By Anonymous

I got into the elevator at work the other day- the same elevator in the same building around the same time as I do every wk day. But this day was different, because I heard a NICE story. Even some of the same people were in the elevator. Namely, a youngish white guy in gray suit, looking a little bit angry. As usual, rock and roll was bullying its way out his headphones.

On this day, however, he smiled. Laughed actually, recalling for the benefit of the guy to his right how the lady, the one he'd stopped on the way out of the train station to notify her of the hot roller still tangled in hair, had chased him down and offered him free dry cleaning services at her shop around the corner. He was elated. "She knew everybody else must have seen it, too, but nobody bothered to tell her." We were all incredulous that she could last a minute outside her house with that hot roller there. Good for him. And good for her. Chalk one up for the nice team.

In Canada, the U.K. and Australia, today is Remembrance Day, formerly Armistice Day. Thanks to a NM friend from the U.K., we learned that on the 11th hour of the 11th day of November, 1918, the guns fell silent in Europe, signaling the end of World War I. And, from that point forward, the day has always been remembered in honor of the fallen.

For the past week, citizens in these countries have been wearing poppies leading up to Remembrance Day. Why the poppy? It was Dr. John McCrae of the Canadian Armed Forces, who in 1915 wrote the following poem while serving in Flanders, in the western part of Belgium, one of bloodiest theatres of the war:

Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe;
To you, from failing hands, we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

-John McCrae

We all support and are forever indebted to our war veterans, past and present. So, thank you, all of you, for your loyalty and courage and for making our country everything that it is today.

In a perfect world, there would be no such thing as a war veteran, but as it were, that world does not exist. In a perfect world, there would be no need for Nice Magazine either. War is (unfortunately) a necessary occurrence. We are imperfect beings and we have imperfect means of settling our differences. We all hope that we are moving as a global community toward more humane resolutions, but when you take a look around, you realize that we still have a monster of a climb ahead of us.

But let's not celebrate only war veterans on this day, for that would be shortsighted and a little revisionist. There are a plentitude of sides and points-of-view to every war. And in our country, all of those sides deserve to be remembered and, yes, celebrated. For the most part, we aren't blood thirsty Huns looking to pick a fight (bite your tongue); in this country, we generally go to war only after careful thought, serious counsel and knowing full-well the intended consequences. Part of this process means considering the idea of not going to war at all. And in every past war, indeed, those opposing voices have played an important role in the politics and some would say eventual cessation of these wars. We don't go to war only with blazoned swords; we also go to war with a heart and conscience. So, if it is a human flaw to go to war, it is a human virtue that we fight to eventually end them. In NM's view, all voices deserve to be celebrated. What some may see as objectors / pacifists / pansy-asses are to others courageous and wise.

So, here's to all that fight in war: Our war veterans and our objectors alike.

Music makes the world go 'round. Someone said that, and we here at Nice Magazine agree whole-heartedly. NM is a fan of singer / songwriter, Freedy Johnston, not only because his music rocks, but because we happen to know that he is a pretty great cat. We caught wind of this letter written to Freedy's fan club recently by a devoted Israeli fan and we thought you'd be inspired by his devotion:

Well I'm not sure if there's anyone left at this address but I'll figure I might as well try anyway...

I got an e-mail from a friend 4 months ago with the exciting news of the promo/demo cd but according to the new site info the cd is gone

I feel kinda bad about missing it but unfortunately I was pretty much unavailable to the world for the last couple of months.

As bad luck happens I happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time (which is not a very hard thing to imagine, as I live in Israel)

I was one of the relatively-more-lucky victims of a terrorist bombing. spent the past 4.5 months of my life learning to walk again after several spine operations and somebody up there must have a soft spot for me as I am alive and (almost) kicking and ready to go back to University and resume life..

All this aside, just to explain my tardiness, I really can't accept a total loss here - any chane you have an extra copy lying around? I have been a Freedy Fan for years (I bought Live at 33 1/3 from the site a coupla years back and I have been playing "never home" and "this perfect world" (my personal favorite cds) to death (or pain as it was) over the last months. I could use a freedy injection. If you 're in touch with Freedy please let him know his music literally got me back on my feet again.

If you still have one or if one turns up please let me know! I will gladly post whatever sum required.

M.F.
Haifa
Israel

We like it best when people rise up and take matters into their own hands. No, we're not advocating for the creation of militias and rogue states; we are, however, advocating for Jen Gash of Nashville, Tennessee and her decision to find beds for Moldova's orphans.

The Back Fence section of Portland's Oregonian was brought to our attention by one of our loyal readers in the Northwest. We regularly scan it for great stories and couldn't resist the first post on today's page. Sometimes our children are our best ambassadors.

Wow. I'd never been to a Marathon before, and what an experience it was. If you've never gone out to root on runners in your local road race before, I highly recommend it. If you can make it, I'd further recommend the NYC race.

As we turned onto 5th Avenue in the rooting area around mile 24, I became overwhelmed with the emotion of the crowd and the runners. I seriously became so choked-up that I almost had to leave. It was the look of triumph on the tired faces of the runners; it was the jubilance and gratitude of the crowd; it was a coy wink from a runner here and a "you go Steve" from a complete stranger there. I was so impressed by the outpouring. I must admit that it was all a bit addictive. In the back of my mind I was already mapping out my schedule for the first weekend of November 2005.

