everything's just fine. Everything's
just like nothing ever happened. And that's exactly the problem.
Because, see, once we've defined the problem as He Doesn't Talk,
well, it's just glaringly obvious from here on out, isn't it?
Sure is. Now in
every silence, well, let's just start right there, shall we?
Let's start with all the silences.
Maybe it was always this way, but now that I've determined it
bugs the SHIT out of me, well, every time there is one, it just ITCHES
within me. Man, it's like a
big huge police siren that just SCREAMS out,
Hey look! Nobody's
talking! Wonder why!
Oh that's right, it's HIM.
I mean, I try.
God knows I try. I
will babble on forever and a day, talking about everything nothing.
The Blind Date episode I watched last night, and my theory on how
there's a particularly repulsive new wave of people that will not just
do and say anything to get on TV, they will do and say anything to get
the other person to do what they want.
nine times out of ten (or maybe it's nine times out of ten on
Blind Date), it involves humiliating the other person, and what
kind of person goes on a TV show to find a date in the first
place, and what is this saying about our society, we're so fame
hungry instead of money grubbing, and what is the lesser of two
evils, and why are those the only two choices
says nothing. And
then I just feel stupid. I
feel stupid for being the only one talking.
So I decide to just shoot the elephant in the corner and
get the whole thing over with.
And this particular skirmish takes place over dinner.
Of course it does. I
can cope with the silences everywhere else.
In fact, watching movies either in the theater or renting
a movie has now become my favorite thing to do, simply because
you're SUPPOSED to be quiet.
But no, we're at dinner, where you're supposed to talk.
You're SUPPOSED to discover new and different things
about each other over dinner.
In hushed tones, under flattering lighting (okay, we're
only at California Pizza Kitchen, but go with it).
Nothing from him.