Polite conversation
Nov. 19th, 2006 04:19 pmSo, I'm at the coffee shop again reading the final third of the Danish murder mystery manuscript and this couple arrives and seats themselves at the table next to me. It's about 50 degrees out and sunny. A little chilly, but I'd chosen to sit on the porch rather than brave the dreadful banjo, accordion, and pennywhistle trio *practicing* inside. (Not performing, mind you, practicing, the same squeally little passages over and over again out of tune.) I've got a chunky sweater on, a scarf, fingerless gloves, and a ridiculously fuzzy beret.
The couple starts chatting and it's obviously a getting-to-know you conversation: where do you work, do you have any children, have you been married before? Then they start in on food allergies. She says something about how she's on a gluten-free diet.
"My chiropractor tells me that anytime your face is red its a sign of interior inflamation and potential allergies. I thought it was just because I'm Irish. So now I'm on a gluten-free diet."
It goes on from there, as these conversations are apt to do, working its way through dairy-free, and vegetarianism, and then this guy starts in on intestinal yeast and I am thinking this has got to be the least-sexy conversation I've ever heard.
There is clearly no chemistry, but no one's about ready to stand up and say, "Listen, I'm sure there's a very pleasant person out there who would love to discuss intestinal yeast, and provide you with regular sex and companionship, but it's not going to be me." So I packed up my things and went home.
Where I was called by the professor whos manuscript I'm evaluating. It's the first time I've talked to him in person, he is a charming fellow, and before we got off the phone he'd already invited me over for dinner the next time in California. (He's retired, he and his wife spend their time travelling and entertaining.) I eventually told him I could not talk to him about the novel until I'd had a chance to collect my thoughts and write them all out. "You're prejudicing me with all this lovely conversation. I'd like to have a chance to write up my evaluation, ship it to you with the marked up manuscript, and after you've had a chance to review my comments we can talk again."
I also need to read Beowolf between now and then because it clearly informs part of the manuscript, which reads pretty well, and has a fabulous middle, but needs some work on the beginning and end. I still don't know why he's so gung ho about having me do this. It started as a trade. I read four chapters of his novel, he reads four chapters of the textbook that needs reviewing. He was so pleased with my feedback he requested I read the rest of it freelance, and has offered treble my going rate. I suppose it's a spot of the good luck I'm always complaining I don't have. (My hair wasn't as fabulous today, so perhaps that accounts for it.)
In anycase, it go me to thinking about how are some conversations great and others not-so-much. Did those people at the coffee shop realize they were having a dreadful conversation, or is that normal for them? How do good conversations happen, and how can I make more of them happen for me?
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sdn commented on the unfortunate tendancy for people to talk only of themselves. Essentially that was the difference between the coffee shop conversation, which was two people giving lifestyle positions about themselves without actually communicating, and the conversation with the professor who is curious about everything, and with whom I share a passion for Scandinavia. (He's just lucky he caught me this year and not when I was in the middle of my Alcott phase.)
The couple starts chatting and it's obviously a getting-to-know you conversation: where do you work, do you have any children, have you been married before? Then they start in on food allergies. She says something about how she's on a gluten-free diet.
"My chiropractor tells me that anytime your face is red its a sign of interior inflamation and potential allergies. I thought it was just because I'm Irish. So now I'm on a gluten-free diet."
It goes on from there, as these conversations are apt to do, working its way through dairy-free, and vegetarianism, and then this guy starts in on intestinal yeast and I am thinking this has got to be the least-sexy conversation I've ever heard.
There is clearly no chemistry, but no one's about ready to stand up and say, "Listen, I'm sure there's a very pleasant person out there who would love to discuss intestinal yeast, and provide you with regular sex and companionship, but it's not going to be me." So I packed up my things and went home.
Where I was called by the professor whos manuscript I'm evaluating. It's the first time I've talked to him in person, he is a charming fellow, and before we got off the phone he'd already invited me over for dinner the next time in California. (He's retired, he and his wife spend their time travelling and entertaining.) I eventually told him I could not talk to him about the novel until I'd had a chance to collect my thoughts and write them all out. "You're prejudicing me with all this lovely conversation. I'd like to have a chance to write up my evaluation, ship it to you with the marked up manuscript, and after you've had a chance to review my comments we can talk again."
I also need to read Beowolf between now and then because it clearly informs part of the manuscript, which reads pretty well, and has a fabulous middle, but needs some work on the beginning and end. I still don't know why he's so gung ho about having me do this. It started as a trade. I read four chapters of his novel, he reads four chapters of the textbook that needs reviewing. He was so pleased with my feedback he requested I read the rest of it freelance, and has offered treble my going rate. I suppose it's a spot of the good luck I'm always complaining I don't have. (My hair wasn't as fabulous today, so perhaps that accounts for it.)
In anycase, it go me to thinking about how are some conversations great and others not-so-much. Did those people at the coffee shop realize they were having a dreadful conversation, or is that normal for them? How do good conversations happen, and how can I make more of them happen for me?
sdn commented on the unfortunate tendancy for people to talk only of themselves. Essentially that was the difference between the coffee shop conversation, which was two people giving lifestyle positions about themselves without actually communicating, and the conversation with the professor who is curious about everything, and with whom I share a passion for Scandinavia. (He's just lucky he caught me this year and not when I was in the middle of my Alcott phase.)
