rod Blagojevich, during his first trial, of trying to sell Obama’s Senate Seat.  (Think “12 Angry Men” with a nice Illinois Grandma in Henry Fonda’s role).  As interesting as that story was, Duke’s was the one that really sizzled.  We loved it because it appears, at first, to be another cautionary tale of obsession–a man throws away everything he seems to have–his job, his good credit, a house in San Francisco, his relationship with his wife and time with his kids–as he sinks further and further into the rabbit hole of his dreams.  When the talk show gains some traction, a youtube following in the thousands and a spot in the papers, this provides the dangling carrot that keeps Duke going.  Even as it drains him of everything, he keeps holding out for that break.  Duke himself compares his passion  to alcoholism–something he would go do each night, then come home and try to kiss his kids goodnight, promising they’d go to Disneyland the next day, and then heading right back the next day, barely remembering his promise from the night before.

But give it a close listen.  Imagine Duke pursuing this dream with a single focus every day: gathering volunteers, constructing the set at the local Veteran’s Hall, employing monologue writers.  Is this a destructive obsession, or the only way someone can ever really pursue a long-shot goal–with blinders on, mono-focused, unflinching.  How close was Duke from the tipping point?  Could one more viewer have gotten him a spot on a local cable show?  Could one promoter have taken his show to the next level?  Is that part of the drug…the insanity,  or just good old-fashioned elbow grease?  What’s fascinating about this story is how we want to shake a finger and say, “Shame on you for jeopardizing everything for vanity, for trying to be Special,” but how, at the same time, we can so easily see ourselves in the same position.  Why shouldn’t we sacrifice everything for something we believe could change the world?  The line between Insanity and Artistic Pursuit, in other words, may be as thin as the layer of foam on Captain Ahab’s lip, or as blurry as the camerawork on the Duke Fightmaster show.

Duke and Damien Riley on the Duke Fightmaster Show

Our Top Ten List Live Today on FrontPsych.com

Ouch, what a year!

FOOS, we went live today on Frontier Psychiatrist.  Click over there to check out, or you can wait until the weekend for us to publish in full here.  For now, here’s number 10.  Imagine, there are 9 moments less Special than this one for the Gubernator!

10.  Arnold Szwarzzeneger:  I may not be back.
May 2011

One minute you’re a box office star/governor of the most populous state in the country, the next you’re tossed-out of office as a budget-busting politician, and your home for a Clintonesque affair with the live-in maid.  This reversal of fortune would have been enough by itself to land him a spot on the NTS top ten.  But there’s more.  2011 was also the year this video began to go viral.  It’s a brilliantly compiled montage of Arnold’s comments for the “Total Recall” DVD special features segment.  You’ll notice that rather than add any actual insight to anything we’re seeing, the Gubernator, like Beavis, decides to just narrate exactly what’s happening on the screen.

The Top Ten List You were Afraid was Coming–get ready

In a mere Four Days, we will be publishing the one list you knew was coming yet don’t quite know if you’re ready for, the Top Ten “Oops, I’m not that Special” moments of 2011.  And why shouldn’t we feel a little ambivalent.  These people (and one country), who have all been struck by the OINTS revelation in 2011, are easily skewered, mocked, and Schadenfreuded.  And yes, we will provide plenty of that.  But they are also us.  2011 was the year we came to this same shocking conclusion, and we began our own quest to be average; not special, not touched, just ourselves: pathetic, forgetful, huddled naked mole rats.  And that’s on our good days.

Here’s a teaser from the list, a moment that literally says “Oops.”  Where do you think it should fall on the scale, with 1 being the top?  We want to hear from you.  Are there any “Not that Special” moments that you demand to see on this list?  As we fine tune it in the days before Thursday, we look to our Unspecial readers to help cull the greatest worst moments of the year,

Don’t be shy to let us know, and stay tuned for Thursday.  Happy Holidays, and remember that it’s never too late to feel less Special!

