Nice just isn't enough anymore.

I don't know if it can be pinpointed to an exact moment when the earth shifted or the angle in which we spin on our wonderfully solid axis was altered by .000000000001%. I would surely bet against the notion that this is the way it had been since my days of single digit tomfoolery. I would say it can most likely be attributed to progression in age, intelligence or the inevitable burning off of my patience. Whatever it is that transpired, whatever paradigm shifting occurred to make me perpetually unimpressed with people, it has happened. Nice just isn't enough anymore. Its doesn't just land short, its not anywhere near flirting with the realm of acceptable company. When asked about people recently I find my response to be a resounding 'eh' or synonyms thereof such as 'cool' or 'nice' But when asked if I really like this person, I find it hard to give an accurate answer. Do you like her/him? What does it mean to like someone exactly? Does it mean that I must thoroughly enjoy their company? Can it mean that it doesn't extremely irritate me to be in their presence? I find myself nearly always answering the question of whether or not I like someone with a yes, but most of the time, the positive response can be directly correlated to the fact that I don't particularly 'like' the person whose has proposed the question to me, and therefore would not like the conversation to continue anywhere past my answer. Bottom line is I will take an interesting person over someone who is overtly nice, I will take someone who is possibly a little mentally loose, a blender without a lid if you will, than someone who swims in the community pool of generic conversations. I remember the moment when I realized that nice just wasn't enough for me anymore. I was sitting with my pigmentally challenged friend Brian, at his kitchen table with its lovely flowered table cloth and matching metal yet woodgrain napkin holder when he posed the aforementioned question asking me if I liked a particular person. Since I enjoyed the film Powder, I tend to enjoy the conversations Brian and I have, and so I answered 'no, not really.' To which he replied, "really, why not? He's a nice guy." That right there was the moment, the light bulb over my head, the realization that, as I stated back to the tall drink of skim milk, "nice isn't enough anymore." Instead of going the usual route and starting an argument, he sat back, pondering what I said and shortly after, agreed. For the next 30 minutes or so we began to pick apart, pretty much everyone we know or have came across for various reasons but mainly because they weren't clever enough to be having the same spiteful conversation. This was the moment I realized I was not alone in my new view. 'Others share in my glorious disdain!' I exclaimed, with the vigor of a man who reached the summit of Everest but needed to eat his friend to make it there.
Terms like blank page and vanilla dance a solo tango in my head when the thoughts of these amiable, obliging, peachy people are already doing a meandering Caucasian sway. Soon after, they meet hands and dance the most mundane of Tangos, so gregarious, yet so undeniably unimpressive.