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"  Click here to pick up A.J. Jacobs&amp;#039;s The Guinea Pig Diaries now! Preamble After Julie and I watched the John Adams miniseries on HBO, I had two reactions. The first was unsettling: if I&amp;#039;d been alive in Colonial times, I would not have been on the side of the patriots. This is an unpleasant epiphany for someone who&amp;#039;s always considered himself moderately patriotic. But I&amp;#039;m convinced of it. I wouldn&amp;#039;t be a king-loving Loyalist, mind you. I&amp;#039;d be somewhere in the middle. John Adams estimated that a third of the country was patriots, a third loyalist, and a third neutral. That&amp;#039;d be me: neutral. I don&amp;#039;t have a revolutionary nature. I&amp;#039;m not confrontational enough. I&amp;#039;d probably grumble about the tax on tea, but in the end, I&amp;#039;d cough up the money rather than putting on a feathered headdress and storming a ship. I mean, I&amp;#039;ve shelled out $3.45 for a tall pumpkin latte without declaring war on Starbucks. That&amp;#039;s truly intolerable.  I knew that the Founding Fathers took a risk. But it didn&amp;#039;t sink in quite how breathtaking their leap of faith was. They had to realize that their odds of failure were staggeringly high, like Rob-Schneider-winning-the-Oscar high. And if they did fail, they wouldn&amp;#039;t go back to their farms and lick their wounds and play cribbage; they&amp;#039;d all end up swinging from the gallows.  If I&amp;#039;d been alive, I would have sided with Pennsylvania lawyer John Dickinson, who wanted to keep negotiating with Britain, telling the Continental Congress they &amp;quot;should exhaust all peaceful approaches.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Precisely,&amp;quot; I&amp;#039;d say. &amp;quot;If we can get electricity from a kite, we can work out this tax dispute...&amp;quot;  So I&amp;#039;m thankful I wasn&amp;#039;t born in the eighteenth century.  The second realization was that I wanted to know more about George Washington. In the past, I&amp;#039;d found him the least interesting of the Founding Fathers. Undeniably great, but kind of bland. He was the market leader, sure, but he lacked pizzazz, sort of like Wal-Mart. Give me Ben Franklin and his wry, sometimes randy wisdom. Or Jefferson and his political poetry. Or cantankerous old John Adams, and his strange obsession with his compost pile.  But in the miniseries, there was a moment that crystallized Washington&amp;#039;s greatness for me in a new way: John Adams had come up with a list of highfalutin titles for the new president (&amp;quot;His Majesty the President&amp;quot; and &amp;quot;His High Mightiness&amp;quot;). Washington scolded him: &amp;quot;Mr. President. That is all.&amp;quot;  What restraint! This was a man who could have crowned himself Czar Washington if he&amp;#039;d wanted to. He could have occupied a throne for life. He could have had a harem of big-bustled women. Instead, restraint. This humble act of heroism which helped assure our democracy didn&amp;#039;t become a monarchy is as impressive to me as Washington&amp;#039;s battles. We need more restraint, more civility. I&amp;#039;m writing this as the Dow continues its free fall. And what got us into this? You could argue it was a lack of restraint. Unbridled hunger for power by rogue emperors of Wall Street.  The next week, while reading Joseph Ellis&amp;#039;s biography of George Washington, I stumbled across something extraordinary. Namely, a list Washington wrote called &amp;quot;Rules of Civility and Decent Behavior in Company and Conversation.&amp;quot; It&amp;#039;s exactly what it says: an easy-to-read rundown of how to behave while talking, eating, doing business, courting, you name it. There are 110 of them.  Providence as Washington used to say has provided me with my next experiment.  First, it&amp;#039;s a list of rules. I love those. Frankly, I miss living by the Bible&amp;#039;s laws. I miss the stable architecture, the paradoxical freedom from choice. This will be like living biblically, but with a Colonial flavor less stoning adulterers, more bowing. Second, I&amp;#039;ll get a crash course in this remarkable man, the Founding Father in Chief.  And, most important, I&amp;#039;ll get to mainline the ideals of a long-ago, seemingly more civil time. I may never become a revolutionary, but maybe I can become a better leader and more dignified human being.  The List  Washington wrote the Rules in his notebook when he was a young man. Rumors to the contrary, he didn&amp;#039;t actually come up with the 110 Rules in the first place they were originally from the pen of a French Jesuit in the sixteenth century. But he copied them painstakingly by hand. And the list had a deep impact on him. Many historians say it shaped his character throughout his life. The list itself is an early version of Emily Post mixed with GQ, with a dash of Ten Commandments thrown in to give it heft.  The first rule is this:  Every action done in company ought to be with some sign of respect to those that are present.  In other words, be aware of the consequences of your actions on others. An elegant notion that&amp;#039;s often ignored in our era of unabashed individualism.  Rule 2 is this:  When in company, put not your hands to any part of the body not usually discovered.  That&amp;#039;s right. The second rule that formed the character of our first president? Do not touch your pecker in public.  Turns out this advice is so important, and the practice so rampant among eighteenth-century men, it merits repeating just a few rules later.  Rule 11: Shift not yourself in the sight of others.  Okay? No pocket pool, as we called it in eighth grade. And ladies, no adjusting the bra straps.  This much is clear: the list has quite a range.  