Meek New World

In a second, I'm going to be the five-billionth person to talk about technology and how it's changed our lives. So, you know, brace yourselves for innovation.
As has slowly become more and more apparent, my natural inclination is to introversion. This is only fractionally surprising because I had about a 6-7 year run starting in college during which time I was pretty legitimately extroverted. Basically all my life before and after this sustained bout of openness has been what I now clearly deem to be my true state of being.
It's not that I don't like people or that I don't enjoy being around them, it's just that usually I don't need other people, and in fact I not-infrequently prefer to be totally alone. Additionally, in most instances when a decision could be made to do something either more or less socially, I will almost always choose the "less."
Anyhow, this fancy thing called the text message just happens to allow me to much more easily be myself.
People surely remember what it was like to communicate without text messages. You actually had to speak to someone else, like verbally. And you had to listen at the same time. It was weird. And awkwardly intimate. If someone was your friend, you had to call him on the phone to make plans to see him, plus you'd inevitably have to exchange pleasantries while doing so. There would be no sports or asinine commercials on the TV to use as a social crutch. And assuming you were trying to get together more than just one other person (again, the group setting to be used as a social crutch), you'd have to repeat this verbal conversation several times, likely even more than once for a couple of individuals. The horror, indeed.
My own personal timeline with this is a little bit undescriptive because wholesale texting started not too long after I left college and clearly my social dynamic was changing a lot at that time anyway, but I can pretty easily say that I communicate directly with far more people now than I did pre-text.
As long as you don't engage in many one-on-one dinners or conversations with people, it's much easier to maintain seemingly meaningful friendships in the texting world. I'm probably a little outside the meaty part of the bell curve on this, but think about your own list of regular communicators. I dare you to tell me that you would talk all of those people as regularly if you actually had to talk to them every time. No chance.
When you are in college, you have lots of "friends" who are such largely because of ease and proximity. They aren't actually your friends, because as soon as you or they move away you stop talking to them. Sure, it's easy to reconnect every once in a while and you would probably still get along fine, but they aren't on your speed dial. There are certain people who are your friends in college who truly are your friends and you in fact do keep in at least semi-regular contact with them afterwards, but there are more who you don't.
The text message allows a lot of those people who are fringe friends to stay in your inner circle. They aren't simply proximate friends like in college but their existence is your life is just as lazy for you. Because you don't have to really invest or engage or share those awkwardly intimate moments of direct one-on-one verbal communication, your dissimilarity or true standing with each other never has to be confronted. The text message lets us all be cowards. Which is fine with me, as long as I don't have to tell you that to your face, with actual spoken words.