Rick Perry: “Oops”
November 2011

While it would be easy to just have a good guffaw over Rick Perry’s Oops moment, we at Nothing Special are also fascinated by the psychology of these public “blanks.”  For those who don’t remember, during the CNBC Republican Presidential Debate, Perry, when attempting to list the three Federal agencies he would eliminate as President, named the Department of Commerce, Education, and then completely, utterly blanked on the third.  So much so that, after turning down Romney’s generous suggestion of the EPA, he was left, naked and helpless before us, to form only the one simple word he remembered from childhood: “Oops.”  How could we not feel sorry for him?  And why do we feel sorry for him?  Because as smart as we like to feel by laughing at him, we know that this could be us.  Perform this simple test on yourself.  In the next 15 seconds, name the five other federal agencies.  Go!  Did you do it?  Oh, so you think you’re special?  Try this.  In the next 15 seconds, name 5 presidents from before 1900 who are not on Mt. Rushmore?  Did a vast wasteland of nothingness pop into your mind?  Or maybe racing thoughts of how badly you’re doing?  Now imagine having to answer these in front of an audience of 5 million people.  From Governor Jan Brewer, to Godfather Herman Cain, to Governor Perry, we love jumping on these public blanks and pointing out how stupid the blankers are.  But are the panicked lapses really indicators of low intelligence?  Or are they examples of times when the mind says “Don’t screw up, don’t screw up, don’t screw up!” so loudly, that we screw up.  Is this something unique to politicians, or could this happen to any of us at any time?

Having fun is hard work

Is Tywin having fun?

I was thinking just the other day of what a difficult job having fun can be.  Special people don’t necessarily look to have fun.  They often look to either i) better themselves in relationship to others, particularly while others are out having fun (example: stay home on Friday night and read Shakespeare), ii) generally become more impressive to others (example: sit on subway showing others that you’re reading Shakespeare), or iii) remind themselves of times in their youth when they felt like they were true standouts (sit on subway daydreaming about past glories while showing everyone that we’re reading Shakespeare).  Man, we read a lot of Shakespeare!  But is this really fun?  Well it can be, but not always.  What are some of the ways, I asked myself, that are left for Special people to have fun?

1)  One thought was to read a so-called Shlocky book.  Let’s take “Game of Thrones.”  That could be fun, right?  The twisted tale of court intrigue, treason, bloodlines and blood lust.  HBO made a show out of it–it has to be a little bit juicy, yes?  Well it is juicy.  But it’s also extremely confusing.  This special person has searched the same name, “Tywin,” about fifteen times on his old kindle, trying to figure out who this little medieval son-of-a-gun is, which houses he’s now aligned with, whom he’s trying to kill, and with whom he fought during the great war of the Usurper king.  With this many characters and this much confusion, me thinks, I should be reading Shakespeare!

2)  Second thought:  Sports!  Sports are fun, yes?  They are, they really are.  But Special people get hyper-competitive when they play sports.  And when you’re hyper-competitive while playing kids at the YMCA who are younger, faster, and better than you, this doesn’t lead to fun.  Solution?  Organize a basketball game of people closer to your age and skill level.  Good suggestion.  Only what happens then if you still find that you are getting outshot, outhustled, and outplayed?  Your whole line about everyone being younger, faster, better than you is gone, and you’re left feeling totally unSpecial, which is just not fun for a special person.  Scratch sports.

Now I know where you think this is headed—Special people can’t have fun.  Oh woe is us.  Or perhaps, a desperate plea for fan mail about what is left that is actually, truly, uninhibitedly fun in this world.  And, well, yes, I would love to hear about those things.

However, I do have one such thing!  It goes by the name of Wall Street Bath and Spa.  This is a place of magic, and, well, fun.  There is nothing to fail at, nothing to lose at, nothing to feel like you’re unqualified for, no one to impress and no royal hereditary lines to forget.  After all, everyone can get hot steam blasted on them.  Everyone can walk around in a bathrobe ($5 extra but definitely worth it), listen to people speaking Russian, have some pickled herring, and do the cycle with your buddies: wet heat (like swimming in a liquid Halls), dry heat, cold brace pool, start again with wet heat.  Please note that Nothing Special receives no special consideration from Wall Street Bath and Spa.  We just finally found a place where we could have fun.

But other ideas are still very welcome!

