Small talk at parties and similar things that suck

I go to lots of parties on the weekends. It's nothing too extreme. There isn't any nude table dancing (except when visiting my brothers and sisters in the co-op system.) No vandalism and no witchcraft and animal sacrifices, if they can be avoided. But parties nonetheless.

When everyone at a party is of about the same age and station in life, the conversation can be predictable. Numbingly predictable.

People over 40 talk about the stock market. MBA students talk about signing bonuses and starting salaries. Michigan Review staffers talk about the one time a girl looked at them, outside of a family reunion or money-for-sex kind of situation ("Then she looked right at me, and I felt kind of funny. Before I knew it my pants were ruined. I've never felt like this, not even about Nancy Reagan or even Eichmann").

People who are approaching graduation talk about future plans. In fact, the older I get, the more time I seem to spend on small talk. It used to be that small talk was reserved for peripheral people and relatives. That guy you remember from orientation or Aunt Myrtle the talkative invalid. Now some of my peers like to engage it.

It's bad around finals time.

James Miller Miller on Tap

"So, how's finals?" "Well, I have a 7-to-10 pager due on Thursday and an exam Friday and two on Monday, so not too bad, but ..."

No one really means this question when they ask it. I never mean it when I ask it. With the exception of my close friends, I really couldn't give a rolling donut on a gravel driveway about when an acquaintance's art history term paper is due. If we were more honest with each other, the conversation would be more terse.

"So how's finals?" "Sucks. I keep having this dream where I nail my GSI into a Fotomat booth and throw him in a river."

Barring the existence of finals or a fatal disease with visible symptoms ("Jesus, I've never seen a goiter that big!"), one's plans for after graduation are the next item up for discussion. Again, with the exception of close friends, I can't bring myself to care what someone is doing after graduation.

"Yeah, I'm thinking of applying to like this consulting firm, or like, some kind of like filmmaking environmental hip hop collective kind of degree masters program thing. In like New York."

I don't think I can have another conversation like that.

In a situation like this I usually lie. Not a huge lie. I don't tell people I'm going into the priesthood or midwifery. I just say "I don't know. I'll think of something." Then smile devilishly for that illusion of aimless, Ethan Hawke slackerhood.

The truth is I do know what I'm doing, but I'm not a big fan of justifying myself and explaining my life's plans over a couple plastic cups of beer.

I wouldn't ordinarily be such a prick about it if the questions didn't seem so disingenuous. The people who ask you seem to just stand there and watch your lips move until it's their turn to talk.

Attention-starved people like small talk because under the guise of gentility and hospitality they can force people to pay attention to them. Small talk also makes talking about yourself look like the exercise of proper etiquette.

"Yeah, so I'm like into being creative and like creating, and stuff. But I might want to teach, or something, like turn this thesis I'm working into like a dissertation or book or something. I'd like to be a professor, dude. I'm smart. I'm working on a novel and pretending I'm gay. Pay attention to me. Please?"

Small talk does have one redeeming quality. Since people aren't really listening to you, or you to them, there is a wonderful potential for bullshit.

I like to tell people I'm going into animal husbandry, and that I'm looking into the insemination program at the University of Montana ("I'm taking Hand-warming 101 spring term to get ready.")

Another favorite is telling people you're going back into stripping, because they have to think that you used to do it and must have quit. They also look at you for a second or two, trying to imagine your pasty, lumpy body smeared in oil and grinding to "Shock the Monkey."

There's always the old family business: Black market organ dealing. But the list goes on.

"So, you're graduating in May? What are you going to do?" "Well, I've been thinking about joining the Mossad, but over the last few years Israeli intelligence has really gone downhill. Maybe I'll just keep selling speed to high school students or go back on the NASCAR circuit. I could always get back into sperm banking, what with the Euro and all. How about you?"

-James Miller can be reached over e-mail at jamespm@umich.edu

01-27-99