Thursday, November 5, 2009

I’m going to proclaim something tonight, much to the chagrin of the St. Pauli Girl, patron spirit of all that is alcoholic, and it is this: here, at my current juncture, I’m content with a two-cocktail limit. Perhaps the optimal threshold is three, or possibly I could ingest double that without incurring the crazy eyes, but this is country I’m simply not interested in charting. It’s, like, I could get soused enough to start swinging from chandeliers, though I’m far more interested in retaining the ability to spell chandaleers without the aid of corrective software.

I assure you I can spell tonight, in addition to honoring the hallowed traditions of subject-verb conjumugation, and I shall marshal both in the service of dispensing deep social insights. First, though, some thoughts about Jack and Coke. Look, I don’t know who this Jack fellow is, but his life’s work seems to center on the wholesale ruin of soft drinks. It’s a culinary travesty, really, and you’d think something called “whiskey” would whisk you away to somewhere other than throwing up in your mouth a little. Or a lot.

But my axons are marinating not in adult beverages, but in two questions posed by the Operator. What do I find engaging? And why is it that people would easily label her as social, while I would instantly be classified as the exact opposite, even though she might also gravitate toward disengagement?

I find the second question easier to answer, because I believe people possess different capacities for social engagement. It’s a finite substance, in other words. Whereas one person could convincingly fulfill social contracts at happy hour, then a business dinner, then a party, all in the same day, another person might be drained after a single exchange with a telemarketer. I’m exaggerating here, of course, so here’s a more concrete example. I can recall at least two business dinners where I’ve contributed no more than a dozen syllables, which to others might seem like I’m suffering from adult-onset autism, when really my social points are just depleted, and conversing about the fucking weather or how A-Rod is doing these days just doesn’t affect the price of tea in India.

The first question–What do I find engaging?–is actually the same question I asked a few weeks ago, I realized. It’s a better way of asking my question–Why is it so difficult to connect?–because I have a habit of thinking in negatives. Let me explain. A potter takes a mass of clay and shapes it into what he wants. If you know how engravings or reliefs are made, well, that’s how I tend to approach matters, by carving away what isn’t to reach what is. This strikes me as roundabout, and maybe if I ask the right question I can save a whole lot of time and heartache. It’s time to be the potter, I think, and listen to the wheel whir as it reveals its secrets.