Okay, I just ate a porterhouse dinner at Peter Lugar so excuse me if this post is written by a mind awash in protein, all hazy and numb and in dire need of fresh produce.

I ask you, the Aether, this:  how is it possible to spend an entire farewell-dinner talking about the economy and the loss of jobs in new york city?  Comparing mortgage interest rates about the table? Providing a cursory analysis of real estate markets in New York, Hong Kong, and Dubai?   Look, I love my friends, but I am noticing a majority of my conversations live solely on a diet of personal updates, gossip, and arguments about facts that could be googled in 30 seconds (e.g.”what is the circumference of the Earth?”).   Is this an aspect of being Asian-american, letting their materialism shine through?  Or of being the children of immigrants, evincing a lack of common cultural touchstones which higher dialogues often rely upon?  Are we destined to forever conduct dry exchanges of just-the-facts-ma’am and never have grand yet grounded conversations about big ideas (love, art, creativity, fate)?  As in being curious about others’ lives between the sheets,  I wonder if everyone is simply having better conversations than I am. Chime in the comments on where you fall in here.

Okay, fine, let’s all exchange promises.  You promise to never accuse me of being “deep” or “weird”, and I promise to cease being, it seems, the lightning rod for banality that I am.


  • mung Says:

    size of group = 1/interestingness of conversation

  • mung Says:

    probably makes more sense to swap the two parameters. also, more of a proportionality than equality….

  • bay Says:

    it’s true- one’s most interesting conversations are with oneself.

    just look at

  • Selfish Crab Says:

    [interestingess of conversation] = 1 / 0.5

    An idiot talking to himself… the most interesting of all, it seems.

  • angelle Says:

    i think this is just what happens when you hang out with asian-american kids who graduated from an elite ivy, the majority of which ended up in careers requiring knowledge of facts and more facts.

    hang out in grad school with a bunch of poets and writers, and you’ll get your convos on big ideas. then again, the possibility goes up that you’ll also run into one of those same kids sitting on a lawn somewhere with a guitar, singing about how you rejected his drunken advances after one meeting and broke his heart.

    toss up, i guess.

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