Tag Archives: great

I’m doing great

My life is going great. So great, you have no idea. Seriously, however great you think your life is going right now, it’s nowhere near as great as mine is. And I’m not trying to brag. I just want to be grateful, to the universe, for how great my life is. Dear universe, thank you for making my life so awesome. For real, I look around at everyone else and I’m like, sure, I have no idea what’s going on in anyone’s life, but just from a superficial snap-judgment point of view, it looks like I’m doing exponentially much better than everyone I see.


One of my coworkers had his bike stolen last week. But not me. Nobody stole my bike. And that guy had these two really strong locks. He always used to give me lectures like, “Rob, you’ve got to get two locks.” He’d tell me stuff like, “No lock is one hundred percent effective. They’re only deterrents. You should get two.” And I would get so pissed, this guy hardly rides his bike at all, don’t tell me what to do, I hate being told what to do. I remember maybe like two or three weeks ago, he was giving me the rundown on why, “You just have to buy a Kryptonite lock. There’s really no alternative.”

And I just smiled politely, I think, I hope I wasn’t telegraphing how pissed off I was, because in my head I was screaming out loud, man, I hope this guy’s bike gets stolen. And it did. I can’t believe it happened. I said to him, “Man, I can’t believe your bike got stolen. Because don’t you always use two locks?” And he tried to play it off all cool, even attempting to own it, kind of, he was like, “You see? This just goes to show that no bike lock is effective!” But I just cut him off, I told him, “Yeah, I actually read this article on the Internet about how unreliable those Kryptonite locks are.”

I made that up, but whatever, it ended the conversation. Not that I needed to end it. My bike is fine. It’s great. I should have just basked in how awesome it was that I still had my bike while my smug know-it-all coworker, not only does he have to buy a new one, but he has to shell out money for even more locks. And they’re not cheap.

Nope, nothing going wrong over here on my end. Things couldn’t be better. I mean, maybe they could, I guess things could always be better. But I can’t imagine how they’d go about being any better than they are. I went to Subway with one of my other coworkers last week. I never get the fountain soda, but for whatever reason I did, they handed me the cup. On the side there was this peel-off promotion, something about winning a chance to star in a Subway commercial with Eli Manning.

And no, unfortunately I didn’t win the commercial. Although, that would have been really cool. I think I just figured out how I could have possibly made my life a little better. But it was OK, because the peel-off said, “Your next lunch is on us! One free foot-long combo!” And I was like, “Yes!” I brought it up to the cashier and asked him, “Hey man, can I just get my money back for this meal that already bought?” and he was like, “No, that actually wasn’t a meal, it was just a sandwich and a soda.”

“So what am I missing for a meal?” and he told me, “Either chips or cookies.” So we got into a little, in my view, I should have at least been offered the opportunity to add chips or cookies to make it a meal. And he was all like, “It’s only good for your next purchase.” But eventually the people behind me started making all of these noises, like they were audibly impatient with how slow this guy was taking to not accommodate my winning ticket. Finally he was like, “OK, sure, here’s your money back.”

And I was like, “Yes!” And I got the free cookies too. But my coworker? Not only did he not win anything, but there was this big piece of plastic in his sandwich. I was like, “Gross! Dude, you’ve got to get a new sandwich. And ask for your money back. And see if you can get some free cookies out of it.” But he was like, “Eh … well … I don’t know,” just totally too afraid of “making a scene,” whatever that means. He said it was cool, he just pushed the plastic to the side, but I could tell lunch was ruined.

For him anyway, but not for me. My lunch was awesome. And I kept telling him, “Man, this free lunch is the best!” because why not? I’ve got to maintain this positive attitude. I go like three, four years without ever winning anything, and all of the sudden it’s this, in the same week, my bike is fine and I get a free lunch. It’s just awesome. Go ahead and tell me that I don’t have to announce it, but you’re just jealous. And that’s not great. I’m great. I’m doing great, man, just terrific.