The Worst Stickers in the World

Should be banned

We knew Rogers was a problem.  Oh ye of the gentle cardigan, soft voice, and comfy living room–you who told us, day in and day out, that we were Special.  But did you know Seuss was in on it too?  Seuss, who taught us conflict resolution in “Butter Battle Book,” (fine), trying new things in “Green Eggs and Ham,” (OK), and getting off your butt in “Cat in a Hat,” (tolerable though puts a lot of pressure on a rainy day).  Then he went and wrote “Oh the Places You’ll Go” for college graduates, and worse…its mantras are being marketed to children!!

I found these stickers the other day while looking for ones to give to students.  We do not need “You’re the Best of the Best,” Seuss!  We DID NOT need that.  What are kids today, students at Top Gun?  Do they need Tom Skerritt holding a clipboard, glaring down at them, and telling them there are no points for second place?  Was this really necessary?

We need Effort stickers.  Perhaps, “You worked hard!”; “You Stuck With It!”; or “This is Terrible but you went for it–and the fact that you went for it will be much more useful later in life than being told how clever or ‘correct’ your work is.”  That would have to be a larger size sticker, clearly, or small text.

On the subject of Effort v. Smarts, If you haven’t seen it, every occupant of Special Land should read this post I was sent, by Heidi Grant Halvorson, PhD, writing for the Harvard Business Review (nobody’s perfect).  Halvorson cites the work of sociologist Carol Dweck, whose work has already graced these pages.  Her study, in which students who were praised for “trying” outperformed students praised for being “smart,” and got a lot more enjoyment to boot, is a landmark one for us.  As Halvorson puts it, “When we do well in school and are told that we are “so smart,” “so clever, “ or “ such a good student,”  this kind of praise implies that traits like smartness, cleverness, and goodness are qualities you either have or you don’t.“  What happens to us as adults then, is that if we don’t feel instantly good at something, we flip to the alternative, “We’re just not good at this–we were never good at it.  Creative Writing/Math/Science/Being Funny–these are things we just have no natural ability in, so we’ll concede it to the rest of humanity.”  And this is confirmed by our first efforts–for which we don’t get the same praise we used to or we might for something we know how to do.  We become un-Da Vinci’s, anti-Renaissance people, a race of tremblers who are terrified of doing anything  just a little bit outside our tiny realm of greatness.

Much of our Special condition began in childhood.  But just as Obama must take ownership for an economy he inherited (“Yes, I didn’t cause it, but now, I have to fix it”) so too we, Occupiers of Special Land, must start to take ownership of our condition.  We must start praising ourselves for effort, for getting out on the ball field and taking grounders.  Think of Woody Allen typing away on his Smith Corona, showing that 90% of life is showing up.  Think of his flops and his hits, but above all, think of his effort.  Let’s practice showing up.  Let’s not worry about getting the “Best of the Best” sticker.  Let’s try to get that “You’re a Tryer!” Sticker, and be damn proud of it.  OK so we still really want that “Best of the Best” sticker, but let’s let that take a backseat for the moment, or at least not sit on our lap while we’re driving and shout at us.  We can own our outlook.  Take that Tom Skerritt!

America the Special(ful)

In honor of Thanksgiving, a look back at America’s own long history of coping with Specialness.

We've always had an inkling we were Special (from http://hickeysite.blogspot.com)

America went to private school.  In high school, we ruled the roost.   We got excellent grades and wowed our teachers, mostly because, with our small class size, they could spend all their time focused on their favorite student…U.S.  Yes, there was that kid, Russia, whose parents moved into town and who joined us for a few grades.  But look what happened to him!  He had a seizure one day, collapsed and lay in pieces in a pool of his own spittle.  We went on to make the basketball team and qualify for A.P. Physics, because there was no one else around.  Instead of feeling lucky, though, or humble, we felt…well…special.  America took Princeton Review and got into an elite private college where we continued to feel relatively good.  But when we graduated, and found ourselves broke and  and looking for work, Holy Moses!  There’s India… and China…and Brazil!  They’re huge and do all kinds of things well.  They may have gone to state schools, but they’re smart, they’re confident, and damn do they work hard.  Where were these guys when we were growing up?  Is it any wonder that under these circumstances, America might have something of a crisis of confidence, move back into our parents’ house (an English Basement?), drink beer, play Galaga and tell stories about the days when we were exceptional?  WE used to write all the best papers.  WE used to be the good ones in math and technology.  We took A.P. Physics, remember?! Hey look, Russia’s here too.  He looks good!

