Asides

The weather has been very photogenic up here lately and I wonder if this has anything to do with the apparent increase in people making small talk with strangers (specifically me). Perhaps they've always been so kind/intrusive and I haven't noticed it, but I do believe that the sun has somehow affected people's dispositions to the point where instead of shuffling past me with shoulders hunched they now smile and inexplicably begin to strike up meaningless blah-blah. I don't know, maybe the sunlight reflecting off my pale exterior gives me a kind of luminescence, and they think perhaps I am an angel or at the very least an off-duty tour guide. Needless to say I've found myself flashing a lot of insincere smiles of late and responding with meaningless platitudes all-too-frequently.

Like for example it happened just now with someone I work with. They were wearing a suit and tie, so I deemed it appropriate to respond with some modicum of friendliness. Although this example doesn't really quite fit since this person was not a stranger to me, although in some way they were because like most other people they are indeed (emo alert) a stranger to my heart.

And I know this isn't exactly a revelatory topic or anything anyone besides myself really needs to hear about, but it seems like just the sort of inane and trivial thing that this blog is absolutely perfect for, so here it is (this is a half-joke, Brooke--please don't yell at me). I know no one comes home from work or school or work-school (where 4th graders apparently drop f-bombs at will) and wonders "what does Patrick think about small talk with strangers?" But they do come home from these places and log onto this here doodad, which is an admission that they desire to waste some time, and hoo goddamn do I know a thing or two about that, so onward I go:

The thing about the sunshine is that whether or not people are being casually polite to me more frequently, I am certainly finding myself more frequently responding in kind. And this is what really concerns me, because as long as I've known me I've had this tendency to be, how you say, socially retarded. And I don't mean in the sense that I share embarrassing personal details in a loud voice or inexplicably try to search people's hair for ticks; I mean in the sense that when usually presented with a conversation involving someone I do not know, I plain and simply don't. Speak, that is.

Some people may call this shyness (sycophants). Others might call it being a jackass. Still others wouldn't give a shit (these would be reasonable people). But whatever it is, it's suited me well for a long long time, and now I'm running my mouth like I'm a goddamned game show host and I don't know what's going on anymore. I have an irrational fear that nevertheless persists that if I keep doing this stuff--if I keep saying "How are you?" and laughing at stories about people's pets and the like--that much like making a mean face, if I do it long enough, it will stick. I will forever be doomed to spread a forced smile across my face and engage people in these mundane exercises in civility. Granted, it's not quite the same as being afeared of spiders or clowns or tiny mechanical bug-like aliens who burrow under your skin and control your thoughts, but it's bothersome nonetheless.

And it might not even be all that bad, really, if I kept up this charade; who knows, maybe I'd start making new friends or become fractionally more successful professionally or maybe, given the right circumstances and a rub of the green, maybe I might even turn one of these innocuous conversations into a baby. That would be pretty interesting. Highly unlikely of course, given the aforementioned luminescence of my skin and potential angel-status (if I remember correctly and John Travolta wasn't lying, angels can't do the dirty without de-angelfying themselves). But still, a baby! And all because I pretended somebody's dog was adorable!

Of course, all of this is probably nothing. I am simply adhering to social rules that for most of my adult life I was unaware or unwilling to accept existed. Reasonable people, as mentioned above, probably don't give a shit. But I am not reasonable and I am vexed. If the sun is to change my behavior so than I feel I must resort to becoming a goth or vampire or angsty teenager (some of those are easier transformations than others) and remain indoors during the daylight hours, only venturing out under cover of darkness where I will be accosted only by drunks and hobos and ladies of the night, all of whom can be dismissed by a ready admittance of a lack of immediate funds. Drastic measures perhaps, but these are indeed desperate times. I cannot recall the sun having such an effect on my demeanor before; maybe it has something to with age or hormones. Maybe, horror of horrors, I am in fact about to have a baby!

I think I shall call it Gerald.