Some rules are general, some wildly specific. Some reflect the era, some could have been written this morning. And they will affect every part of my existence:  The way I talk (&amp;quot;mock not at anything important,&amp;quot; &amp;quot;speak not of doleful things in a time of mirth or at the table&amp;quot;) The way I think (&amp;quot;in all causes of passion, let reason govern&amp;quot;)  The way I laugh (not &amp;quot;too much at any public spectacle&amp;quot;)  The way I squash bugs (&amp;quot;kill no vermin, or fleas, lice, ticks, etc., in the sight of others&amp;quot;)  The way I sit (&amp;quot;keep your feet firm and even&amp;quot;)  The way I eat (don&amp;#039;t complain about the food, don&amp;#039;t &amp;quot;gaze about while you are drinking&amp;quot;)  The way I treat my friends (&amp;quot;Show nothing to your friend that may affright him&amp;quot;) and the way I treat my bosses (&amp;quot;In company of those of higher quality than yourself, speak not &amp;#039;til you are asked a question&amp;quot;)  Oh, and by the way, I will not be spitting for the next few weeks. Washington&amp;#039;s Rules were very opposed to spitting. And if I see spittle on the ground, I should &amp;quot;dexterously cover it up&amp;quot; with my foot. Basic Training Before I try to spend a few weeks behaving like George Washington, I figure I&amp;#039;ll consult a man whose full-time job is to behave like Washington. His name is Dean Malissa. He&amp;#039;s the Sean Penn of George Washington impersonators. Or interpreters, I found out later. That&amp;#039;s the preferred term.  Malissa agrees to meet me and invites me to see him in action at Valley Forge, Pennsylvania. So on a late September day, I join a group tour at Valley Forge. I&amp;#039;m standing next to Phineas Folger, a Quaker merchant who is wearing a Huskies baseball cap and is getting suntan applied to his face by his mom.  We&amp;#039;ve all been assigned a Colonial character to portray it&amp;#039;s part of the tour&amp;#039;s living-history shtick. I&amp;#039;m Charles Carter, a &amp;quot;gentleman of the highest honor.&amp;quot;  On my other side is a seamstress named Abigail (aka Irene, a nurse from Seattle). She looks like a naturally aged Diane Keaton and she&amp;#039;s a Washington groupie. She spends her vacations visiting places where Washington has slept. I tell her about my project on the rules of civility.  &amp;quot;That&amp;#039;s what I love about George Washington,&amp;quot; she says. &amp;quot;He embodies those rules. He was virtuous. He did things for the right reasons out of service.&amp;quot;  She pauses.  &amp;quot;Not like that Jefferson. He liked to stir things up. He&amp;#039;d do something awful, then say &amp;#039;it wasn&amp;#039;t me!&amp;#039; &amp;quot;  Irene throws up her hands in mock &amp;quot;What? I&amp;#039;m innocent!&amp;quot; pose.  We stop for a Colonial-themed dinner (the dessert includes Martha Washington&amp;#039;s coconut balls, which caused some snickering among the teenage congressional delegates). And then we walk to Washington&amp;#039;s headquarters. The door swings open and out strides George dressed in smart yellow pants and a blue waistcoat. It&amp;#039;s kind of startling how much Dean looks like our first president. He breaks six feet, has the president&amp;#039;s substantial nose, and a mane of white hair tied behind his head. (Later, I&amp;#039;ll learn that his Achilles heel is eye color Washington had blue, Dean has brown. For close-up film work, Dean puts in blue contact lenses.) &amp;quot;What I am about to share is of the utmost sensitivity and I need to be certain that all of you will keep this confidence,&amp;quot; says Washington.  He tells us that his spies inform him that the British plan to evacuate Philadelphia imminently. They&amp;#039;ve ordered all their laundry to be returned immediately. &amp;quot;My friends, we entreat your fervent prayers.&amp;quot;  And now, he&amp;#039;ll take questions.  On the back of our name badges, the Valley Forge folks have suggested questions for our characters to ask General Washington.  The delegate from New York asks the old chestnut: &amp;quot;Are your teeth made out of wood?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;No, they are not,&amp;quot; replies Washington. &amp;quot;I have problems with my teeth because my father had very bad teeth. I also like to crack Brazil nuts with my teeth and that&amp;#039;s not a very smart thing to do. I do have false teeth and they are made of animal bone.&amp;quot;  This I knew from my days reading the encyclopedia: they&amp;#039;re actually a mixture of human teeth and ivory from elephants and hippos.  &amp;quot;General,&amp;quot; I call out. I figure I should get in the spirit and read the question on my name badge. &amp;quot;I mean no disrespect, General, but I have heard rumors you married for money. Is that true?&amp;quot;  Dean/Washington looks at me sternly. &amp;quot;That is inappropriate, sir.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Sorry. I&amp;#039;m just reading what&amp;#039;s on the card.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;The truth is that Mrs. Washington was an exceptionally wealthy widow... But sir, it was something very magical that transpired between us and I will leave it at that.&amp;quot;  Dean&amp;#039;s right. The Valley Forge folks set me up. The question is a very uncivil invasion of privacy. In fact, I&amp;#039;ve been thinking that just researching the life of Washington is an un-Washingtonian invasion of his privacy. Rule 18 warns us, for instance, not to read other people&amp;#039;s letters.  The problem is, much of what we know about George Washington is based on his private letters, released to the public after his death. How would Washington feel about this? You think he&amp;#039;d be happy that we all know he apparently had a crush on Sally Fairfax, his married neighbor? He wrote her a letter saying, &amp;quot;The World has no business to know the object of my Love, declared in this manner to you when I want to conceal it.&amp;quot;  And what about the receipt for cantharides that was found among his letters? The other name for cantharides is Spanish fly. Biographer Paul Johnson argues that Washington might have needed the Spanish fly as a very primitive form of Viagra. (If Johnson is right, which I&amp;#039;m not sure he is, then the Washington Monument is the single most ironic tribute on planet Earth.) With Washington, the dilemma we face is between a respect for his privacy and the importance of understanding history. And it seems history generally trumps privacy. Thank God I&amp;#039;m not going to be a great man. Poor Obama. In a hundred years, historians will be combing through his Google searches and pharmacy receipts.  