I’m not the only one who’s noticed the difficulty America now faces.  Niall Ferguson, in his new book, “Civilization,” proclaims that we are now living through “the end of 500 years of Western predominance” and that the only question remaining is whether it’s America or Europe that will “tip over” and completely collapse.  America went from being the school standout to the one that everybody talks about quietly and is worried about.  But how?  Why?  To understand the true nature of the problem, we have to go back further than high school, to the very origins of this Special place.

Therapist:  America, are you comfortable?  Tell me about your earliest memories.

Sandbox upon a Hill

We were on the playground, playing in the sandbox like a normal kid, only somehow we weren’t normal.  That sandbox was constructed to be a City upon a Hill, way above where the other kids played, so that the eyes of all other people–even ones who had been out of the sandbox for centuries–would be upon us.  We would be a beacon of light and hope to everyone seeking the purest sandbox experience.  How were we supposed to know this would lead to deep-rooted psychological problems as adults?  We just liked a good sandbox.

In grade school we had the idea that we were entitled to “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”  Nowhere in that phrase is the idea that we would actually have to work and make money while we pursued all of this happiness, for example grading an unending stream of terribly written papers by college freshmen who will be texting for the rest of their lives anyway.  Or how about this line we proclaimed in first grade via Thomas Jefferson:

“Trusted with the destinies of this solitary republic of the world, the only monument of human rights, and the sole depository of the sacred fire of freedom and self-government, from hence it is to be lighted up in other regions of the earth, if other regions of the earth shall ever become susceptible of its benign influence.”

This made it hard to get other kids to come over for play dates.  Couldn’t we have been happy just to play with Legos?  Did we have to be the sole depository of the sacred fire of freedom?

Awkward Teen Years

In middle school, perhaps like a lot of kids, we got a cold dose of reality.  It’s that awkward time when kids experience pimples, voice change, bad B.O. and sometimes pure terror.  Why should we be any different?  In order to grow up, we had to get rid of a part of ourselves—the underbelly of Exceptionalism that said we were so Special that we could make other people do all of our work for us and call it a way of life.  Guided by our better angels, we managed to cut off the giant blister of slavery, but not without leaving a huge scar.  For a little while, we saw ourselves as the struggling nation we were, and we bonded over simply trying to get back to normal life.  But not for long.

We started making things!  Machines, railways, better guns, light bulbs, and we were special again.  We had splendid little wars with Spain and the Philippines and barely got a paper cut!  Though not yet adults ourselves, we took in children, first in Latin America, then all over.  They didn’t really ask for this, but we knew what was best.  We did a hell of a science project where we made an airplane and then not even gravity could stop us.  We were having such a good time that we were completely unprepared when, while playing board games with Germany (a kid from a totally different school district who was getting into all kinds of fights), he sunk our Battleship.

Never one to step away from a challenge, we strapped on our boxing gloves, said goodbye to our middle school days of glory and invention, and went out to fight.  As fate would have it, we’d get into another fight with the SAME kid a little while later.  What a bully!  In between these two big fights we stopped drinking to try to do some self-improvement, but still slid into serious depression when it turned out we were broke.  We had promised too many friends nickels from lemonade stands we started, and kept promising even when the lemonade didn’t sell.  We even tried painting some money in art class, but when we tried to use it, surprise, no one thought it was worth anything.

In a lot of ways, it was a terrible Sophomore year, but at the same time, we landed on our feet.  We had giant parties at the ends of both great Fights, almost forgetting what we had been through.   We continued letting our friends in on lemonade stands (actually, it being high school, they sold a lot more than lemonade) without really checking up on them.   Just like we had done when we made trains and steel back in middle school, we started once again letting a very small part of us (say 1% of the brain) control everything.  In sum, we had had two bad fights (three really), major depression, dirty cities–we didn’t always wash there, and thrown in some malaria and polio for good measure, but we had come out on top.  We could wrap our struggles up with bows and say: no matter the challenge, no matter the bully, no matter what we face, America can win.  Then we picked a fight with Vietnam.

