Tag Archives: conversation

Enter The Plankton

CLS_Mini_Participant300

If I’m lucky!

Spoiler alert: I’m not exactly the world’s greatest conversationalist.

For the curious, the opening line above is an example of my patented Start-By-Telling-Them-How-You-Suck approach to writing. You can buy a pamphlet describing the technique – and much, much more – for only three easy payments of $19.99. -Ed.

As the holidays cascade down upon us like a perfect storm, I’m already anticipating how I’ll surf that wave and/or navigate the complex maze-like quagmire of quicksand in quixotic fashion.

The holidays means lots of group settings of social interactions. Historically I do not fare well in these and opt instead to spend my time studying in minute detail the nearest potted plant. I’m bringing my magnifying glass just in case.

Since I remain ever hopeful, however, I’ve been role-playing various stratagems in my mind that might increase my odds of getting the occasional word in edgewise. Or I could give up in advance and just play the lotto.

A normal conversation consists of the following:

Person A: Me.

Person B: No, me!

Person C: Bloody hell to both of you. Me, me, me!

Person D: Did I ever tell you about me?

Person E: Did you say something?

Person F: … Apple’s tri-tone sound …

Person A: Ahem. You weren’t listening. I say again …

Every once in a while as the conversation morphs dynamically through these shifting realities, I may actually have something interesting to add. I hate it when that happens.

Person A: Yeah, there are a lot of elephants in Thailand

…. 20 minutes and 420 topics later I finally awkwardly interrupt and take my dream shot …

Me: An elephant sat on my head once.

Everyone: What the fuck are you talking about?!

Yeah. About that potted plant.I’ve heard that one thing that helps make you seem interesting is to ask questions about the other person. Especially if you can appear thoughtful and fake sincerity in the process. If successful, your only job is to tlean back, stay silent, let their mouth do all of the work, and celebrate a job well done.

I’m looking forward to trying this out. To that end I have prepared some questions in advance.

My only worry is that the conversation will run through a googolplex of permutations before I get my first chance to speak. That would be bad and could go down like this:

Person A: So, can you tell us what’s new with your son?

Me: Eeeeiiiiii!

swift kick to the nards …

Me: I was gonna ask that question!!

Person B: Someone dial up the whambulance!

Lastly, sometimes the floor is occasionally dished my way. If and when that happens I should be ready. Usually this is a provactive attempt to surprise me so much as to induce heart attack. Assuming I survive long enough, I usually succumb to the intense pressure. The stress of filling that space is simply too high. I usually stammer out something like, “Goo goo gah gah.” Then everyone shrugs, wonders why the hell they bothered to give me a chance, and resumes talking about the fractal shapes of their bunions.

Also, something about the spirit of the season and it’s better give than receive but I can’t remember any of that crap right now. I’ve been much too busy with the pre-conversation planning.

I just hope I’m not over-thinking it. Perhaps I should limit my dreams to the Ribbon of Participation.

Apple Bamboo

iphone-jerkWe recently hosted a quasi-invited guest. (She sort of invited herself. It was a Thanksgiving kind of thing.) We took this person downtown for shopping, out to dinner and put her up for the night. But this guest wasn’t alone. She was possessed of an uninvited interloper. It was an iPhone.

Introducing the “bamboo” sound.

DA-DA DA-DA DINT DA! Thwap!

The sound was a lot like that coffee commercial jingle only a lot more woody, with a strong, robust finish. It was like Juan Valdez had chugged too much tequila and was getting jiggy on the marimbas.

DA-DA DA-DA DINT DA! Thwap!

That sound haunts me. It chases me in my dreams, where it is the size of the Death Star and I’m running but making no progress. “The rebel base will be in range in 15 minutes.” Only, in this dream, there was no Luke Skywalker to eject a torpedo pulse into a tiny little hole and save the day. The floating space-suited black helmet dudes fired that sucker and blew me and my planet up. And guess what? The sound the Death Star beam made? It was the iPhone bamboo.
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Listen Up

A modern communicatorI am a stranger in a strange land.

I’ve done something more notable than even Michael Phelps winning eight gold medals. (Yawn.)

I went out in the world and listened. To another person. Hells to the yeah.

It was the most startling experience.

A conversational pause does not mean the person has finished speaking.
–Tom B. Taker

Interpreting every single pause since the dawn of time as “my turn to talk” means you are an asshole.
–Tom B. Taker

My wife was speaking to me. I was listening. Wow. I know. It can happen. Okay, okay. Stay calm. Don’t blow it. Keep it together, man. So far so good.

Then she paused.

This was an industrial heavy-duty kind of a pause. A good ten seconds. In today’s world that is literally an eternity. I had my feelers out. Was she done? Was she waiting on me to comment? Was it my turn?

I still don’t know what came over me but I decided to wait. I was in it for the long haul.

Then, simply, she continued. And she expressed an additional thought that added more to what she had just previously said. A thought that, if I had interrupted, I would never have heard for the rest of my life.

This is it, I thought! The land of milk and honey over the rainbow. That land that assholes never get to see.

It was so earth shattering that a few days later I even tried it again.
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Debate Control

My second attempt at a sarcastic Wonka. Bang bang, you’re dead.

decision-wonka

The iPad Conversationalist

ballWhat is it to have a conversation? Don’t ask me, I sure as hell wouldn’t know. I live in a land populated by bulldozers but I am decidedly not a bulldozer.

It is common for babies, once they’ve reached the age of two, to go through an “I have a ball” phase. “I have a ball,” they say. They grasp a ball tightly in their little hand with their little kung fu grip and show the ball to everyone they meet. “I have a ball.” They can be rather monotonous.

It really boggles their little two-year-old brains so much that they have a ball. And they really love it if other people show interest in the ball, the one thing they’ll never ever share. “Ha! I have a ball!” At least until people show interest in something else which they’ll immediately covet and take for themselves. Then they’ll say, “I have this other thing.” Damn two-year olds.

I don’t want to put too fine a point on it so I’ll get on message and I’ll be brief: “I have an iPad!”
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Bulldozer Science Chit Chat

I'm the smallest slice. Orange you impressed?

I’m the cutest slice. Orange you impressed?

I’m formulating a new hypothesis to fit observable phenomena pertaining to the human act of communication. If you can call one-way verbal vomit “communication,” that is. We may have to take a few liberties with our assumptions.

The lab is a controlled environment: A square room with dimensions of 20′ x 20′ and four test subjects locked inside.

It’s a beautiful human-based ballet and we get to watch it play out. Isn’t science a gas?
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DIY: Britney Spears’ private phone number

What are the odds Britney and I would have the exact same outfit? Dammit! Image source: OMG! Why? Why? My eyes! (Wikipedia.)

What if I told you there was a way to obtain the private phone number for anyone you want? And what if it was completely legal? Now how much would you pay?

Imagine it. You could call anyone you wanted. Maybe even someone like Britney Spears.

[ringtone] … hit me baby one more time … [click]

Britney: Hello?

You: Hi, Britney. OMG, OMG, OMG!!! I can’t believe I’m really talking to you!!!

Britney (irritated): Who the hell is this?

You: It’s me.

Britney (speaking to someone else): Dammit. How the hell do they get this number? I was in the middle of lighting a cigarette, too. [click]

You: Britney? Britney? Are you there? Are you there? [pause] Britney, I love you! [pause] Oh, shit. [pause] Okay, it’s my move in Warhammer 40,000. Okay, okay. Let me finish up the paint job on this Tyranid Trygon first.

If you want conversations like that and so much more, make the jump for my secret, surefire technique. The probabilities are that you’ll love it.
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