This blight on the English language is not nice
There is a linguistic plague I have been increasingly aware of: the phrase “which is nice”. Nothing wrong with this in itself – a bit bland and contentless, admittedly, but hey. So is lots of colloquial English, including mine, with overuse of phrases like “but hey”. And “we’ll see”. And – oh just scroll down the page, pick out your favourites, don’t you dare flag them up to me.
It’s just that it gets used so damn often, as a kind of punctuation, reducing any positive emotion to a semi-comatose nod. “I got a new phone. Which is nice.” “He proposed. Which is nice.” “I’ve won the lotto. Which is nice.” “After a 20-year search, I finally contacted my long-lost mother. Which is nice.”
I have to admit though – I don’t hate it as much as I want to. Mostly because every time I think about it, I’m reminded of the first time I noticed the problem. It was the infectious little verbal hiccup of the perfectly lovely chap who was showing me round the local Posh Gym*. Tall, very cute, and liberally blessed with that adorable bumbling quality that gets kids out of all kinds of trouble, gets puppies taken home and fed, and gets men… well, both of the above. Lots of things in this gym were, apparently, very nice.
Showing me a piece of equipment: “Look! It counts your reps! Which is nice, cos my memory’s terrible.”
In the juice bar: “We have lots of social events. Which is nice, cos it’s social.”
Explaining that no, they didn’t provide shampoo and conditioner: “But I just use the soap on my head, and bring my own conditioner, which makes my hair lovely and shiny. Which is nice!” (Oh, and you just had to see the delighted smile on his face as he contemplated his lovely, shiny hair.)
It’s Like That Episode of Friends… when Ross tries to help Chandler quit his gym, and ends up joining himself? I reckon this guy was the equivalent of the aerobics queen that the gym hires to stun testosterone-fuelled members into staying. Women, apparently, must be presented with someone gorgeous and dumb, to melt our motherly hearts. It kinda worked; by the time he’d finished his spiel, I just wanted to draw him to my matronly bosom and stroke that lovely, shiny hair, to keep his two lonely brain cells warm.
_____
* Needles to say, I didn’t sign up there. I went for the cheaper option down the road. Exploring the range of local facilities was fun though – especially the gym across from our new offices, which promised to Make Workouts Fun! “Oh, it’s great here. We give you free boxing gloves when you join. Have you seen the class timetable? Erotic dance! Eh? The Shag Workout! Eh? Eh?” Despite the undoubted appeal of the mirror ball in the spin room, though, I decided that I couldn’t handle Boob Aerobics with my colleagues. Sorry.
3 comments:
I derive considerable satisfaction out of consciously using "nice" in its actual, correct sense, which is as in "The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter." As in precise, or discriminating. It's amazing how often (a) this can be hopelessly confusing to other people, and (b) it's possible to use the correct sense in a construction such that everyone else thinks you mean the colloquial usage while you, secretly, hug to your bosom the knowledge of your own secret superior correctness and nicety of discrimination.
*ahem* But I am an English geek.
I am at one with you, btw, on the hopeless appeal of cute, brainless men. Orlando Bloom has it. You want to beat his head against the wall in sheer frustration before jumping his bones.
stv, my resident english pop culture expert, claims the proliferation of this phrase was achieved through a cunning brainwashing campaign in the 90s called the fast show.
i'm sure people said it before then, but the way he jumped up an down in his seat for a while saying "that's from the fast show!" (and the first google hit for "which is nice") suggest there is something to it... :)
Jo: fascinating. I had wondered if it was "from" somewhere, since it's so specific to the UK (Saffers and Yanks overuse "nice", to be sure, but the whole phrase only struck me over here. But I thought no, couldn't be, it's way too generic to be a catchphrase. Is terribly insidious, though, because it's definitely passed the point at which people use it as a conscious reference. Ack!
Extemporanea: I have to admit, my personal appreciation of Orlando stops at the "beating his head against a wall" point. Definitely not the jumping bones part. He's too much like a sulky 13-year-old - same problem with Leonardo di Caprio. Just annoying, not cute. And I'm *still* not over the barefaced cheek of casting Leo opposite Cate Blanchett. As if he'd ever be so lucky. Pah!
Post a Comment