On the way from the hotel to the restaurant for supper tonight, Tim took Josh and I on a short walking tour of what I called “art bars” – two very cool bars/clubs that were one part bar, one part art gallery. Very interesting stuff.
Then, to Osha (a Thai restaurant, coincidentally themed inside with elephants everywhere) for supper with the Pachydermers. I’d been crashing since about 10am, after working with Josh to stem the flow of negative Whuffie created by some miscommunication. (we got the Pachyderm authoring app up and running after an intense round of forensic analysis to find out wtf happened – then got to deal with a different but recurring problem, as described in the previous post)
At this point, I was so tired that I don’t think I could have successfully rubbed two neurons together to save my life. And everyone begins animatedly talking about the latest books they’ve read (I haven’t had any time to read fiction – or non-fiction, for that matter), or books they read as kids (I can hardly remember anything that long ago, nevermind what books I read), etc… I slowly withdrew into the corner of the table, nodding and following maybe 10% of the conversations as they swirled around me. The few comments I’m able to make are totally superficial, or seem to disappear into the background noise of the restaurant. I’m not contributing at all to the conversation, and am having trouble keeping up as a simple lurker, feeling decidedly provincial. And extremely uncultured. Not quite bumpkinesque, but I can see it from here. Truly humbling.
The saving grace is that these are all Truly Nice People. It’s nothing they’re doing – I’m just coming up short today. The irony is that once I get back to my quiet room at the hotel, and sitting in front of a keyboard, I’m almost able to maintain a stream of thought, and to construct something that appears like a coherent sentence.
OK. Now to crash, and hopefully sleep. Perhaps I’ll feel less braindead after more than 3 hours of sleep…
On the way from the hotel to the restaurant for supper tonight, Tim took Josh and I on a short walking tour of what I called “art bars” – two very cool bars/clubs that were one part bar, one part art gallery. Very interesting stuff.
Then, to Osha (a Thai restaurant, coincidentally themed inside with elephants everywhere) for supper with the Pachydermers. I’d been crashing since about 10am, after working with Josh to stem the flow of negative Whuffie created by some miscommunication. (we got the Pachyderm authoring app up and running after an intense round of forensic analysis to find out wtf happened – then got to deal with a different but recurring problem, as described in the previous post)
At this point, I was so tired that I don’t think I could have successfully rubbed two neurons together to save my life. And everyone begins animatedly talking about the latest books they’ve read (I haven’t had any time to read fiction – or non-fiction, for that matter), or books they read as kids (I can hardly remember anything that long ago, nevermind what books I read), etc… I slowly withdrew into the corner of the table, nodding and following maybe 10% of the conversations as they swirled around me. The few comments I’m able to make are totally superficial, or seem to disappear into the background noise of the restaurant. I’m not contributing at all to the conversation, and am having trouble keeping up as a simple lurker, feeling decidedly provincial. And extremely uncultured. Not quite bumpkinesque, but I can see it from here. Truly humbling.
The saving grace is that these are all Truly Nice People. It’s nothing they’re doing – I’m just coming up short today. The irony is that once I get back to my quiet room at the hotel, and sitting in front of a keyboard, I’m almost able to maintain a stream of thought, and to construct something that appears like a coherent sentence.
OK. Now to crash, and hopefully sleep. Perhaps I’ll feel less braindead after more than 3 hours of sleep…
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I know it wasn’t intelligence you were getting at. But even cultural knowledge is a complex thing. Nobody can seem on top of a wide variety of cultural signposts.
And half of a liberal arts education is learning how to bluff convincingly. We used to play “literary bullshit” over drinks back in grad school — the idea of the game was to figure out when someone was only pretending to know stuff. It was a real eye-opener.
Thanks, B. It’s not an intelligence thing, though. I think I’m intelligent – not genius, but not clueless – but the feeling I was trying to capture was a distinct lack of backing knowledge or experience. Like the others in the group are able to tap into a rich store of knowledge that I just lack. Compounded with the realization that their knowledge is about stuff that is decades or centuries old, whereas mine is entirely ephemeral – knowlege and experience that is largely tied into software development, and which will be obsolete in months/years…
Man, even looking at that artbar photo makes me feel like a goon. I can’t imagine any clothes I own that I wouldn’t feel self-conscious wearing in there. I’d be sucking back the white wine spritzers, I’m certain…
Sleep-deprived, over-worked, always moving, always taking stuff in, never getting time to think, trying to do the right thing at home and at the office, there are lots of moments when the nervous system just ain’t firing.
Rest assured, amigo, that people who know you think that you’re a terrifying supergenius. I’m so grateful you use your powers for good.