I was browsing around on the web and found a blurb about this guy. He’s called Mr. Positive. Apparently the man is a good neighbor and never says anything negative about anyone or anything. If you click on the trailer for this documentary, you will be graced with one of the corniest songs you will ever listen to one-quarter of before you’re humiliated at the mere thought of someone catching you listening to something so corny and you stop the trailer or turn off the volume. But, the images accompanying the horrible song are inspiring. He just seems like a very nice man. And yes, I do believe it’s genuine. Not Borat. Kind of hard to tell though, isn’t it?

What intrigued me is the whole idea. Do you think it’s possible to never say anything negative about anyone or anything? How long could you go without saying anything negative about anyone or anything? A day? A week? Is it even particularly healthy to never say anything negative? Maybe it’s the key to all bliss and universal harmony, or maybe it’s the key to a padded room in a very guarded hospital ward. I don’t know.

I know for myself, I worry that I’m too negative a lot of times. I’m entertained by other people making asses out of themselves. I find humor in the genuine stupidity of other people (to a point, I don’t like, laugh at retarded people or anything). I truly enjoy bitching about hard days. I fear sometimes that I’m just maybe not nice enough.

Are wit and bitchiness synonymous? Is this a world where the biggest cynic wins? Can an interesting story be told where everyone is nice and the day goes smoothly, or would that just be a waste of ink and paper? Tell the tales of the trees that died instead?

I remember when A Mighty Wind came out and my (much) older sister was telling me about it, reenacting some of the scenes. My sister was a hippie in the early 70’s, so these parodies were from bands she actually followed as a teen. I told her, “Aww, but Peter, Paul and Mary are nice people, see they wouldn’t make fun of other bands like that, so it’s kind of shitty to make fun of them like this, don’t you think?” She just burst out laughing and said, “That’s just because they’re too fucking stupid to think of making fun of other bands in the first place! It’s not that they’re too nice, it’s that they’re idiots!” This philosophy that believes the first person to injure proves they’re of higher intelligence was one I knew well. I ended up laughing all through the movie too when I finally saw it, and then felt bad about it. Because it was funny, but a little mean. Not like Spinal Tap, which was just funny. Those folkies just seem so defenseless! Or stupid.

In my family, cynicism ruled. Sarcasm was a crucial nutrient for our thickening skin. There was a very fine line between cutting humor and just old fashioned cruelty, but regardless of the line, we were expected to laugh at whatever was tossed at us. It wasn’t until I left home and spent time with other families that I came to understand that not everyone flung zingers at the dinner table while they drained the Rémy Martin bottle. Not everyone stopped an entire conversation to laugh at someone who mispronounced a word. Other families just had nice dinners with benign small talk. Of course, my family made fun of those families when they were out of sight, because my family had a more evolved intelligence and sense of humor.

So, as I plod along as an adult, writing my own moral map, keeping a finger on the pulse of my own conscience and how it fits in with the rest of the world, stories like this one grab me and shake me. I’m torn. On the one hand I have to admit that satire and sarcasm are brilliant and make me weep with the giggles. I do so enjoy a verbal sparring session (although I never got above lightweight status in my own family), and there is a sense of satisfaction when you efficiently sling words like they’re Ninja Stars. But, it isn’t very nice.

I walk the line with my own kids. Yes, we include them in nasty banter about other people, but it’s largely strangers that we sharpen our words on. I’ve never used my own children for exercise, nor have I used my husband. I also refrain from speaking critically of people the kids know (partly because they can’t be trusted not to repeat what I’ve said). That is, unless I’ve given up caring what that person thinks of me anyway and whatever was done is so irresistibly stupid the kids need to know that you just can’t get away with going around doing or saying that and have it not noticed and torn to shreds.

I think we all like the idea of having Mr. Positive as a neighbor, but would we really want him as a neighbor, or would we just make fun of him after he went home? Where is the line for the rest of the world? I may never aspire to be (or really want to aspire to be) like Mr. Positive, but I’d like to think that somewhere in my charcoal heart, there is a little ember of warmth that would keep him (and whoever sang that song about him) off of my radar of people whose feelings I bounce around for my own amusement.

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