Wow I really thought I was the only person who entered the multiverse every time I make small talk with strangers. My wife is the same with everyone and cannot understand how I talk with strangers. But for a minute I *am* interested in raves, and I *do* love hot weather!
This is wonderful. Talking to strangers is one of the best things in the world, especially when you’re feeling flat or unhappy. (OK, talking to toddlers is right up there. Bonus points for talking to strangers who have toddlers.)
Gosh what a delightful read. There's something you've recreated here of having a pleasant ten-minute waiting-at-the-sandwich-counter discussion with a stranger, which turns into an informative monologue, a little cross-section of someone else's entire world and worldview shared. While that scenario can be boorishly uncomfortable (I remember the old church ladies at a certain point in my life), here it comes across both in your recounting and in your tone as an honest, charming way of making connection.
This is definitely one of the best parts about "having a job" and being out in the world with a purpose, rather than being a writer at home all day (I'm not sure it's possible, economically, to "only be a writer" but I'm also not even sure it's desirable, spiritually). I love chatting with the people whose paths I cross in all my little everyday missions. I love to become a regular at a café, and be greeted by the staff, and know their names, and their stories. I love to exchange a little gossip, or commiserate about the woes of the world, with the cashier, or the barman, or someone else in the queue. I love to talk to the receptionist, or the administrator, or the maintenance guy, and how they are, and what they're into. I love to know my colleagues' business, and care about it. I love all of that.
I'm more on the introverted side, and sometimes I do just want to be left alone in public, so it surprised me, during the 2020 lockdowns, how much I missed these more brief, casual, but friendly and life-affirming interactions. After all, I was still in contact with close family and friends (even if I couldn't see them in person), but there was no way to go out and exchange five sentences and a smile with a barista. So now I make sure to tell myself "You couldn't have done that six years ago!" after a particularly good interaction or "You could just go outside and chat with a stranger, you couldn't do that six years ago!" when I need my own dramatic way to motivate myself to get out of bed.
I used to work for a magazine in Baton Rouge, and my bossfriend and I would mock ourselves and each other for this. It wasn't artificial, exactly, but there was a certain gee-whiz aw-shucks golly-wow chicken-fried speech register we both used to dip into when we had to go out into the country and get excited about the Crab Cookoff and Zydeco 5K. And I would often be excited! But I did not use my City Gay Voice.
Hey, Danny -- if I may be parasocially overly familiar -- let me tell you, I have had A DAY.
This was the perfect antidote. Thank you for sharing your voice all these years. I miss The Toast like heck, but I'm really glad I get to keep hearing/reading you. Someone clever out there has a brain similar enough to mine and that feels comforting.
Thanks, also, for your Pete Hornberger series. Know that I share many of your opinions and look cheerfully forward to finding out whether you're right about the SoyJoy episode or not.
I code-switch like this all the time! I'm an immigrant, I suppose it feels natural. Just today I was commiserating with an older man about the drought. 'How's the garden?' I asked, with a knowing weariness, like I was about to take off a straw hat and mop my brow and lean on a shovel. I like it, it feels like visiting a different genre of story.
"Sometimes you’ve got to be a little dramatic, I find, in order to work up the nerve to get out of bed and do anything." 👍🏻
That line hit me like a freight train, in the best way.
Wow I really thought I was the only person who entered the multiverse every time I make small talk with strangers. My wife is the same with everyone and cannot understand how I talk with strangers. But for a minute I *am* interested in raves, and I *do* love hot weather!
I, too, love to talk to strangers, which is odd in Boston. But no one can make me pretend to like the heat.
If I'm on the phone with a man in Oklahoma, then for just this couple of minutes, I have _for my entire life_ been a person who calls people "darlin'"
This is wonderful. Talking to strangers is one of the best things in the world, especially when you’re feeling flat or unhappy. (OK, talking to toddlers is right up there. Bonus points for talking to strangers who have toddlers.)
Gosh what a delightful read. There's something you've recreated here of having a pleasant ten-minute waiting-at-the-sandwich-counter discussion with a stranger, which turns into an informative monologue, a little cross-section of someone else's entire world and worldview shared. While that scenario can be boorishly uncomfortable (I remember the old church ladies at a certain point in my life), here it comes across both in your recounting and in your tone as an honest, charming way of making connection.
Thank you!
This is definitely one of the best parts about "having a job" and being out in the world with a purpose, rather than being a writer at home all day (I'm not sure it's possible, economically, to "only be a writer" but I'm also not even sure it's desirable, spiritually). I love chatting with the people whose paths I cross in all my little everyday missions. I love to become a regular at a café, and be greeted by the staff, and know their names, and their stories. I love to exchange a little gossip, or commiserate about the woes of the world, with the cashier, or the barman, or someone else in the queue. I love to talk to the receptionist, or the administrator, or the maintenance guy, and how they are, and what they're into. I love to know my colleagues' business, and care about it. I love all of that.
Great piece.
I'm more on the introverted side, and sometimes I do just want to be left alone in public, so it surprised me, during the 2020 lockdowns, how much I missed these more brief, casual, but friendly and life-affirming interactions. After all, I was still in contact with close family and friends (even if I couldn't see them in person), but there was no way to go out and exchange five sentences and a smile with a barista. So now I make sure to tell myself "You couldn't have done that six years ago!" after a particularly good interaction or "You could just go outside and chat with a stranger, you couldn't do that six years ago!" when I need my own dramatic way to motivate myself to get out of bed.
I used to work for a magazine in Baton Rouge, and my bossfriend and I would mock ourselves and each other for this. It wasn't artificial, exactly, but there was a certain gee-whiz aw-shucks golly-wow chicken-fried speech register we both used to dip into when we had to go out into the country and get excited about the Crab Cookoff and Zydeco 5K. And I would often be excited! But I did not use my City Gay Voice.
Beautiful essay, Danny! And I melted at “this is my friend Papa”!
This was just an absolute joy to read!
Hey, Danny -- if I may be parasocially overly familiar -- let me tell you, I have had A DAY.
This was the perfect antidote. Thank you for sharing your voice all these years. I miss The Toast like heck, but I'm really glad I get to keep hearing/reading you. Someone clever out there has a brain similar enough to mine and that feels comforting.
Thanks, also, for your Pete Hornberger series. Know that I share many of your opinions and look cheerfully forward to finding out whether you're right about the SoyJoy episode or not.
Reading this, I feel very strongly that you were born to play the Narrator in Our Town.
Chameleon! It’s so fun to watch you put different writing styles on and off.
I code-switch like this all the time! I'm an immigrant, I suppose it feels natural. Just today I was commiserating with an older man about the drought. 'How's the garden?' I asked, with a knowing weariness, like I was about to take off a straw hat and mop my brow and lean on a shovel. I like it, it feels like visiting a different genre of story.
I also get chatting with a stranger and feel a new cadence descend upon my speech like the dove at the baptism.