Heed the Feed

Some people drive me crazy.  Most people drive me crazy, but that’s not my point. I’m specifically referring to people that ask for advice and then don’t take it.  They refuse to heed the feed. They are constantly screwing up their lives and can’t seem to figure out how it happens. These are smart human beings, for the most part, yet they are clueless when it comes to certain things they are doing that are causing them problems.

That’s when you have to sit them down, duct tape their mouth and give them some tough love. Give them good advice to help get them out of their pathetic helpless state and into a less annoying, positive contributing, member of society.  Because, right now, their contribution to humanity smells like a gas station toilet that needs to be flushed.

So, how do you do it? Honesty. You don’t have to be mean, although some situations may require it, but you do have to be honest. You have to give constructive feedback on the things they are doing that are keeping them in misery. Not to mention making you miserable. You can’t fix them, only advise and hope they heed the feed.  

If they’re smart, they will heed the feed and implement the feedback they are given.  But, if they are like most people, they won’t. They will come back over and over with the same complaints, the same struggles, the same face that you want to smack. So, when you can’t take it any more, just start texting them #heedthefeed, over and over, until they get the point, or at least stop talking to you.
Oh, and if you start getting that text,  YOU are the one that needs to heed the feed.

The Pain of Comedy

I once had an improv teacher that said “comedy comes from deep suffering.” Or something profoundly odd like that. “That’s ridiculous” I thought at the time.  “I create comedy and I’m not miserable.”  I was writing comedy bits for stand-up comedians, writing and producing live comedic murder mysteries, doing character improv gigs and I was having fun!

Or was I? I had just divorced my ex-husband for continuing to date while we were married and my attempts at dating after that were as exciting as senior discount day at IHOP.  Although I did meet a guy while waiting on the train to take me to improv  who said I was “pretty enough to be a stripper.” That’s something, right?

So I had no social life.  That didn’t mean I didn’t have friends, did it? Oh yeah, I guess it did.  But friends and relationships aren’t everything. I mean, what is happiness anyway? One person’s dead-end career is another person’s dream job.  One person’s horrible ex-husband is another lounge lizard’s rock star. One person’s drafty apartment is another person’s crack house. It’s all in how you look at things, right?

So, if good comedy comes from deep suffering, it’s all good in the end.  Or maybe Barry, or Kerry, or whatever his name is, was wrong. Maybe comedy comes from being happy, or at least being ignorant of suffering.  Maybe it comes from just a little suffering, like a paper cut or stubbing your toe. Those are painful things.

If only I could find him, or remember his name. I do remember hearing he had left for Florida 3 years later to pursue a career as a toll booth operator. Wherever he is, I hope he’s happy, but not funny. Because that would mean he’s still suffering. Oh, the injustice of it all!