Vietnam seemed much smaller than Germany, really just a stick-think kid who was causing trouble in his school.  We thought we’d rough him up a bit and the whole school would love us.  But all the sudden, we looked up and we had been there forever.  None of our friends were there.  Vietnam didn’t fight fair and there were no teachers to make sure rules were followed.  There was no party after this fight—we’re not even sure when it ended.  We sort of slinked back home and, for the first time since middle school, started to doubt that we could always have a happy ending.  Then in Junior and Senior year, we got our mojo back.  Our lemonade stands were heading out all over the world.  Our airplanes were going higher and higher.  America was once again king of the school!  We were so good in math, and science that we took all of those A.P.s.  This was the time Russia moved in and promptly imploded.  No one could touch us!  Everyone wanted to be us.  We went to our great college.  We did well.  We graduated.  And then…yikes.

End of Session: Breakthrough?

(America shifts on the couch, a little uncomfortably)

Therapist: Tell me America, if you were me, and you had just heard this story, what would you tell yourself?

America: (pause)  First of all, I hate it how you guys always turn questions around, and then charge for it!  What do you want me to say?  I still think I’m pretty special.

Therapist: I didn’t say you weren’t.

America: I mean, just the other day, Mitt Romney, a very strong-willed leader no less, said, “God did not create this country to be a nation of followers. America is not destined to be one of several equally balanced global powers.  America must lead the world, or–

Therapist:  America…America…can I cut you off for a moment.  I want to hear what YOU think.

America:  I told you…I’m Special!  I mean were you listening to anything I said while you sat there?  I’m a leader!  I was a beacon of hope for the world, and I got a great score on the S.A.T.’s , and now people like India, and China…and Norway are getting all the jobs.  Norway!  I ate that kid for breakfast! I…

Therapist:  Let it out, America… let it out!
(gently hands Kleenex)

America:  I went to the moon! I invented the Internet!  I built the tallest buildings.  I used to have all the tallest buildings—not Dubai or wherever that big…

Therapist:  Dubai, yes.

America:  And everyone wanted to be me!  They wore my clothes…they drank what I drank.  They loved my music!

Therapist:  Yes!  And they still do to some degree, but is that what makes you great?  Do you have to always be the best, America, or can you sometimes just… be?  Can you sometimes just accept being one of many—

America:  I am the best!

Therapist:  But what if you can’t always the best?  Can’t that be freeing!
(Kleenex is flying)

America:  I am the best!  I don’t care what you say!  I don’t care….I’m a winner!  I’m a winner!  I beat Germany!  I beat Russia!  I sold all those cars–Used to sell all those cars!  I win!

Therapist:  Always?

America:  I’m special!

Therapist:  Really!
(They leap to their feet)

America:  I’m!! Dammit I’m…I’m (eyes well with tears…mucus drips down off chin, onto floor).  I’m…

Therapist:  Say it!  If you ever loved yourself, if you ever loved your children!

America:  I’m  Special…I’m.  I’m!

Therapist:  Say it!!!

America:  I’m…I’m!   (pause)  I’m…not…that…special.
(Music swells.  A giant bear hug between therapist and America.  Some pats on America’s blue-ridged back.  The two sit back down into their chairs slowly.  Awkward post-breakthrough silence)

Therapist:  Now, there is one other thing I want to talk to you about.  Do you have health insurance?

Michael J. Rocks “Johnny B. Good,” 26 years later

Fox Rocks

FOOS, a quick post today of something that, there’s really no getting around it, was special.

One of our heroes, we know, is Michael J. Fox, who took us on a great journey of our youth, a trip “Back to the Future” where he almost destroyed the space time continuum but instead made his parents cooler, beat up the bully, and of course, rocked out to Johnny B. Good at the Enchantment Under the Sea Dance when Marvin Berry’s hand gets injured.  Woh, this is heavy!

In this link, Michael J., twenty-six years later, rocks out at his annual charity benefit to that same song (it turns out in the movie he was only faking!), obliterating Parkinson’s for at least a few moments as he does so.  Now I know what you’re saying, Marty McFly was one of the most Special characters we ever knew and is likely a contributing factor to our condition of Specialness.  But when you think about it–he never really set out to be special.  He just wanted to take his girlfriend, Jennifer, to the lake and help out his friend, Doc by doing some filming at Twin Pine Mall.  In a way, maybe Marty set his expectations low, accepted his unspecial condition, and, content with his own mediocrity, didn’t expect too much when greatness called?  Maybe he’s a model of low expectations.

