Skip to main content

Don't mind me, it's all just small talk

What is it with me and small talk? 99 percent of the people I know or have met seem to enjoy it, and I can't even pretend to be interested. Yes, I know, I'm weird and just more than a tad anti-social, but does that mean that it's not normal to even have a remotely intelligent conversation with someone? Does that mean that normal, regular conversation will always consist of how much you like having your picture taken in your spiffy little mobile phone or some remote mundane incident involving someone you know but I don't?
Of course, I also do realize that I'm being really subjective here - who am I to say that small talk isn't intelligent conversation? I mean, maybe I'm just trying to get people to think the way I think and have conversations the way I want them to.
I think I should lighten up.
But I can't.
Well, I guess that means I just have to endure more idle chit chat and try to work on at least displaying a semblance of interest on the topic at hand instead of emulating the walls and furniture.
Guess what I had for dinner. Pork chops? No. Maybe fried chicken or some nice homecooked sinigang? Nope. You give up?
Popcorn and coffee.
I still cannot understand what's so special about gourmet coffee. I like the whipped cream on top and the flavored fudgy thingies they put on it, but coffee's still coffee. What's more, 100 pesos or so for all of that is quite a hefty price to pay, if you ask me.
So there I was, trying to educate myself in the rigors of engaging in pleasantries and confabulations over a generally humdrum spectrum of topics, while sipping coffee that tasted the same as the other flavor I tried the other time. Of course, my wallet took a nasty stab that'll only get better after a couple of day's rest, and coffee shop discussions tend to take quite a while, so it follows that dinner had to take a raincheck. I guess it was a good thing that I managed to eat some popcorn a couple of hours ago.
I went home because it was late, and there was no food at home. Now I sit typing while my stomach growls in protest.
What the hell is the matter with me that I just only heard about the Dumaguete National Writer's Workshop only a few weeks ago? I remember scratching my head and saying to myself, "Meron pala nun?" It was the same when I first read Pablo Neruda in my early college years. Everyone was like, "Hindi mo kilala si Pablo Neruda?" Imagine my shame, when all I could credit myself with was being able to read Cyrano de Bergerac back in high school. The rest of my reading credits were limited to stuff like 'Robinson Crusoe' and 'Treasure Island' - I'm talking about the small squarish versions with illustrations and captions at every other page. I'm sure my mom must have thought they would be delightful things for a 11 year old to read - them having all those nice pictures and everything - when she bought me the exact same books back when I was still in elementary. What my high school was thinking, I cannot imagine. Sigh. That's what you get when you're poor and can only afford public school.
Back to the workshop - I must be moving in the wrong circles to not know about something like that. Of course, whether or not I get accepted into it is another thing entirely.
Oh, now I know what the problem is. I don't move in any circles.


Peachy said…
Just because you didn't know about the Dumaguete Workshop doesn't say anything about you, except that maybe none of your friends have seriously pursued creative writing. Sometimes it's all about whom you hobnob with. ;)

Also, small talk is never intelligent. It's only automatic.

Lastly, you should lighten up, old chap. ;)
Peachy said…
Goddamn, two hours of small talk?? That's enough to put anyone into a coma. Hahaha.

On a brighter note, you'll notice that today's weather is terrific.

(Note small talk topic: Weather. Hahahahahaha!)
Peachy said…
Hooray for you, then. ;)
Peachy said…
And so the question now is whether you choose to get used to it or not.


Popular posts from this blog

Photo post

Random shot of the day:

In lieu of my very erratic posting, I've decided to keep this blog (and the connecting one in Multiply as well) alive by posting a shot from my library from time to time. I might also post a short vignette inspired the photo as long as I have the inspiration and the brain power for it.

New Year, new post. LOL.

I suddenly feel compelled all of a sudden to post something in lieu of the New Year--which basically only really means a change of date--and I do realize that it's been AGES since I last put something here.

But what a year 2008 was. It was easily one of the most trying for me emotionally--which I will not expound on; the people who know me know what I'm talking about. But I am still thankful for small joys like good chatting days (and there were lots of bad ones too), Hairspray, airsoft, and eat outs with friends.

Basically I start the year feeling like one of those 9 out of 10 Filipinos they've recently put on the news--hopeful. I hope that this year will be a year of better things, of small and big successes.

Right now, I'm starting to dread Monday--and I'm sure many others feel the same--so I'm trying to maximize what's left of my RPG-playing days before I go back to all that work again.

From Slumdog to Millionaire

Slumdog Millionaire has been getting a lot of hype lately, and I, for one, think it deserves it.

Set in the slums of Mumbai, Slumdog Millionaire is, simply, a rags-to-riches story of a boy who went from the shit-diving fanboy (watch the movie and you'll understand) to the 20 million-Rupee winner of the local version of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire - and gets the girl of his dreams in the process. And to make it truly Bollywood-grade (it's a British film, BTW), there's a dance scene at the end.

While some may say that the story is something we've all seen before countless times over and over again (yes, the premise is THAT overused), that's entirely beside the point. No idea is new, they say, the key lies in the way something is presented, which makes Slumdog Millionaire stand out from all the rest. The cinematography for one, is great, and for a movie that reminded me so much of the slums of our own Payatas, of the congestion of this sprawling metropolis we call Met…