By the way, Washington probably did marry partly for money.  The next morning, I meet Dean at his home, which sits on the border of a woody park in suburban Philly. He greets me at the door wearing white shorts and a mustard-colored &amp;quot;Don&amp;#039;t Tread on Me&amp;quot; T-shirt, his long white hair freed from its ponytail.  &amp;quot;I hate the long hair,&amp;quot; he tells me. &amp;quot;But it&amp;#039;s all about accuracy. Men in Washington&amp;#039;s day wore wigs but Washington never did. He would powder his hair for formal events, but he would consider himself a soldier and a farmer. He did not wear a wig.&amp;quot;  We enter the house, and I&amp;#039;m met with an explosion of George Washington memorabilia. George Washington paintings on the wall. George Washington books on the shelves. George Washington waistcoats and breeches in the closet. George Washington booze in the kitchen Madeira was his drink of choice. We sit down, and Dean tells me about life as Washington&amp;#039;s doppelganger. He&amp;#039;s quite busy, working at both Valley Forge and Mount Vernon, the latter gig coming to him after another Washington interpreter retired.  &amp;quot;They were actually considering a nationwide search,&amp;quot; Dean says.  &amp;quot;Really?&amp;quot; I say. &amp;quot;That could have been a good reality show. America&amp;#039;s Next George Washington.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;I hate reality television,&amp;quot; he says. &amp;quot;I actually have great distaste for most television. Portraying Washington has sensitized me with regard to the devolution of our world and our country. The lack of courtesy, the lack of civility, the lack of a self-starting populace. The whole idea of virtue and honor is becoming more and more difficult to find. So your comment about reality television strikes a nerve because it is the pus at the top of the pimple. It is everything that I hate.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Yeah,&amp;quot; I lie. &amp;quot;I don&amp;#039;t watch it much, either.&amp;quot;  I think I just got schooled. Hoping to redeem myself, I shift gears quickly. I ask him if he thinks I can learn from the 110 Rules.  &amp;quot;Yes. Just remember Washington&amp;#039;s personal credo: Deeds, not words. He may not have been the greatest thinker of his day, but he took the greatest ideas of his day and translated them into action.  &amp;quot;He tended to be very reticent and take in a lot without responding,&amp;quot; says Dean. &amp;quot;I cannot portray him that way. Or else I&amp;#039;d lose my audience.&amp;quot;  So was our first president really different from us? Was he really more civil and decent? Yes, says Dean. Just look at politicians today. &amp;quot;If George Washington knew that politicians in America run for the presidency, he would be appalled. A gentleman does not run for president. He stands for the presidency. Running might make him less able to govern for the good of the people, and dispense justice.&amp;quot;  He also would have kept us from this economic mess we&amp;#039;re descending into. &amp;quot;In Washington&amp;#039;s Farewell Address, he warns us against mortgaging the future of our children and grandchildren. And that&amp;#039;s exactly what we&amp;#039;ve done.&amp;quot;  Dean&amp;#039;s so passionate about Washington, I feel guilty that I overlooked G.W. all these years. He says he thinks of Washington as the American Moses the right man at the right time. And, like the seamstress/nurse from Seattle, Dean very civilly, very politely disses Jefferson: &amp;quot;The more one reads about Jefferson, the more one becomes aware of the great difference between his actions and his words.&amp;quot;  As I leave, we bump into Dean&amp;#039;s wife, Debby, who works in Jewish education in Philly. I ask her how she likes being married to George Washington. She hates the hair, but overall it&amp;#039;s a pretty fun life.  &amp;quot;Just don&amp;#039;t call her Martha or she&amp;#039;ll sock you in the jaw,&amp;quot; Dean says.  &amp;quot;What&amp;#039;s wrong with Martha?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;She was old and chubby and was about this high,&amp;quot; says Debbie.  I promise not to call her Martha.  &amp;quot;Remember,&amp;quot; Dean says, as he bids me good-bye. &amp;quot;Deeds. Not words.&amp;quot;  Walk Like George Washington My meeting with Dean made me realize one huge secret to Washington&amp;#039;s success: his appearance. He just looked dignified.  He strode the earth like a great man. Even before our CNN-saturated era, appearances counted.  Washington had a born advantage in the dignity department: he was tall, about six foot two, which was gargantuan back then. A cranky John Adams (who was five feet seven) once whined that Washington&amp;#039;s height won him the presidency. Adams grumbled that, like King Saul, Washington was &amp;quot;chosen because he was taller by the head than the other Jews.&amp;quot;  But Washington carried that towering frame with aplomb. &amp;quot;There is not a monarch in Europe who would not look like a valet de chambre by his side,&amp;quot; said Benjamin Rush, a Founding Father and doctor.  I&amp;#039;ve decided deportment is an appropriate place to start the Washington Project. I&amp;#039;ll begin with the exterior and move on to the mind. It&amp;#039;s in the spirit of the Rules. An impressive 47 of the 110 Rules focus on exteriors: how to walk, how to sit, how to smile.  Namely:  No fidgeting or bouncing of the legs  No shaking the head  Sit with your feet firmly planted on the floor, not crossed  And the face! The gentleman in Colonial times wore a Botox-like visage.  Rule 12: &amp;quot;Roll not the eyes; lift not one eyebrow higher than the other, wry not the mouth.&amp;quot;  It&amp;#039;s the first day of my experiment, and I&amp;#039;m doing my best to walk around New York like George Washington. It&amp;#039;s not easy. I feel like my body is a colt, and I&amp;#039;m a cowboy trying to break it.  