 How to Tell People "No." Yes suggests pleasure. It wants something. Salesmen train themselves to use yes at the beginning of a sentence, no matter what, which is why when you say it enough, the word yes starts to feel like a con.
But no is cold and heavy. It puts an end to things. In that way, it is a word of control. Its very use suggests a speaker who actually knows something, who won't bend, who won't give in to what you want simply because you want it. No says the case has not been made.
Cops use it. Operators use it. Good teachers, too. I'd always wanted to be a guy who simply said no. So that's what I did for a month. Whenever I didn't want to do something, I didn't hesitate, didn't explain. I just said no.
I didn't say it more often than usual—this was not a diet. I was just going to say no. Not "Hell no." Or "No way." Or "Nope. Sorry." Just "No." I was going to change this one behavior, my own tendency to elaborate, to explain, to set the record straight when turning people down, when risking the disappointment of others, just to see what it changed in the equation of influence.   The World's Most Daring Mountaineer on What It Takes: 'If You Give Up, You Die' Within the first 21 minutes of Netflix's recent documentary 14 Peaks: Nothing Is Impossible, you witness the following: a man declares he will climb all of the world's mountains with summits above 8,000 meters in the space of seven months. He climbs the first, which turns out to be a ferocious deathtrap by the name of Annapurna, and descends to basecamp only to learn a climber from another group was lost on the mountain. He promptly helicopters out with his team to climb again and reach the oxygen-deprived man, bringing him down just in time to save his life. The rescue was a testament to the overwhelming humanity of Nimsdai "Nims" Purja's project, in which he led a team of elite Nepalese mountaineers on a mission that fewer than 50 people have ever completed.  Actually, Jackass Forever Is Exactly What the World Needs Per tradition, Jackass Forever opens with a warning: "The stunts in this movie were performed by professionals, so for your safety and the protection of those around you, do not attempt any of the stunts you're about to see." Since Johnny Knoxville and company's hijinks first premiered on MTV in 2000, such notices have sought to both caution viewers against partaking in potentially lethal mimicry, and to limit corporate liability in the event that they do. Nonetheless, these introductory missives are also central to the success of the series, functioning as impish proclamations that the forthcoming feats are as authentic as they appear. Simply put, they're declarative badges of honor, confirming that every doubled-over expression of pain, every gruesome concussion and bloody laceration, and every burst of vomit and explosion of fecal matter, is the real outrageous deal.  The Thirteenth Day The great ship rolled magnificently on over the waves until the shore receded from sight and the clamoring gulls along with it, and Amanita and I clicked glasses again while I wished her a felicitous fortieth wedding anniversary, even as the ship's captain was receiving the command over the radio to return to port. And why? Because it had been discovered that one of the passengers—a man from Wuhan—had come down with a fever. Can you say COVID-19? I can. And I've said it all too many times since that first day. I can't help thinking that the term sounds more like some version of linoleum tiling you might install in the kitchen than a contagious disease that could burn through the world of humanity and force a ship as unconquerable as the Beryl Empress to become a floating prison.  The Rise of Elevated Stupidity Stupidity is saying two plus two equals five. Elevated Stupidity is doing the same thing, except you invoke Pythagoras, decry cancel culture when someone corrects you, then get a seven-figure book deal and a speaking tour out of it. Elevated Stupidity has permeated all facets of life—reality TV, social media, Congress, your group chat, and your softball team. Elevated Stupidity stems from the idea that being good at arguing is the same thing as being correct. That rhetorical skill—or at least a degree of big debate-club energy sufficient to wear out one's opponent—is the equivalent of intelligence. If being a good arguer is the same as being smart or correct, then do you know who is the smartest, correct-est person in history? Every Scientologist.  Forever Trying to Rescue You: A Father's Letter to His Son After Suicide I love you, Dad. Those are the last words you said to me the day before you killed yourself. They're also the last words you said to me in the first letter I wrote to you in this magazine, 24 years ago. Back then you were "Robbie" and I was "Daddy," and I never thought I could possibly love you more than I did. Then again, I never imagined I'd be writing this letter to you now. At least, not consciously. But down deep, I came to fear this day would come. On some level, I felt that, no matter how hard I tried, there was nothing I could do to stop it.
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Sunday, February 06, 2022
The Most Powerful Sentence in the World
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