From: callahan@biffvm.cs.jhu.edu (Paul Callahan)
Subject: Re: you win some, you lose some (kinda long)
Organization: Johns Hopkins Computer Science Department, Baltimore, MD
Date: Mon, 4 Jan 1993 22:09:39 GMT

jecoleb@eos.ncsu.edu (have clue, will travel) writes:

>My New Year's Eve sucked, but here's a few thoughts on a VERY surreal 
>winter break:

Mine was one of the best I've ever had.  Events and people converged amusingly,
and I got a rare chance to show off a certain amount of social ability.  
However, my peculiar social skills are not the sort that would land anyone in 
bed.  I like to think that's not really what I'm looking for, so I just try to 
have as much fun as I can.  Out of laziness, I'll excerpt my description from 
a letter I had many hours to write as I recovered from a nasty hangover 
(with minor typographical corrections--a novel concept on Usenet, I know).

--

...The really unexpected part of the evening was that an acquaintance of mine
from high school walked in.   I vaguely recalled that he was living in the 
Baltimore area, because I got to know him better when he came up to Penn State 
for an M.S. degree.  We haven't spoken for a few years, and I had no idea he 
ever went to The Wharf Rat (the bar we were at) or came into the city at all, 
for that matter.

What I remembered about him was one time at Penn State, when I was in his 
apartment with some friends, and he said something like "You've improved a lot;
you were a total basket case in high school."  Hmmm... Not the easiest thing to
forget, as you might imagine.  He's a nice guy, and he was just being blunt;  
no offense meant or taken.  Still, it's disconcerting to see yourself 
through the eyes of another.  I knew I was no party animal in high school, but 
I never thought of myself as a basket case.  His comment has given me much food
for thought in the last few years, so I brought it up last night.  Before you 
imagine I'm that I'm terribly embittered, I should point out that both of us 
were laughing and smiling to full capacity throughout the conversation that 
I am about to relate.

I sought to convince him that while I may have been a basket case in high 
school, this was an appropriate response to my surroundings.  "Why *should* I
have made friends?," I argued "Just about everyone there was a preppy asshole."
He agreed that this argument had merit, though we discussed some notable 
exceptions to the rule.  Another thing I said was "You know, *as a school*, 
LaSalle had its good points."  He knew exactly what I meant.  This was after I
had shouted the word "wasteland" many times in my drunken zeal, attempting to 
convey my impression of LaSalle as a social environment.  He said that if he 
had kids he would never inflict that experience on them.  I agreed and proposed
a toast to that sentiment.  In parting, I requested that if he ever ran 
into anyone from LaSalle (outside a small group of reasonable people),
would he please tell them that they suck and I still hate them, just in case
they're wondering.  He said he would, and he's the sort of person who actually
might do it.  All in all, the conversation was a pleasant and therapeutic
experience.  He took my phone number, so he might get in touch with me later.

The other amusing experience of the evening was a conversation with an
attractive woman who came up to me and started talking (this happens maybe
once or twice a year; I almost never try to strike up converations with 
strangers).  I am very comfortable with these kinds of conversations and
find them enjoyable, but it's because I start out with the assumption that I'm 
not expecting to sleep with them or ever see them again or anything.  I'm 
empowered by a sort of private joke, that I let them in on gradually.  I am 
allowed to say things that a guy wouldn't say if he were trying to impress 
a woman, so I say whatever comes to mind.  They usually seem entertained by my 
banter, but in the final analysis, they don't know what to make of me, and 
(you know) if I *did* want to sleep with them after all, it would not be such 
a great strategy.  Still, I have a lot of fun with these conversations.

She was wearing these sort of glittery pants, which I had briefly noticed,
and she came up to me and (in a jocular way) accused me of staring at her pants.
I told her that I *had* noticed them, but, quite honestly, I had not been 
staring at them.  I tried to put forth a friendly but matter-of-fact tone.  
"If I had been," I said, "I'd admit it.  It just happens that I wasn't."  She 
insisted I was, I insisted I wasn't, and we went back and forth for a little 
while.  I suggested that given the amount I had been drinking, my eyes tended 
to fixate on random things; perhaps, that was the cause of the confusion.  
Then she pointed to a friend of hers, who looked very attractive in a red dress
with bare shoulders, and said "You were staring at her too!"  "You're right," I 
admitted "I *was* staring at her, but I still insist that I wasn't staring at 
your pants; I only noticed *them* for a moment."  My wording as presented here 
is probably idealized.  What's interesting is that I maintained a fairly 
whimsical dialogue by stating only what was literally true.