I&amp;#039;m standing up straight. More than straight. Dean instructed me on the proper posture in Washington&amp;#039;s day: chest thrust out, shoulders back, very Dudley Do-Right.  In my regular life, I amble around looking like Hominid No. 3 in those evolution charts. Partly, it&amp;#039;s out of laziness. But partly, it feels odd to me to thrust out my chest, almost presumptuous. During my biblical year, I learned that the Talmud suggests that we not walk in a jaunty, upright manner. Be humble in your posture, it says. Stooped shoulders were a sign of respect.  No more of that. I shall stand tall. And it&amp;#039;s strange a rigid posture does make me feel more decisive, more confident. I feel like issuing some executive orders.  &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;ll have four C batteries, please,&amp;quot; I intone to the pharmacy guy, my delivery crisp.  &amp;quot;Yes, sir.&amp;quot;  Has he ever called me &amp;quot;sir&amp;quot;? I don&amp;#039;t think so.  I keep my face still. Washington was the original stone face. Some historians say Washington&amp;#039;s elaborate dentures a contraption involving metal springs were so uncomfortable, they forced his mouth into the dour position you see on the front of the dollar bill. But he was also just following the Rules.  &amp;quot;The idea of these etiquette laws were to set themselves apart from the common people,&amp;quot; says C. Dallett Hemphill, author of a history of American manners, Bowing to Necessities, whom I&amp;#039;d called to get some perspective. &amp;quot;You wanted to have self-mastery, so you could demonstrate to the uncouth that you had self-control. And controlling the body and face was part of this self-mastery. Washington was famous for his self-mastery.&amp;quot; Julie didn&amp;#039;t notice my new controlled face at least not consciously until the weekend. It was my niece&amp;#039;s bat mitzvah. There was a photo booth. Julie asked me to join her, so I went in with her and she pulled the curtain. The camera flashed four times. The photos came back with her sticking out her tongue \u00E0 la Gene Simmons and crossing her eyes, while I stared ahead serenely, not smiling, not frowning, like a department store mannequin.  She looked at me, disbelieving.  &amp;quot;I am trying not to loll the tongue or wry the mouth,&amp;quot; I said.  At which she violated Rule 12 and rolled her eyes.  Stay Aloof Like George Washington  It&amp;#039;s been a week. I&amp;#039;m being as civil as I can lots of pleases and thank-yous, standing up when people return to the table, no spitting in the sink when I wash my hands. But I&amp;#039;m already having second thoughts about this experiment.  I want to be more civil, yes. But do I want to be like George Washington? Here are the adjectives his biographers use: aloof, reserved, even arctic. He&amp;#039;d happily sit in silence at the dinner table. He didn&amp;#039;t often toss back ale with his soldiers because he thought it&amp;#039;d erode his dignity. After the meal, he&amp;#039;d sometimes read the newspaper aloud to guests, which doesn&amp;#039;t sound like a fun Friday night. And let me tell you, if you hung out with him, you weren&amp;#039;t going to be spewing a lot of milk through your nose. The man wasn&amp;#039;t much for jokes. (George Washington&amp;#039;s biographers always point out a couple of gags he made during his life, just to show he&amp;#039;s human. My favorite is in a letter he wrote to a just-married friend. Washington advised him to &amp;quot;make the first onset upon his fair Del Toboso with vigor, that the impression may be deep, if it cannot be lasting or frequently renewed.&amp;quot; That&amp;#039;s the closest G.W. got to working blue.)  I like the idea of being civil. But does it require me to be an ice king? How closely aligned are dignity and keeping your distance? Because, as the professor points out, yes, the idea of etiquette is partly about respect but it&amp;#039;s also partly about elitism. No sir, I&amp;#039;m not like those rubes. I&amp;#039;ve got me some manners.  Drink Like George Washington Luckily, there are enough inspiring tales in my Washington biographies to keep me going. Yesterday, a week into the project, I read about one of my favorite examples of his civility:  After the British surrendered at Yorktown, the general told his men, &amp;quot;Do not cheer. History will huzzah for us.&amp;quot; I&amp;#039;m not sure how his troops felt about this &amp;quot;Um, we&amp;#039;d really like to huzzah now&amp;quot; but it&amp;#039;s a beautiful and noble thought. And it&amp;#039;s straight out of the Rules: &amp;quot;Show not yourself glad at the misfortune of another though he were your enemy.&amp;quot;  I try it out tonight. Julie and I go out to dinner with our friends Paul and Lisa. The drinks arrive.  &amp;quot;Here&amp;#039;s to the self-destruction of the Republican Party,&amp;quot; says Paul, lifting his beer.  We&amp;#039;re in the middle of the Obama/McCain presidential race, and the Republicans do seem to be intent on immolating themselves.  Lisa raises her glass. Julie raises hers. I refuse.  &amp;quot;You&amp;#039;re a Republican now?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;No, I just don&amp;#039;t think it&amp;#039;s civil to gloat.&amp;quot;  Paul lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan.  &amp;quot;You know, I think he&amp;#039;s got a point,&amp;quot; says Julie. She puts her glass down. Yes! Support from Julie during one of my experiments that&amp;#039;s heaven.  &amp;quot;Fine. What would you like to toast to?&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Freedom from mobs as well as kings.&amp;quot; A traditional Founding Fathers toast.  It&amp;#039;s interesting. The Rules don&amp;#039;t forbid you from feeling gleeful at your enemy&amp;#039;s demise. The rule is, Don&amp;#039;t show that you&amp;#039;re gleeful. It&amp;#039;s almost the opposite of Radical Honesty. Put an extreme filter between your brain and your mouth.  