And also, how cool is that clip!

Michael J. Rocks “Johnny B. Good”

Does Art Pay?

Damien Hirst's "The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living"

It’s no secret that many Special People are, for lack of a better word, artists.  We think we have something super special inside our souls that has to be let out because Mrs. Zuratti liked our 2^nd grade media project on Paul Revere.  We don’t want to work for anyone or any job that will dare cramp our artistic vision and make us follow orders.  As a result, we end up working in jobs for for people that cramp our vision, make us follow orders, and in which we must perform the most menial of tasks.  We might call these, “Don’t Screw Up!” jobs, where the only possible way of doing well is to not screw up.

These jobs are well known to FOOS (Fellow Occupiers Of Speicalland).  In a typical scenario, you’re working as an assistant/temp/grunt for the person who graduated from college in ’06 and you actually come close to tears because you’re yelled at for misprinting labels.  Come to think of it, you actually did cry softly in the bathroom afterwards, humming to yourself a beautiful old chanty, until you realized it’s just the song from the Ernest & Julio Gallo commercials.  This means that even your soundtrack of self-pity is derivative.

I’ve been talking to several of my artist friends of late and having almost one conversation.  What are we driving at so insistently?  What is it that we want so badly to express in ourselves, that we’re willing to take some of these jobs that should have gone to that guy in 8^th grade Biology who laughed every time the teacher said penis?  Do you remember that guy?  He’s in advertising right now and doing quite well.  Why in the name of Jumping Jimminy Cricket do we think we’re so special that we must birth pure art into the world—songs, dances, plays, roles, paintings, short films, various textiles?  What makes us think that we get to avoid the punishment of Adam and Eve, foisted on the rest of humanity, who must do labor and drudgery for their daily bread?

And yet, as I think about it, and think of all the jobs we take—the bar tending, the bar backing (I never made it to bartender), the waitering, the data entry, the after-school working, the proofreading, the copy-editing, the office managing, the millions of Don’t Screw Up! jobs, I wonder if we don’t suffer the most of anyone.  Here we are, the most sensitive people around, in the jobs that require us to take the most criticism, dumping on, and general “you sucks” of anything else out there.  We’re jelly fish where rhinoceroses are needed.  And we’re not honey badger.  We care!

I wonder if we don’t, in some way, feel guilty that we’ve chosen art as our work, and thus feel the need to punish ourselves with the hardest, gruntiest, and most labor-intensive jobs we can do in our spare time.  Yes they’re to make money, but do they also pay some kind of debt for the art we make?  The art that doesn’t feel as substantial as “real” work, and which society doesn’t feel should be compensated like real work.  Conversely, though, if we start to really, truly think of the art we do as our work—our blood, sweat and fears, that thing that we struggle with, rage against, fall in love with, despair over, then start on again; if we think of it as work that, for all this insanely hard effort, we MUST receive compensation for…does that change our outcome?

I have no special love for the artist, Damien Hirst, the splashy, shark-in-a-fish-tank charge ten million dollars for my jewel-incrusted-booger British artist who will have a retrospective at the Tate Modern next year.  He’s manipulative, visionless, generic, shock-dependent, “insert your own bad-art adjective here,” but I will say one thing.  I don’t think he ever, ever, thought that he wouldn’t support himself off his work.

Call Center Cosette: Yes I used this drawing earlier but it's too perfect for this post not to include!

We don’t know how to do things

Special Person vs. Task

A little while back, I was re-hanging a shelf in the bedroom that I had tried to attach with anchors and screws.   A few months after the initial hanging, Gus the cat had jumped onto the shelf, and that extra 20 pounds of fluff had made the entire thing come crashing down in a melee of book thuds and cat hisses.  Now, three weeks after that fall, I was facing the shelf-hanging monster again.

Special People don’t like doing things that everyone is supposed to be able to do.  There’s a large window of opportunity to fail here and we have no excuse when we do.  It’s not as if we’re trying to bring the Turkish government back to the Mid-East Peace Process.  The only thing SPs may dread more than doing a task everyone is supposed to be able to do, though, is redoing a task that everyone is supposed to be able to do because we botched it the first time.  In this case, everything seemed so nice and settled.  We had passed through the gauntlet and somehow, by skill, luck or both, managed to pass the job off as complete.  Now a bomb has gone off and there’s another chance for us to fail and be exposed as the frauds we are.  Should we fail, we enter not only the ranks of the Unspecial, but, there’s really no other way to put it, the Below Average.

