There are athletes, I've known a few of them, who do what I call the anti-psych. Before a big race or a big game, they warm up and proclaim, "oh, my shoulder is sore." "I haven't got it today." "My legs feel heavy." Or some such. And then they go out and mop the floor with their competition or they turn in a personal best.
There is an extremely annoying trend in the world that says "we must be smiling and happy or it will be bad for morale and no good work will get done." In fact, someone initialed HG just commented on one of my previous posts thusly: "Such a negative vibe. Guys you get paid to be creative. Stop the hitching. Find joy in what u do."
This is of course extreme and unvarnished bushwa of the highest (or lowest) order (or odor.) Some times creativity comes from anxiety, or anger, or hatred. It doesn't come, some times, from sugar and spice and everything nice.
Some people are ornery cusses. Some people aren't people people. Some people just want to be left alone.
If I were to give voice to my paranoid side I'd say there is a conspiracy of hr-ophiles who support diversity and inclusion in everything but mood and temperament.
I am not and never will be the happy-go-lucky sort. That doesn't mean I can't do what is asked of me. My deeds and my performance inspire. Leave the smile to cheerleaders.
I'm paid to write ads. Not tiptoe through the fucking tulips.
7 comments:
You forgot to mention that you actually have the most infectious laugh. An earth quaking loud rumble that can make people around happy and smiley for the entire day after. And as far as I've experienced that big warm laugh comes to you often. Those who read your blog may sometimes suspect you're some old curmudgeon. Nothing is further from the truth.
I second that. Plus, Tore didn't mention that you happen to be about the funniest person around.
Everything can be doom and gloom, grey skies and all of that- next thing you know, George will either doodle something or tell you a joke and there at a funeral or sad setting, you'll cry as you laugh uncontrollably.
Hardly an old curmedgeon.
Sorry, typo: curmudgeon.
Doesn't sound like the morose mofo George I know.
Apparently, Picasso used to get up in the morning and go around moping and moaning that he couldn't do it anymore.
Eventually everyone would get bored and leave him alone.
Then, with no one to complain to, he'd just get on with it and do another masterpiece.
a welcome joylessness, sort of like viv tate in grumpy brit's recent post. who's to say good work and a pleasant disposition must go together?
Agree totally with this George.
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