A Conversation, Part II

So I was drifting along the fringe of this little conversation, mostly just waiting for it to be over and trying not to make it seem so, kinda enjoying the fact that I didn't have to join in much, when the other woman finally focused on me, and I'm pretty sure she only did so in a trying-to-be-nice way so I wouldn't feel excluded or so she could show how nice she is by showing interest in me, someone she'd probably never see again. Her question was so predictable that you might be amazed that at this point in my life I haven't ever bothered to create a stock answer for it.
"So what do you do?"
This is not even a difficult question to answer. And yet. I hate this question. It's not just the chit-chat banality of it, either, though I do hate mindless chatting.
When engaging in conversation with someone you don't know, 99.9% of the time the other person will be looking for a quick and easy way to stereotype, judge, and compartmentalize you(1), in that order; or, if you're lucky, they're not doing that very actively and are instead just trying to ask the flattest questions possible so as to fill the time until someone else shows up without having to mentally engage at all. "What do you do?" is the quintessential example of the latter, but its insidiousness lies in that after your brief chat is over, the other person will quite often actually remember how you respond to it and from then on that is how they will know you. To them, you will not be you, but instead a first name and an occupation(2).
Ah but this is my blog and this is going to be more personal than that. So let me admit that the other big reason I loathe "What do you do?" is because--at least compared with most people--I don't have a very good answer to it. I've been seriously employed for 6 years now so naturally I have a perfectly suitable answer, but I don't have a "good" one, an answer that engages the interest or, presumably, respect of the questioner.
My official title is Assistant Facilities Manager, but mostly I answer the question with Office Manager, because that word Facilities tends to confuse a lot of people. But everyone knows what both an Office and a Manager are. Telling a near-stranger that you are an "Office Manager" doesn't really elicit much interest; I know this because I don't often get a follow-up question outside of "Where at?" or "What company?"
Some of the reasons people don't find much interesting about my job title: I usually don't like talking to strangers all that much, I don't with any comfort brag about myself(3), I am pretty much biologically wired to hate all things pompous, and am therefore unable to engage in the same phony bullshit that people do to try to impress other people, and finally, I myself simply am not all that interested in talking about jobs, so my general inability to disguise my feelings about a subject can pretty easily influence another person's reception of it.
I am not what I do. A lot of people are, but not me. I don't take my work home with me, and I would change careers almost instantly if that were to ever change. I'm not usually very productive with my spare time, but I rather zealously will defend my right to it.
For me, a job is a way to make enough money to make myself, and now my future wife and presumptive family, happy. I've never really had much of a desire for a specific job. Maybe that's laziness and maybe it's a lack of ambition that's followed me most of my life, but I don't really care. It's hard to make other people interested in what you do if you don't devote terribly much of your own interest to it.
None of this is to say that what I do is boring or unfulfilling or in some way shameful. Well, I work in an office, so sometimes it actually is boring, but not usually. I will say that at one point I did wonder how essential my position was. Basically how replaceable was I? But that passed because I realized that yes indeed some of my personal skills provide sometimes great value to the company. It can be hard to effectively explain with any brevity what I truly do. Mostly this is because I do a lot of different things. Truly, I am not an Office Manager. I do many different things in many different degrees of intensity for almost random durations, and so I often don't know what I'll be doing in the next week.
Sometimes I am an Accountant. Sometimes I work in Real Estate. Sometimes I stock shelves. Sometimes I am a Financial Analyst. Sometimes I am a plain old Manager. Sometimes I work in HR. Sometimes I am a Project Coordinator. Sometimes I am a Painter. Sometimes I pass myself off as a Lawyer. Sometimes I clean up messes. Sometimes I am a Creative Consultant. Sometimes I am a Carpenter. Sometimes I work in Demo. Always I am looking for ways to be more efficient. Almost always I am a professional. I could probably get a lot more milage out of some of the specific aspects of my job when trying to impress people talking about what I do, but I don't try to impress people. I have heard friends or acquaintances answering the "What do you do?" question in the way that you are supposed to: embellished and aggrandized. I cringe when this happens. You see, it's the delivery and acceptance of this practice that makes people seem almost let down when I answer simply and reservedly. "What do you do?" isn't even really a question, it's an invitation to show yourself off. It's like a job interview question. And most people will bullshit with the best of them when given the opportunity.
Fuck those people. If you ask me what time it is I will say "4:15" or whatever, I won't talk about how great or expensive my watch is. If you ask me what I studied in college I will say "English," I won't give a dissertation on why I so dislike Charles Dickens. If you ask me if I have a girlfriend I will say "yes," I won't talk about how I often honestly feel like I have a better relationship than anyone else in the world. If you want to honestly know about my relationship experiences, then you're going to have to honestly ask. If you want the description of my job to sound like a CEO or a famous artist or goddamned race car driver(4), then you're going to be disappointed. Contrary to the way most people talk about themselves to strangers, those interesting or prestigious jobs are filled by a tiny tiny minority of the population.

What I do is I enjoy myself. Who I am is a much deeper and more complex topic than could or should ever be discussed with a stranger.


1. Those other 0.1% of people are the ones who become my friends.
2. This is only vaguely related, but I went through a phase a while back where I used to not want people to tell me their names when I met them. This was for two reasons: first, I would often just forget the name anyway; and second, since a person's name isn't of their choice it really doesn't say anything about him. I much preferred to see first if I enjoyed the other person any, and if so, only then would it really be necessary to know the name. After all, if I turned out not to like the person, I would not be communicating with him again and would have just wasted a tiny space of my brain by putting his name there. Efficiency.
3. I should say "truthfully" brag about myself. I used to, and sometimes still do, love to display a faux arrogance. I do it for laughs or to diffuse situations, but since I'm such a naturally gifted actor I can give people the wrong impression that I actually am that arrogant.
4. This is almost straight out of the movie Swingers, but I don't care. What kind of pretentious asshole society are we in where we are just as well making up some ridiculous fanciful lie about ourselves as telling the simple truth? It doesn't seem to matter that a person is happy with his life if he doesn't get appropriate approval from a stranger. Being proud of yourself is a 100% internal personal emotion.