The conversation was getting repetitive, but then I had a new idea, and added,
"I guess I could respond like Mrs. Robinson:  Would you *like* me to stare at
your pants?"  This led her to say that the _The Graduate_ was her favorite 
movie (one of my favorites, too, as it happens).  I pointed out (a little off 
the subject) that Charles Webb, the author of the original novel, was living 
in poverty, despite the enormous success of the film.  "There was a novel?" she 
asked, surprised (I guess that explains *why* Webb is impoverished).  She then 
bragged that she had slept with Anne Bancroft's nephew.  

In retrospect, this part reminds me of another conversation from some years
back.  I told a woman, somewhat disingenuously, that the only thing I knew 
about Buddhism came from reading Jack Kerouac's novel _The Dharma Bums_.  She 
knew something about Buddhism (she was into "New Age" stuff, I think), so she 
acted shocked and told me that I knew nothing about Buddhism (a fact that 
I was not going to dispute).  I imagine that Kerouac probably *had* gotten a 
lot of it garbled, so I asked "What exactly is it you don't like about 
Kerouac?"  She replied "Actually, I've never read any Kerouac..." (so far, so 
good--just an honest admission) "but I heard the song by 10,000 Maniacs." 
(aaaargh!)  I was tempted to make a sarcastic comment, but let it pass.  
The similarity lies in the absurdity of the implicit claims: "I'm uniquely 
qualified to talk about _The Graduate_ because I slept with Anne Bancroft's 
nephew." or "I know something about Kerouac because I heard a pop song about 
him."  For that matter, there is my claim to know something about Buddhism 
after reading _The Dharma Bums_ (though my only real claim was that I thought 
"bodhisattva" was a cool word which I wanted an excuse to use).

Anyway, the conversation with the woman last night went on for a little while
longer.  She told me she lived in New York (Surprised, I asked her why she
was spending New Year's Eve in Baltimore, and she said she had friends here).
She told me she wanted to be a writer.  I had already told her I was a grad
student (she had asked what I did for a living) and I eventually I wound up 
revealing that I studied Computer Science.   This (I'm afraid) sounded the 
death knell for any further social interaction.  I mean, I think I could have 
saved the situation if I wanted to, by moving on to other things, but then I 
actually started to comment on doing things like publishing papers and writing 
mathematical proofs.  She went off to look for her friends (she said), and 
(of course) never came back.  What was going through my mind the whole time 
was that as much as I enjoyed the conversation, I was not the sort of person 
she was looking for.  It was all a big misunderstanding (Like the guy who tried
to sell me drugs, as I mentioned in my "Urban Isolation" posting).  Later I 
noticed her standing very close to some other guy.  I don't know if she came 
in with him or not; I don't think she did.

I didn't feel jealous, and I didn't feel as if I had failed.  When I started 
to mention Computer Science, I knew that this would reduce my "chances"
tremendously.  It just didn't matter, though.  If I had, by some accident or
miracle, managed to "pick her up" I wouldn't have known what to do anyway. 
What is funny about my thoughts afterward ... is that I started to think 
along lines that I normally don't in such situations.  Like, I realized that if 
I *were* looking for casual sex, I probably would be interested in going to 
bed with her.  She was definitely attractive.  She had long brown hair and a 
smooth complexion.  Her face was distinctive: feminine and elegant, but also 
world-weary in a way that gave it character.  She had a nice body, I think: she
seemed thin, but I didn't really notice much beyond that.  I also liked 
her spirit and self-confidence.  I didn't talk to her long enough to care 
about her at all.  In fact, I didn't even feel any sexual tension while we 
were talking.  As a thought experiment, it's sort of interesting, to ask myself
whether I would be pleased with the prospect of having sex with her, and
the answer would have to be yes.  It's also interesting (and puzzling) to
wonder how I should have behaved if my goal *had* been to go to bed with her.
It's all pretty remote from my lifestyle, though, and it really isn't what I'm 
looking for...

--

Well, that was my New Year's Eve, and my reaction to it, in case anybody cares.
--
"I would rather be torn to pieces by the poison-clawed cat, than to suffer one
instant of acceptance by the resident intellectuals of rec.arts.books." 
     [slightly modified; attribution left as an exercise to the reader]
              -- Paul Callahan, callahan@biffvm.cs.jhu.edu --
Newsgroups: alt.angst