I’m great, I’m terrific

When people ask me how I’m doing, I always tell them, “I’m great,” bare minimum, I’m doing great. You know, you like positivity, right? Well then why settle for anything less? I tell people how great I’m doing and they like it, they appreciate the jolt of good vibes I’m sending their way. I even like to say it aggressively, like, “I’m great!” but short, like a really intense response, I’m staring at you directly in the eye, that hand shake we’re engaged in, doesn’t it hurt? Not a lot, but just a little bit, right? That’s because it’s a great handshake.


But like I said, that’s my bare minimum. So actually, if you ever run into me on the street, and you say, “What’s up Rob? How’s it going?” and I’m telling you that I’m great, well, honestly, I’m not really doing that well. Because that’s my bare minimum, that’s the basest level of interaction I’ll allow myself with another human being. If I’m just great, yeah, I’m glad that I got to maybe spark some positivity with my left hand, as it smacked your right shoulder while we were in the middle of that ultra-firm handshake. But your great, that’s my not-so-great.

And things aren’t usually that bad in my life, I don’t have too much to complain about. Which is why most of my day-to-day interactions will fall more “terrific” on the scale than they will merely “great.” I say it like an affirmation, “I’m terrific, how are you?” with added emphasis on the “rif.” Ter-RIF-ic. I might forgo the handshake for a high-five, not a regular five, OK, my hand is all the way up here for a reason, and if you present an outstretched low open palm, don’t expect that I’m going to come down to make contact. No, I’m going to stand here with my hand all the way up, and if you don’t make a move, eventually I’ll force it, I’ll say, “Come on man, high five!” and then when we make contact, I’m looking for an audible slapping sound, all right, yeah, it might hurt, but it’s not real pain, that’s the feeling of you not having experienced a real high-five in quite some time, so you’ll get used to it, all right? Terrific, I’ll repeat it again after that slap, it was loud enough that everyone around turned their heads in our direction, and I’ll extend that spotlight to you, I’ll say it a little louder, “We’re doing terrific over here.”

And again, I don’t want to get too hung up on levels and scales, my terrific equals your OK. But that’s exactly what it is, if I’m terrific, I’m just OK. And I don’t know about you, but I really hate settling for just OK, no way dude, life’s too short to go around feeling just kind of all right. Which is why, don’t get too hung up on the high-five thing. Yeah, it’s a little aggressive, and definitely loud, but I try not to really let myself get too comfortable feeling simply terrific. I’d say that the majority of people I run into say hi to me, and when they ask how I’m doing, I’ll tell them that, “I’m better than ever.”

Now we’re getting into some genuine good emotions here, some truly positive positives. Just embrace it, I’m not trying to rub it in your face, because, again, don’t read too much into it, all right, this my way of how you would say that you’re doing fine, everything’s fine, I’m fine. But I’m better than ever. Just hop on, there’s plenty of room on my express bus to outstanding good feelings.

Just don’t tell me that you’re doing well. I hate it when I ask someone, “How’s it going?” and they’re like, “I’m well.” I’m just like, man, what a buzz kill. Who says well anyway? Like I know it’s correct, and I know it makes sense to write it out that way. But to say it? In actual conversation? You’re well? You sound like a textbook. And now I’m just of great again. And I won’t even say anything, I think I see my friend Jim over there anyway. Maybe he’s got what I need to recharge the batteries here.

And no, I don’t think it’s disingenuous, trying to come across as better than I actually am. I’m just constantly reaching, like maybe if I tell you that I’m better than ever, maybe you’ll light up a little inside. Maybe I’ll inspire you to a higher level of however it is you’d describe yourself at the moment. And then I look at your eyes widening, I can see all of that positivity weaseling its way inside your head, I think, I did that, that was me. And I get pumped up. So when I said I was better than ever, maybe I wasn’t. But now I might be.

