EditorOne
Prolific Member
For the benefit of those mostly younger folks who just don't feel comfortable generating small talk, here's some.
Notice that my avatar has changed. It's me again, not Robert Mitchum with the raised eyebrow that got him into fights. That's because my knee finally stopped hurting enough that I don't need lessons in stoicism from his image any more.
So far as I can tell, my knee stopped hurting because I stopped shaving on Saturday. I had a beard until October 30, 2009, when I shaved it for the sake of a Halloween costume. That immediately marked, also, the onslaught of a bout of bad luck, bad decisions, and blah blah blah. Job went away, unemployment ran out two months before retirement money kicked in instead of two months after like I'd planned, getting qualified as a public insurance adjuster revealed to me people I thought were friends were not any such thing. (Bet that sounds familiar.)
In any event, the price of razor blades is so high, and I am so utterly, totally tired of scraping my face off each morning, that on Saturday I announced to my wife "I quit shaving." Within 24 hours the Philadelphia Eagles won a game in a way that makes them seem like they're just there to give lessons to the other teams on how the game is played, I got a pretty big insurance claim come knocking on my door instead of me fruitlessly looking for it, and, most significantly, the dog stopped biting me. (Long story, but if you think I don't have patience, meet my dog and count my scars.)
I'm not going to ignore the obvious any more. Obviously, for whatever reason, my beard has a lot in common with Sampson's hair. It is the fount of luck, the source of power, etc. I'm not ignoring it any more. The beard is back.
So that's small talk, the kind that turns sillliness into a virtue and gives even INTPs a tiny reason to crack a smile. Talk about yourself, make it a kind of joke (anyone who knows me at all knows that me believing in a lucky charm is inconsistent, incongruous and therefore mildly funny) and then you can avoid social remorse, emotional hangovers and self-ostracization (a word?) no matter how many cocktail parties you have to attend....
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Footnote: I just made homemade fruit bars for the first time because I was tired of the crap in the stores, and they turned out perfectly. Chalk another one up for the beard....
Notice that my avatar has changed. It's me again, not Robert Mitchum with the raised eyebrow that got him into fights. That's because my knee finally stopped hurting enough that I don't need lessons in stoicism from his image any more.
So far as I can tell, my knee stopped hurting because I stopped shaving on Saturday. I had a beard until October 30, 2009, when I shaved it for the sake of a Halloween costume. That immediately marked, also, the onslaught of a bout of bad luck, bad decisions, and blah blah blah. Job went away, unemployment ran out two months before retirement money kicked in instead of two months after like I'd planned, getting qualified as a public insurance adjuster revealed to me people I thought were friends were not any such thing. (Bet that sounds familiar.)
In any event, the price of razor blades is so high, and I am so utterly, totally tired of scraping my face off each morning, that on Saturday I announced to my wife "I quit shaving." Within 24 hours the Philadelphia Eagles won a game in a way that makes them seem like they're just there to give lessons to the other teams on how the game is played, I got a pretty big insurance claim come knocking on my door instead of me fruitlessly looking for it, and, most significantly, the dog stopped biting me. (Long story, but if you think I don't have patience, meet my dog and count my scars.)
I'm not going to ignore the obvious any more. Obviously, for whatever reason, my beard has a lot in common with Sampson's hair. It is the fount of luck, the source of power, etc. I'm not ignoring it any more. The beard is back.
So that's small talk, the kind that turns sillliness into a virtue and gives even INTPs a tiny reason to crack a smile. Talk about yourself, make it a kind of joke (anyone who knows me at all knows that me believing in a lucky charm is inconsistent, incongruous and therefore mildly funny) and then you can avoid social remorse, emotional hangovers and self-ostracization (a word?) no matter how many cocktail parties you have to attend....

Footnote: I just made homemade fruit bars for the first time because I was tired of the crap in the stores, and they turned out perfectly. Chalk another one up for the beard....