To all the runners and supporters of this year's NYC Marathon, great job and see you again next year! Heck, maybe I'll see you in Boston, Portland, Honolulu, Waveland, MS, Death Valley, Dallas, Boise, Harrisburg...(click here for a listing of all Marathons around the country)

By Anonymous

It was the over-the-top, embrace of a lifetime. A "surprise" birthday party with no detail unattended and no expense spared. The best liquor flowed all night, along with rain, Tahitian dancers, a pro comedian, a big-name diva and a celebrity band. Fab vacations and dinners went to holders of lucky numbers. Mountains of birthday gifts spilled from tables.

Lavishness achieved the nth degree: glittery hand-made decorations, rare sea foods, fine cakes, waiters and waitresses at the guests' elbows refilling glasses barely sipped, elaborate party favors, circles of wild young and old dancers. The drenching storm outside added to the drama. Laughter and abandon took hold, group goodwill ruled the room.

The next morning the birthday boy struggled to crack open his silty eyes. He was experiencing a twenty-year hangover. He remembered nothing that happened after 7:30 the night before. He didn't remember the big-name diva's performance, or waltzing with a huge man he hadn't seen in years, or repeatedly toppling over with his best friend's wife while the band performed Aretha Franklin's "Chain of Fools". Blinded by the blue of the ocean in the hotel restaurant, he took drinks of coffee and miso soup. He hardly believed it when they told him that he had been covered up to his eyebrows with leis the night before, strolling in a poufy red hat, and singing Elvis Presley songs for the whole crowd. Apparently, the hostess had been unexpectedly--briefly--moved to tears when the diva sang, "Wind Beneath My Wings," dedicated to him from the hostess.

He was thoroughly wretched from the estimated 4-6 bottles of good merlot he had had during the evening. He felt quite old at the moment; exhausted, relieved that he'd survived the wildness of the past few years, and permanently anxious knowing the ride wasn't over. At the same time, in the midst of the wretchedness, there was something else. Happiness and peace hovered like smoke, and though he could recall hardly anything, he felt the afterglow of a wet kiss and an amazing bear hug.

[Editor's note: What's nice about this story is that beyond the haze and extravagance of the celebration, at the end of the ride, the subject seems to have arrived at a better, more peaceful place. Perhaps we'll check in with the birthday boy in a month or two and see if his happiness has lingered.]

By Anonymous

Up late, the night before the election I watched on television a replay of the challenger's last campaign rally in a Midwestern state. More than 50,000 supporters cheered. A rock star stood in the background as the last breath of hope from the challenger floated into the autumn night.

As I watched, holding my sleeping infant daughter--her head lay against my shoulder, her only movements small peaceful breaths--I felt for a moment at least that same hope.

Soon I would drift off to sleep as well, still holding my daughter as we lay on the sofa in our family room. And in that slumber of an hour or two, maybe the both of us were in the same place, comfortable and warm in knowing that there was some nurturing force out there. Something that would be there for us when we woke up and never leave our side.

Dear Mr. President (whoever you may be),

Nice Magazine congratulates you on winning the leadership of our country for the next four years. We hope that in this time you indeed lead us out of our current climate of divisiveness and negativity. We hope that you inspire us to be better people and to want to serve our friends and neighbors. We hope that you remember to serve all of your friends and neighbors. We hope that you remember to take care of all members of our society. We hope that you champion our rights to clean air and clean water. We hope that you bring niceness into your administration and demand that everyone, all citizens, treat each other with respect and dignity. If life were so simple, these hopes wouldn't be just that. We need these things, Mr. President, for a better America.

All best,
Nice Magazine

The biggest story from last night, at least according to Nice Magazine staff, is the huge voter turn out. Close to 115 million of you turned out; and we've even heard reports that nearly 60% of eligible voters showed up yesterday to play their part in the process.

Bravo! But, we hope that it is only the beginning. Win, lose or draw, whichever candidate you back, a healthy turn out is nothing but a good sign. Americans voting en masse tells the world that we are alert, attentive and engaged in our democracy. This is the healthiest form of homeland security that we can think of. So, let’s bump up that number in 2008 (remember that Colonial America had turn outs in the 80% range – albeit a large chunk of the population were ineligible due to gender, race and property ownership rules).

Keep it up. And don't save up your energy just to do it every four years -- get involved in your local and state level elections, and get out there whenever your vote is called upon.

Went to vote this morning and had the best encounter with the volunteer staff over at the PS 145 voting site in Manhattan. We were getting pointed around and put into different lines all morning long. Seems that because of our new voting status in the New York state we were absent from the rolls. Well, we made sure and double sure leading up to today that we indeed were registered and ready to go to battle at the polls. But, to our chagrin, we got shut out of the process when we tried to do so.

Feeling the blood rush to my head, I was ready to lose it by the time we were ushered away from our precinct 53 table and to the head table where all the lost voting souls resided. The staff, all volunteers mind you (editor's note -- I just learned that most poll workers in New York City are paid a stipend for their service; however, I believe they still deserve our thanks), immediately took us under their wings and quickly assigned a special liaison named Juan to take us back to the top of the precinct 53 line and prepare a proxy ballot for us. Boom, lickty split, just like that, we were exercising democracy.

So, thank you New York City election volunteers!! This one is for you.

Nice Magazine would still like your words, images and links on the world of nice people doing nice things. You may submit to drobert@moderncharity.org.

Aloha and mahalo,

The Staff

The best thing you can do for yourself and your neighbors is to vote. Get out there tomorrow and be a hero of democracy!