The Rules are like cognitive therapy behave civilly, and eventually you&amp;#039;ll think civilly. The Rules are a rejection of what Richard Brookhiser, in his excellent intro to a 1997 reprinting of the 110 Rules, calls the &amp;quot;cult of authenticity.&amp;quot; Why should we show all our emotions? Why should we always try to be true to our natural selves? What if our natural selves are assholes? Stalin was true to himself.  In times like these, I love Washington&amp;#039;s repression. Or, as he might say, self-mastery.  Greet Like George Washington  George Washington hated shaking hands another mark in his favor. At receptions, he&amp;#039;d stand with one hand on his sword and one hand holding a tricorner hat, leaving zero hands available for shaking. And Dean Malissa told me the hat wasn&amp;#039;t even a real hat. It was specially made with a hole in it to hide his hand.  As a mild OCD sufferer, I support Washington completely. His handshake-phobia, however, came a few decades before the germ theory. It was all part of his aloofness and dislike of physical contact. Washington preferred the old-school greeting: bowing, in accordance with Rule 26: &amp;quot;Make a reverence, bowing more or less according to the custom of the better bred.&amp;quot;  So I&amp;#039;ve decided to follow suit. When I visited him, Dean gave me a tutorial: &amp;quot;When you bow, you must sit back on your rear leg. Oh, and we have no monarchy in this country, so you keep your eyes straight. You look into the eyes.  &amp;quot;If you&amp;#039;re bowing formally, you put your best foot forward and you turn out your toes to present your calf. If you&amp;#039;re bowing to a man, your calf projects your power. If you&amp;#039;re bowing to a woman, your calf projects something else.&amp;quot;  Something else? What something else? Was there a saying, the bigger the calf, the bigger the...  Dean smiles mysteriously. (He later told me that&amp;#039;s exactly what he meant. Legend has it there were even prosthetic wooden calves you could stuff in your socks to appear more manly.)  For the last week, I&amp;#039;ve avoided handshakes altogether in favor of the bow. There&amp;#039;s been a clear split in reactions.  There are the reciprocators. I met this lawyer at a cocktail party my wife took me to.  &amp;quot;This is Alex, he&amp;#039;s a friend of Barbara&amp;#039;s.&amp;quot;  Alex stuck out his hand.  I did a quick, shallow bow. He looked startled. And then he did an even deeper bow.  I took that as a challenge and executed the full Dean Malissa lean-back-and-present-your-calf-and-bend-90-degrees-at-the-waist bow.  He responded with a graceful arm swoop and a doffing of his baseball cap.  On the other hand, there are the insulted. Yesterday, I met my friend David for lunch, and he brought his business associate Terry, whom I&amp;#039;d never met. Terry stuck out his hand. I ignored it, and bowed to him, presenting my calf. He looked startled.  He kept holding out his hand. He would not take it down.  I bowed again, this time more quickly. And yet that hand it stayed out there.  I bowed a short cursory bow, just a little head dip.  &amp;quot;You want me to say something in Japanese?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;m trying not to shake hands.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s all right. You can shake hands.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;No, I&amp;#039;m trying not to.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Come on.&amp;quot;  We stood there for ten seconds, playing chicken with the salutations. Finally, he took down his hand, but the lunch was halting and awkward.  Historically, the handshake was seen as a democratic gesture. William Penn was a big proponent, and scandalized some upper-crust types by shaking hands with Indians. But nowadays, I think the bow has more benefits. Though it may seem pretentious, it&amp;#039;s actually deeply humbling. Just lowering yourself before someone the universal symbol of modesty makes you feel more respectful. Behavior shapes your thoughts. Refrain from Anger Like George Washington  George Washington is known for controlling his emotions. What&amp;#039;s remarkable about this is what a struggle it must have been for him. He wasn&amp;#039;t born with a Zen attitude. Just the opposite. Below his placid exterior, he was a burbling witch&amp;#039;s cauldron of emotions.  And when he did lose control which was more often than he liked oh man it was ugly. &amp;quot;Few sounds on earth could compare with that of General Washington swearing a blue streak,&amp;quot; wrote his private secretary.  Gilbert Stuart the artist who painted the portrait on the dollar bill said he saw in Washington&amp;#039;s face &amp;quot;the strongest and most ungovernable passions, and had he been born in the forests, it was [my] opinion that he would have been the fiercest man among the savage tribes.&amp;quot;  But as the Rules say, &amp;quot;Use no reproachful language against anyone, neither curse nor revile,&amp;quot; and &amp;quot;In all causes of passion, permit reason to govern.&amp;quot;  I worked on restraining my wrath during my Bible year, but it&amp;#039;s a struggle that&amp;#039;s never over. Today I get my chance to practice Washington-style anger management. Here&amp;#039;s what happened: since I have no office, and since I have three extremely loud boys, my mother-in-law lends me her studio apartment when she&amp;#039;s away on a trip. I go there during the days to write.  Last week, she came back a day early, before I&amp;#039;d had a chance to clean up the empty soda cans and dishes.  She was not happy. I called to apologize, which was the Washingtonian thing to do: he could be great at saying sorry.  &amp;quot;Hello, Barbara. It&amp;#039;s your son-in-law calling to apologize.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;This is not working out,&amp;quot; she says. &amp;quot;We have different standards of cleanliness. You&amp;#039;re going to have to find somewhere else to work.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Well, I know I made a mistake, but&amp;quot;  Damn. My cell phone cut out. I dial her back. She answers.  &amp;quot;Hi, Barbara. Sorry about that, my cell phone seems to have died.