It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice.
Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive.
Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water.
I had a roommate in college for a few months who was from Niceville, Florida, but I didn't think she was very nice. She complained that I slept in a bed full of books, and she cried on the phone for hours with her boyfriend back in Niceville--the diamond in her engagement ring wasn't as large as she was hoping for and didn't demonstrate the amount of love she felt she deserved.
Merriam-Webster's Thesaurus suggests some alternatives to the word nice--alluring, inviting, enchanting, blissful, intoxicating, luscious, harmonious, exhilarating. I may try some of these out the next time I read someone's post about the history of their town or a description of their favorite movie or why they vote the way they do. Show me a picture you've taken of your mailbox, if you want, and I'll tell you it's charmingly utilitarian. Post a paragraph or two about your ride to work, and I'll comment about how industrious you are, and what an inspiring work ethic you possess. But I will not say anything about nice.
Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive.
Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water.
I had a roommate in college for a few months who was from Niceville, Florida, but I didn't think she was very nice. She complained that I slept in a bed full of books, and she cried on the phone for hours with her boyfriend back in Niceville--the diamond in her engagement ring wasn't as large as she was hoping for and didn't demonstrate the amount of love she felt she deserved.
Merriam-Webster's Thesaurus suggests some alternatives to the word nice--alluring, inviting, enchanting, blissful, intoxicating, luscious, harmonious, exhilarating. I may try some of these out the next time I read someone's post about the history of their town or a description of their favorite movie or why they vote the way they do. Show me a picture you've taken of your mailbox, if you want, and I'll tell you it's charmingly utilitarian. Post a paragraph or two about your ride to work, and I'll comment about how industrious you are, and what an inspiring work ethic you possess. But I will not say anything about nice.
Comments
Your lazy and non-descriptive blogpal writes: That's nice, Robyn.
Hey! Nice is still nice over here (sorry).
And the population of Nice in southern France may well take issue with you (but then they're French, so you can ignore them).
There's really a Niceville in Florida? Eew! Tacky!
That's a lovely description of your roommate. I hope for his sake her fiancé called it off.
I'm afraid my mailbox is less than charmingly utilitarian (or even nice), as we don't have them over here. We make our postmen walk all the way up the drive and put stuff through the letterbox. It keeps them fit.
We have to have mail boxes in our neighborhood because we are considered rural, so some lady in her minivan drives up and delivers the mail. If she had to walk all the hills with no sidewalks, she'd be dead in a week.
When I'm working from home we'll sometimes stand at the corner with John (one of my neighbours) and chew the fat for ages.
Which is why he usually gets to my house around two in the afternoon when we're supposed to have our mail first thing in the morning.
Nice …
I suppose it must be that "nice" to me still means something that brings a smile to my face, so I'm afraid I'll probably continue to use it. You'll just have to translate it from "Brit-nice" into something more appropriate.
On another note, I would like to know who is voting on First Chapters and bringing my score down without leaving a comment as to why they are voting as they do. Jerks.
If so, I know what I'll be doing tonight.
I think that say you met someone who was nice is a compliment. Nice doesn't have to be boring. It's all in the delivery.
Now you've gone and done that thing where you look at a word for too long and it starts to look funny.
Ms Mac, I hate that thing, when you look at a single word for so long that it doesn't look like a word anymore.
So I guess you will NEVER say I'm a NICE guy huh?
Rich, I think I remember reading something about the Fine Family and thinking it was pretty funny.
This little boy I used to babysit for would nonchalantly say "that's neat" when his cute little self meant "that's bullshit." It made me laugh everytime.