For the second hanging, I was using the screws with the wings on them that go in, expand and then catch on the other side of the wall.  In order to get the wings in, I had drilled and carved a giant hole in the wall.  Now, having threaded the screw through the first shelf-holder and thrust its winged end through the wall, I was turning on it, trying to get it to tighten.  But nothing was happening.  The screw wasn’t moving forward, it was just spinning, spinning, spinning.  I turned, staring at the spinning screw, and slowly, familiarly, I felt the onset of pure, undiluted terror.  This is the Special Person’s Panic.

Speical Person’s Panic tells us we’re not only failing at this task, but that we are doomed to consistently fail at common tasks for the rest of our lives.  And if shelf-hanging induces the onset of SPP, what about the more abstract tasks of the 21^st Century?  How are we ever going to master the daily-changing technology leaping out at us off the shelves in the Verizon store?  While it’s difficult enough to understand the winged-screw mechanism, what about digital streams of information floating through the air and syncing into our devices?  What does digital information even look like when it travels?  The only thing I can picture here is the scent trail that moves through the air and literally picks up Scooby-Doo by his nose.

When our voicemail messages vanish, or our songs won’t transfer, or our blackberry cracks, we feel the Panic.  If our new stereo isn’t talking to our TV, we have no idea why not.  Do we call Samsung?  Do they have an American help desk, and can we even get to it if they do?  How many hours of our lives will this operation cost us?  We don’t understand how things work, so we don’t even know how to think about fixing them.  [Bill Gates, if you’re reading this entry--and I'm glad you are--ignore this section].  In a sense, we are all Keyrock, Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer.  We don’t understand your modern world, how these little people inside of our phones make the noises come out, and what to do if they stop talking!  It’s the same panic I imagine someone must have felt when he first looked up at lightning and created Zeus…at least, even if it was still terrifying, you knew how it worked.

Is our world going to get simpler again?  There are some Rapture predictors who think it will, on May 21st, 2012, or if not then, a future date to be determined.  But I’m willing to say it won’t.  What’s more, we of Generation Special won’t get any more facile with new technology unless we get younger, which is highly unlikely.  Yesterday, David Bowie’s Changes came up on my i-pod (no idea how it works, by the way).   The line that stuck with me was “Oooh, look out, you rock and rollers…pretty soon now, you’re gonna get older.”  The children today who can text faster than we can think are infinitely better equipped to handle new tech products, though in twenty years they themselves will be dinosaurs compared to their children.  Remember when we laughed at the Seniors using Computers video? That’s us!  That’s already us—we just aren’t on youtube yet–so careful ye who laugh!  We can, however, still laugh at these old people rapping.

Yet all is not lost.  Remember that our path at Nothing Special always points toward accepting our own mediocrity.  Yes, we memorized all of the state capitals when we were in third grade, but today that means absolutely diddly-squat.  Once we accept how little we know, it helps us understand how little everyone else knows.  Even Bob Vila probably has moments of panic when putting up a shelf—and think of the pressure on him!  What if it falls?  Where’s his excuse?  Everyone faces accomplishment doubt—we Special People just tend to hold onto it and build a religion out of it.  Today let’s try to be brave as we approach our tasks.  Let’s note that we’re terrible, that we’ll likely fail, that we might have to do outside research, that we still might not have all the tools, that two billion people could likely do it better, let’s note that, put it in a box, and place it on the virtual shelf, to sit with the same thoughts of our Special People brethren around the world.  Then let’s get back to doing what we’re doing.

I stopped spinning the screw driver.  I tried to picture what was happening inside the wall, but I couldn’t get it.  More panic.   A deep breath.  I called the Super (1^st lifeline).  I told him my situation.  He listened and got what I was saying.  “Yeah, you have to pull out the mount toward you at the same time that you’re screwing the screw into the wall.”  I didn’t totally get it.  I sensed that the screw needed some friction in order to go in, and that meant if I pulled, and the wings locked against the inside wall, the screw might start to tighten.  I thanked the Super, took a deep breath, pulled the shelf-support toward me, and started to turn.