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;No, it didn&amp;#039;t. I hung up.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;You hung up on me?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;I said what I wanted to say, and then I hung up.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Wow.&amp;quot;  Now, normally, my reaction would have been mild annoyance mixed with amusement. She&amp;#039;s a character, my mother-in-law. The first words I ever heard her utter were &amp;quot;I need a drink.&amp;quot; (She&amp;#039;d had a bad parking experience.) So generally I&amp;#039;m able to enjoy her quirks.  But I&amp;#039;m hyperaware of manners right now. And to get hung up on? That was rude. Highly uncivil. I&amp;#039;ve been treated better by parking cops.  I start to sweat. I punch in her number, ready to reproach her and curse and revile. Wait. I can&amp;#039;t do that. Follow George Washington&amp;#039;s lead. I click off.  That afternoon, I sit down to write a letter to Barbara. I love the Colonial style of writing the roundabout phraseology. &amp;quot;It is not without reluctance that I bring this up,&amp;quot; I start. &amp;quot;But I wanted to endeavor to elucidate my concern.&amp;quot;  The beauty part is, this formal, repressed language actually makes me less angry. How can I be foaming at the mouth when I use words like elucidate? I sign it &amp;quot;A. J. Jacobs.&amp;quot;  Julie laughs at me. &amp;quot;You probably don&amp;#039;t need the last name.&amp;quot;  At least I didn&amp;#039;t write &amp;quot;Your humble and obedient servant,&amp;quot; the way Dean signs his e-mails.  I drop the note off at Barbara&amp;#039;s apartment building. The next day, Barbara comes over to talk.  &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;m sorry if I offended you,&amp;quot; she says.  &amp;quot;And I am sorry about the cleanup.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;I just thought it was better to get off the phone quickly so nothing escalated.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;You liked the letter?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;It was very formal.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Thank you.&amp;quot;  It&amp;#039;s possible you could call the letter passive-aggressive. But the Rules encourage passive aggression. And I have to say, passive aggression gets a bad rap nowadays. It may not be appropriate in all occasions, but it&amp;#039;s a lot better than aggressive aggression. Ignore Gossip Like George Washington  Remember how Dean said George Washington has sensitized him to just how uncivil these times are? I think about that a lot.  These are some seriously uncivil times. It&amp;#039;s been two weeks, and I made the mistake of looking at some comments about myself on the Internet. It&amp;#039;s a terrible habit, and I&amp;#039;ve been trying to kick it for years. But I keep sneaking back on.  Today, I clicked on a YouTube video of me speaking about my Bible book. Among the comments:  &amp;quot;His voice is sooo annoying.&amp;quot; (I&amp;#039;m a tad nasal, sort of Truman Capote without the drawl. Or maybe late-model Arnold Horshack.)  &amp;quot;Does he remind anyone else of Beaker from the Muppets?&amp;quot; Another called me a &amp;quot;rabbit man&amp;quot; (a reference to my slightly buck teeth, I think, or maybe my love of lettuce).  I read the comments with my finger on the quit button, so that if I get to a particularly harsh one, I can zap the window off my screen.  These are brutal times. But the question is, Are they any more brutal than Washington&amp;#039;s era? I&amp;#039;m not so sure. There was some scurrilous, nasty stuff going on. Consider James Callender, a sleazeball journalist who would have done quite well as an Internet troll. Thomas Jefferson hired Callender to write nasty articles about John Adams. When Callendar felt he didn&amp;#039;t get paid properly by Jefferson, he turned on Jefferson, writing a scathing article about Jefferson&amp;#039;s private life. He was the first to expose Jefferson&amp;#039;s affair with Sally Hemings.  Luckily for me, of all the Founding Fathers, George Washington does seem the most civil. He wasn&amp;#039;t much of a gossip. And he didn&amp;#039;t believe others&amp;#039; gossip, to the point of na\u00EFvet\u00E9. In Washington&amp;#039;s second term, Thomas Jefferson started spreading nasty rumors about Washington including that he was senile. Washington was told, but refused to believe Jefferson would say such things. Washington looked for the best in people. He was no Machiavellian.  It makes me like George Washington a lot more. And Jefferson? Maybe I&amp;#039;m just falling for the pro-Washington propaganda, but he does seem seriously flawed.  Weep Like George Washington It&amp;#039;s late October, just a couple weeks until the election. As a moderate New York liberal, I&amp;#039;m legally required to vote for Obama. But I have to say, I&amp;#039;m looking forward to my two minutes behind the curtain, unlike voting for John Kerry four years ago, which felt like wiping the inside of the microwave oven something I needed to do, but I knew wasn&amp;#039;t going to be much fun. Everyone compares Obama to his fellow Illinois man Abe Lincoln. But since I&amp;#039;m doing this project, I see everything through Washington-colored lenses.  And to me, Obama is the political offspring of our first president. Consider:  Obama (aka No-Drama Obama) is famous for his mastery over his emotions. In true Washingtonian style, Obama even controls his facial muscles. He&amp;#039;s deliberative. Like our first president, he doesn&amp;#039;t lead from his gut. Thomas Jefferson wrote that &amp;quot;perhaps the strongest feature in [Washington&amp;#039;s] character was prudence, never acting until every circumstance, every consideration was maturely weighed.&amp;quot; Obama got slammed as indecisive for not voting on a bunch of U.S. Senate bills. But I have a soft spot for reasoned indecision.  He says he plans to surround himself with a cacophony of voices. Before Lincoln&amp;#039;s team of rivals, there was Washington&amp;#039;s team of rivals. I&amp;#039;m surprised the agrarian idealist Jefferson and the industrial realist Hamilton didn&amp;#039;t claw each other&amp;#039;s eyes out.  