A Conversation, Part I

Sara's mom was in town last weekend. Now, since they live in Chicago and we've only been around a handful of times, I'm still rather new to the whole mother-in-law situation. There is the stereotype that all mothers-in-law are awful people, to be dealt with only when necessary, and then swiftly and forcefully, but I can't say that I've had that yet. Maybe it hasn't fully sunk in yet that she is going to be a part of my immediate family, and not just a parent of a friend. The latter is the way I've approached her so far. Actually that's basically how I approach everyone in my life. But I wonder how things will change as time goes by.
On a more immediate level, her visit last weekend came with its perks and its.......uh, not-perks. Really the only not-perk is the simple obligation to spend large amounts of time doing things that I might not necessarily choose to do in normal circumstances. This obligation-reaction is probably just the bachelor part of my psyche trying to fool myself into thinking I ever live my life fully independently anymore, and since you know I'm going to be married in just a couple months, you know that's certainly not true. Anyway, I'm still dealing with making these simple sacrifices of my personal time for the greater good of my lovely Sara and my new family. I'll get over it. And besides, having multiple meals and other things paid for will always far outweigh any childish instincts I may have.
It was at one of these gratis events that something happened to spur this post in the first place. We three went to see an Off-Broadway show on Saturday night.* After the show, we were talking with a couple from Chicago that Sara's mom knows and randomly bumped into.

--Give me a brief aside here. Try to think of a social situation in which your dear friend Josh would have the least amount of things to say or add to the conversation. Now compare that scenario to the real-life one I was confronted with here: Saturday night, with future wife and future mother-in-law, just exited a Broadway show and have about 1/1000th the sensibility for them as my two companions, who are exhorting me to share my thoughts on the show. Add to that mixture two similarly-aged friends of future mother-in-law from her city in town specifically to see Broadway shows. Oh, and the conversation started off reminiscing about how future mother-in-law's friend is the mother of a guy who represented future wife's first-ever date, which took place when she was in the 3rd or 4th grade. Oh, also, this guy is either married or engaged and happened to bump into Sara when she was alone a few months ago and hit on her. Wind-up Josh doesn't have any pre-prepared quips or lines to deal with this situation. Ok, back to the story--

So anyway, the conversation progressed as you might expect, mostly Sara's mom and the other wife talking, Sara smiling happily and jumping in from time to time, the husband doing the fake smile only older married men are capable of while slipping in the proper amount of jokes. You notice I didn't mention anything about myself. That's because I didn't really add anything, rather predictably.

Ok, I realize now I'd like to break this into two parts, this one contains enough observation for now. You'll get Part II with the actual meat of the post later.

* I've been to two shows now and I can say a few things about them. First, if the show is not on the campy side of the spectrum, I can certainly enjoy it. Both of the two I saw were safe here. Second, my ability to appreciate the medium of Broadway is nowhere near fully formed. It would be presumptuous of me to make any assumptions about when or if it ever does form. My commentary on any show would be like a tourist just back from a 5day stay in Russia rhapsodizing about communism. It's best just to stay out of things you don't know. Third, I'm going to make an honest effort to go to more shows at irregular intervals because I realize that Sara approaches these shows in the same way that I approach live sporting events: they are very nice and fun, but ultimately just a tip of a larger obsession, but nonetheless if I avoid live sporting events for too long a time, I will find myself needing, not wanting, to attend one. Finally, why can't these theaters invest in comfortable chairs? Is there some tradition I'm unaware of that dictates that seats should hold your ass comfortably for no longer than an hour, even though any show is at least 30-40 minutes longer than that? Come on, broadway, the movie industry figured out that it's ok to let audiences be comfortable in their seats for long periods. The few you will lose to sleepiness will be easily offset by the more who will come because they don't have to worry about ass ache (I'd like to say I'm part of the latter category, but I can't promise I wouldn't also belong to the former).