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Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Uncapping inner filter could be fun to try

I nearly fell off the couch laughing so hard because of something one of my favorite television characters said on the show “Parks and Recreation.”


Ron Swanson (Nick Offerman), the director of the Parks and Recreation Department for the fictional Indiana city of Pawnee on the NBC show, is a man’s man. He believes people should hunt for their own food, build their own houses and fix their own problems.

During the most recent episode, a salesman at a home improvement center nicely asked Swanson if he needed any help finding anything for the project he was shopping for or any information that could help him with it.

Baffled anyone would ask him such a foolish question, Swanson gave the salesman a nasty look and said, “I know more than you,” and then walked away.

Swanson is a character who can pretty much say what he wants to anyone, and then not worry about whether or not he offended that person. It makes for great comedy because there are times many of us wish we could say what we want, but because of that stupid inner filter, most of us never do.

I’d give real-life examples, but my inner filter prevents me from doing so, even away from the situation and potentially even away from the people who may have made me wish I didn’t have an inner filter.

But nothing can stop me from giving some more Ron Swanson examples:

When a co-worker was desperately trying to please him, he said she was getting too chummy. “Anne was getting a little chummy. When people get a little too chummy with me, I like to call them by the wrong name to let them know I don’t really care about them,” he said. I can think of a few people I should try this tactic on.

After beating out a co-worker for an award, Swanson offered his condolences. “Be proud of yourself. You deserve an award. Not this one, obviously. This one belongs to me. But some other one. Some other lesser award.” In some ways, coming from him this is a compliment.

At a meeting: “My name is Ron. You don’t need to know my last name. Whoever wants to talk, go ahead and we’ll be out of here in a tight 15.” As much babble as I hear at government meetings, having a Ron Swanson in charge would be a great thing.

To his ex-wife: “You’ve aged horribly.” There is probably little she could have said to make him feel worse than she felt after hearing that one.

Here’s a compliment to one person, but probably not to everyone else: “I like Andy. I’m surrounded by a lot of women in this department. And that includes the men.”

Here’s another backhanded compliment: “I need to find someone to fill in for April. Now I know I’m not going to find someone who’s both aggressively mean and apathetic. April really is the whole package.”

And this one pretty much sums up Swanson’s philosophy on life: “The less I know about other people’s affairs, the happier I am. I’m not interested in caring about people. I once worked with a guy for three years and never learned his name. Best friend I ever had. We still never talk sometimes.”

While being friends with an unfiltered person like Swanson is something I’d never want – because I’m sure that person would offend me – watching him or her from a distance, with a little admiration, would be fun. I need such a non-friend.
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Originally published in The Portage County Gazette on Friday, Nov. 4, 2011.

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