He styles himself a postpartisan president. Washington was prepartisan. He was appalled when the country split into political parties.  I know. I&amp;#039;ve been swept away by this Obama thing. I&amp;#039;ve lost all perspective. I feel like the poet in the 1789 New Hampshire Recorder who wrote:  Behold the matchless Washington His glory has eclips&amp;#039;d the sun;  The luster of his rays so bright  &amp;#039;Tis always day, there&amp;#039;s no more night.  The next day, I call Dean to give him an update. I tell him that I had been skeptical of George Washington early on, but now I&amp;#039;m liking him more and more.  &amp;quot;I remember I was reading Washington&amp;#039;s Secret War by Thomas Fleming,&amp;quot; he tells me. &amp;quot;I was on vacation at Villa del Sol in Mexico that&amp;#039;s the beach in Shawshank Redemption, by the way. It&amp;#039;s where they always dreamed of going. I must have had a couple of Coronas. I put the book down in my lap. And I started to cry.  &amp;quot;And my wife says, &amp;#039;What&amp;#039;s wrong?&amp;#039;  &amp;quot;And I said, &amp;#039;It&amp;#039;s not what&amp;#039;s wrong. It&amp;#039;s what&amp;#039;s right.&amp;#039;  &amp;quot;This man is amazing.&amp;quot; I&amp;#039;m glad Dean feels comfortable enough to tell me about his crying jags. Maybe it&amp;#039;s because his hero was also a weeper. I wouldn&amp;#039;t have thought it, seeing as he&amp;#039;s so famously stoic. But Washington wept in public several times. At the end of the Revolutionary War, Washington gave a speech to his men about how proud he was of them, and had tears streaming down his face. A few days later, at 11 P.M., Julie and I are watching TV in bed. John McCain has just given a highly civil and decent concession speech. Barack Obama strides onstage in Chicago&amp;#039;s Grant Park.  &amp;quot;If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer,&amp;quot; he tells the nation.  Julie is crying. Jesse Jackson is crying. I&amp;#039;m having trouble controlling my face muscles as well.  This is an amazing moment. Even if Obama did run for president instead of stand for president, it&amp;#039;s still an amazing moment. I hope Obama turns out to be a Washingtonian leader in the original sense and not Washingtonian in the Beltway sense. We&amp;#039;ll see.  Evolve Like George Washington As my project wraps up, I&amp;#039;ve got a hankering to see George Washington in action again. Dean isn&amp;#039;t performing this weekend. But another reenactor is slated to appear at a French and Indian War battle near Pittsburgh. It&amp;#039;s where George Washington first tasted the military life, fighting on the side of his future enemies, the British.  I get to the field right in time for battle. French forces, about a hundred of them, dressed in white uniforms with tall black hats, advance slowly from the left side of the field. The British forces advance even more slowly. It&amp;#039;s an organized and polite battle the two sides take turns shooting at each other, never letting the affair descend into unpleasant chaos. The muskets which are loaded with gunpowder but no bullets sound like very loud microwave popcorn. Pop, pop, pop! The guns blow smoke rings that float up and disappear in the trees.  Here in the spectator section, I&amp;#039;m standing among the members of the Boy Scout troop from Allegheny County.  &amp;quot;Two AK-47s is all they need,&amp;quot; says one Boy Scout. &amp;quot;Mow those Frenchies right down.&amp;quot;  The Brits have a kilt-wearing bagpipe player who walks behind the soldiers blowing a mournful tune. War was still brutal back then, but at least it came with a lovely soundtrack.  The soldiers on both sides start dropping to the ground. Every few seconds, another one slumps and splays on the field. They are good splayers, these soldiers, arms and legs bent in all sorts of acute and obtuse angles.  The Brits are almost wiped out. The head British officer surrenders to the French, who take him away for a vigorous pedicure, or whatever they did to their fellow gentlemen/officers.  It&amp;#039;s been forty-five minutes and so far, no George Washington in sight. I ask the Boy Scout leader where the colonel is.  He tells me Washington wasn&amp;#039;t in this particular battle, but is around somewhere.  &amp;quot;You know where he&amp;#039;s camped?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;He might know,&amp;quot; says the Scout leader.  He points to a stout reenactor in a green jacket and a brown felt hat. He&amp;#039;s a Pennsylvania infantryman.  &amp;quot;Excuse me!&amp;quot; I call out. &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;m looking for George Washington.&amp;quot; The Pennsylvania soldier stomps over to me. &amp;quot;Colonel George Washington? You&amp;#039;re looking for Colonel Washington?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Yes.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;The brash, arrogant young man?&amp;quot; He shakes his head. &amp;quot;He got us into this war. Brash and arrogant he is.&amp;quot;  I laugh. I haven&amp;#039;t heard such blatant anti-Washington rhetoric. It seems almost sacrilegious. I&amp;#039;ve had my issues with George Washington, but this soldier seems unduly harsh.  The soldier, I find out, is Mike, a veteran reenactor.  &amp;quot;Did you fight in the battle today?&amp;quot; I ask.  &amp;quot;No, I hurt my knee and figured the mud is slippery, so maybe I should sit this one out.&amp;quot;  Mike&amp;#039;s been doing French and Indian and Revolutionary War reenactments for forty years, a survivor of about eight hundred events. He buys gunpowder in bulk, he tells me.  &amp;quot;So that&amp;#039;s real gunpowder?&amp;quot;  He nods.  &amp;quot;You ever use live ammunition?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;No,&amp;quot; he says. Most reenactors are exceedingly careful with their guns you&amp;#039;re not even supposed to jam the gunpowder down with a ramrod.  &amp;quot;Someone might forget about it and leave the ramrod in there,&amp;quot; explains Mike. &amp;quot;And then it&amp;#039;ll fly downfield and spear a soldier on the other side. It happens.