Wednesday, February 11, 2004
He loves himself.
"So Will," he says to me, as if he's about to ask me something very important, or as if he's going to tell me something that I need to know. "It's my birthday next month, and . . ." he goes on and on, telling me all about what he usually does for his birthday, and how he cooks for some friends, and where they go, and what they drink, and what he says to them to discourage them from getting him gifts, and how they still give him gifts, and how they spend the rest of the night, and how he got off of work the next day because of it, and how only two or three or twelve people remember his birthday now, and how his mom once forgot his birthday, and how mad he was when he got to school that day, and how ever since then . . . .
I looked at my computer screen. See, other people had come into the room at that point, and he was looking at them, not me. So I didn't really have that eye-contact obligation to maintain anymore. I've known him for eight days. I've thought about him a lot. And I've decided that I cannot imagine an instance occurring in which he could be convinced that he is not the most interesting person there is.
For instance.
Today, I heard him introduce himself to a group of people. He followed others, who stated their names, where they had worked, and that's about it. What did he say? He gave his name, and then told everyone that there were very, very few places he has not traveled to . . . even on a weekend jaunt. To illustrate, he said he would even randomly get up and drive to New York City on a Friday and then drive back on Sunday. He finished his sentence with a lilt, as if to create some expectation -- setting up a dramatic pause, perhaps.
The room "Ooed". I gagged.
But this guy has done me a service. For this week is now Imperfection Week. Yep. It's time for wrfarah.blogspot.com to air its dirty laundry, admit its faults, make its admissions. I've decided:
I need to be the exact opposite of this guy (let's call him Sanderson) who I now have to see five days a week. To do that, imperfection, humility, modesty, and honest will reign supreme.
I actually started this -- a bit impetuously, I admit -- this afternoon. After Sanderson explained to me how well he knew everyone at some trendy bar by his trendy house in his trendy neighborhood, I exclaimed: "Most people find me boring, so I don't know anyone who works at any bar in the entire country. I just sit there and drink my dark beer and think my dark thoughts."
That shut him up.
I looked at my computer screen. See, other people had come into the room at that point, and he was looking at them, not me. So I didn't really have that eye-contact obligation to maintain anymore. I've known him for eight days. I've thought about him a lot. And I've decided that I cannot imagine an instance occurring in which he could be convinced that he is not the most interesting person there is.
For instance.
Today, I heard him introduce himself to a group of people. He followed others, who stated their names, where they had worked, and that's about it. What did he say? He gave his name, and then told everyone that there were very, very few places he has not traveled to . . . even on a weekend jaunt. To illustrate, he said he would even randomly get up and drive to New York City on a Friday and then drive back on Sunday. He finished his sentence with a lilt, as if to create some expectation -- setting up a dramatic pause, perhaps.
The room "Ooed". I gagged.
But this guy has done me a service. For this week is now Imperfection Week. Yep. It's time for wrfarah.blogspot.com to air its dirty laundry, admit its faults, make its admissions. I've decided:
I need to be the exact opposite of this guy (let's call him Sanderson) who I now have to see five days a week. To do that, imperfection, humility, modesty, and honest will reign supreme.
I actually started this -- a bit impetuously, I admit -- this afternoon. After Sanderson explained to me how well he knew everyone at some trendy bar by his trendy house in his trendy neighborhood, I exclaimed: "Most people find me boring, so I don't know anyone who works at any bar in the entire country. I just sit there and drink my dark beer and think my dark thoughts."
That shut him up.