And so I’ll correct myself, I’ll add something like, “You know what? This is one of the best days of my life!” (emphasis on that life.) And then a high-five isn’t going to do, OK, I need something better, maybe I’ll get up real close and I’ll shadow box, like I’ll give you two or three fake punches to the gut before letting out a really intense laugh, “ha HA!” and then sidle up next to you, my left arm wrapping around your neck, like a noogie without the actual noogie part, and with my right hand, I’ll pat you on the gut, like we’re brothers, like we’re two guys just horsing around, reveling in the unlimited potential of our out-of-this-world dispositions. Hey come on, let’s go get some ice cream. Yeah, the ice cream place two blocks down, come on, I’ll race you! Let’s go! Ha HA!

Greatness achieved?

How does one achieve greatness? Is it something within? Something achieved? Does it have anything to do with writing the word “one” in the third person, like I did in the first sentence? Did I use the term “third person” correctly? I’m not sure if that first sentence was a great sentence. But it was definitely a greater sounding sentence than had I simply written, “How do you achieve greatness?” Because, you? You who? But one? Yes. One. Everyone. Two?

I’m getting distracted. I’m distracting myself from matters of greatness. Perhaps I don’t always achieve greatness. Perhaps I’ve never achieved it. But I always strive for it. Every time I do anything, I’m always thinking, OK Rob, you’ve done it, but was it great? Could it have been done in a greater way?

Like this blog post. I already talked about how I used the word one in that fancy sounding way. Did you notice how I started two sentences with the word perhaps? Perhaps you did. That definitely sounded a lot greater than just writing “maybe,” which is what I would have done had I just spoken it to you. I don’t think I’ve ever used the word perhaps out loud. But maybe I should. Maybe that’s why … I’m sorry, I mean excuse me. Perhaps that’s why nobody’s ever commented on … OK, let me start over. Perhaps that’s why one does not comment on my speaking as being great.

Shall I continue? It’s not as simple as just writing out these great sounding words. Great sounding words do not great writing make. That was a great sentence. I think. Now that I’m reading it back it just kind of sounds like something Yoda might say. But Yoda was a pretty great character. I’m lost.

And just because one strives for greatness, let’s say one tries, but fails. Is there any virtue in trying to achieve what is great? Yes? Well then is virtue great? Yes? OK, so what I’ve basically concluded is that all you have to do, if you want to even just give off the impression of greatness, is to try. And so all I have to do to come across as great, or greatish, is just to make a face of determination, of struggling. Or at least to attempt to make one.

One does not simply act great. Well, I guess you could just act great. Like if you were a really great actor. And then you’re acting like somebody great, in a really great way. Great acting about somebody great. Like Lincoln. Man, do you know that Daniel Day Lewis actually grew out a real Lincoln beard for the Lincoln movie? OK, that was a great beard. That was a great movie. I’m just thinking about that movie, great director, great lead actor, great President, and I’m reevaluating most of everything that I’ve already said about greatness. You know what, just forget it, everything. You want to know about greatness? Go see Lincoln. Go grow out your own great Lincoln beard. Talk in a high voice. If you already talk in a high voice, talk in a higher voice, or, talk in a much lower voice, and when people ask you why you’re talking like that, explain to them that, a hundred and fifty years from now, nobody’s going to remember how you really sounded, and so …

Wait, but there’s all of this recording hardware everywhere, cell phones, Facebook. Everybody’s going to know exactly how you talked. OK, so it’s probably too late for you, but for your kids, raise them, train them so that every time they’re being recorded, on a phone, on TV, have them talk in some ridiculously deep voice, something so far outside how they normally talk. If they grow up to be President, even better. And then a hundred and fifty years after they die, somebody will come around and make a movie about them, and they’ll hire Daniel Day Lewis’s great-grandson to star as the lead, and he’ll talk in their real voice, like outside the recordings, how they really were in real life. And everybody will ask him, “How did you know? What made you think that’s how he really talked?”

And he’ll just be like, “I’m a great actor. If you’re a great actor you just know greatness. Besides, he’s clearly just talking in a really fake deep voice. I just imagined what he would sound like if he were talking regularly.”