&amp;quot;  He pauses. &amp;quot;Especially with Civil War reenactors. Those guys have no idea what they&amp;#039;re doing. Horrible. Horrible.&amp;quot;  I wasn&amp;#039;t aware of this the cold war between the Civil War and Revolutionary War reenactors. But Mike assures me the Civil War troops are a problem.  &amp;quot;We&amp;#039;ve had converts,&amp;quot; Mike tells me.  I return to the subject of Colonel George Washington. &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;m not a fan of the young Washington,&amp;quot; Mike says. &amp;quot;He turned out to be a good man when he was older. But as a young man? He was subversive. He tried to undermine his superiors. Watch what you read about him, because he&amp;#039;s glorified.&amp;quot;  Mike didn&amp;#039;t know where the brash colonel was, so I wandered off. Finally, the wife of a French soldier pointed out the young officer a few hundred yards down the path. He had the red hair of a young George Washington, and a blue long coat. I approached. &amp;quot;Colonel Washington?&amp;quot; I said.  &amp;quot;Yessir.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;m from a gazette in New York called Esquire.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Oh,&amp;quot; he says. &amp;quot;How can I help you?&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;I talked to a man just now who called you brash and arrogant.&amp;quot;  Washington laughs.  &amp;quot;That&amp;#039;s got to be Mike,&amp;quot; he says.  &amp;quot;Yes, that&amp;#039;s who it was.&amp;quot; He scoffs. &amp;quot;He&amp;#039;s just jealous he has to wear that ugly green uniform.&amp;quot;  The young George Washington who, when not commanding troops, spends his time as a geologist named Bryan Cunning is jovial and chatty. He doesn&amp;#039;t have Dean&amp;#039;s gravitas, and certainly breaks character more often than Dean. I thank him for his time. He tries to shake my hand, but I bow instead.  &amp;quot;Oh yes,&amp;quot; he says. &amp;quot;Right.&amp;quot;  As I drive back to New York, I think more about Mike&amp;#039;s unexpected rant than about Bryan&amp;#039;s Washington interpretation. Many of my books talk about how Washington evolved for the better as he got older. But no one had put it as succinctly as Mike. Washington was a selfish twit who turned into one of the greatest men of his time. The authors James MacGregor Burns and Susan Dunn come close in their book George Washington. In 1772, they write, Washington was a &amp;quot;military leader who had met with more failure than success. An acquisitive planter, a harsh slave owner. A politician more interested in local roads and hogs than international affairs. An ambitious, self-made man hungry for notice. A class-conscious member of gentry who enjoyed dancing, cards and fox hunting... Could this elitist southerner with aristocratic inclinations fathom and embody the hopes of revolutionary Americans and reformers around the world?&amp;quot;  In a word: yes.  By the end of his life, as Joseph Ellis says, Washington was defined not by his selfishness but by his sacrifices. He sacrificed his cushy life on the farm to take the presidency. And after eight years, he sacrificed the chance for absolute power by walking away from it (a move that Britain&amp;#039;s King George III said made him the greatest man on earth).  In my more cynical moments, I think that people can&amp;#039;t really change. In these moments I think: once a jerk, always a jerk. But Washington proves me wrong. He went from being self-centered to, if not a saint, then certainly a mensch. Maybe there&amp;#039;s hope for us all.  Coda The biggest impact of this experiment was to drive home the point: be wary of first impressions. And second impressions. And third. I learned this in my Rationality Project, but no one shows it better than Washington.  The more I read about him, the more fascinating he became. So complex, so full of contradictions, so continuously evolving.  He seems torn between his two sides. The aristocratic side of him was highly aware of class distinctions. (Earlier in his life, he complained about the poorer farmers, whom he called &amp;quot;barbarians.&amp;quot;) And yet, the democratic side rejected the title of king and treated commoners with respect. He was distant, but friendly. He was full of rage but rarely expressed it. And he was inspiring. He was so inspiring, there&amp;#039;s a chance that, if I&amp;#039;d been around in the eighteenth century and had drunk enough Madeira, I&amp;#039;d actually have joined the patriots to follow him. Did this project change my life forever? Certainly not like the experiments in living by the Bible or attempting total rationality. Washington&amp;#039;s Rules had a lesser impact. They never sunk into my bones.  That said, I do think about this experiment often. I like Richard Brookhiser&amp;#039;s point that our society overvalues &amp;quot;authenticity,&amp;quot; the notion that we have to be true to ourselves. &amp;quot;Well, that&amp;#039;s just human nature,&amp;quot; we say when excusing some atrocious action.  If Washington had been true to himself or at least his baser instincts he&amp;#039;d have been an angry brat all his life. The results would have been disastrous. We&amp;#039;d all be eating bangers and mash, and July 4th would be just another day without fireworks or Will Smith movies.  Whenever I&amp;#039;m true to my basest instincts, I&amp;#039;m a schadenfreude-loving, rumor-mongering, selfish son of a bitch. That&amp;#039;s the easy road. The hard part is trying to stand up straight, refrain from injurious words, refuse to be glad at the misfortune of others, remain skeptical of flying rumors, and, of course, shift not your private parts.  From THE GUINEA PIG DIARIES by A.J. Jacobs. Copyright 2009 by A.J. Jacobs. Reprinted by permission of Simon &amp;amp;amp; Schuster, Inc. Read more tales of A.J. Jacobs&amp;#039;s life as an experiment in The Guinea Pig Diaries, available now!  "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.esquire.com/news-politics/news/a6338/what-would-george-washington-do-090909/>