affecting the effect of conversation

Anyone can tell you what interesting thing happened to them last Tuesday, they can tell you what they ate for lunch two hours ago, they can tell you why they chose to wear a purple hat with a large brown plume that tilts to the left, or they can tell you all about how they ended up in this very spot talking to you. However, there is a skill that one must possess when telling these little diddies. I prefer to think of it as an art. It's known as the art of story-telling (with which I'm sure you are familiar). And in this latest phase of my "oh so fabulous" (HA) life, I learn that fewer and fewer people are skilled story-tellers.

I guess after spending the second half of my university (sounds more fancy than college) career in workshops critiquing, analyzing, admiring, sneering, and scoffing at other people's work I developed a true disdain for the unnecessary. I, in fact, became rather candid about my dislike for unnecessary information during these workshops. It's something that I religiously tried to keep from doing in my own work. While I do believe that back story has relevance and is often needed to understand the tale ahead, I do not need to know every single detail.

Hmmm detail. It's important to pepper a a tale with detail, but there is a limit, I believe. I've encountered a number of stories as of late--most presumably a result of people being in their twenties and wanting to do nothing other than talk of themselves (is this not the narcissistic nature of my blog as well? yeeeeesss). These gruesome moments have unfortunately required my ears to become exposed to every nuance of their life. I'm forced to know why they think this or that about global warming, why they have or have not reacted to an odd phone call from last night, how long they have known about the mold growing in their bathtub, the t-shirt they were wearing when they began the sixth grade, what their dentist smells like...I'm beginning to exaggerated but I'm finding that people are so fixated on filling me in that the initial thought becomes lost (both by me--because I stop listening and by them). They have veered so far from their point that I don't care anymore and often become frustrated with them and their happening.

I'm pretty much saying discretion should be used more often. Invidiuals should really select their topics with choice. And any skilled linguist knows you can certainly veer off topic, but be smart about it, know how to jump but be able to keep your
audience engaged or know how to bring them right back to your original thought. It's really a skill. I have a habit of jumping off topic (just read this blog), but I think with each entry I'm learning how to keep your interest and not bore you with insignificant detail. It goes without saying (or not)I'm not interested in why you are crying about the cost of sprouted wheat bread when we're talking about why you haven't called your best friend in over thirty days.

removing me--belly button saga

There comes a time in a girl's life where she must bid farewell to her old ways--whatever they may be. In light of nearing my mid-twenties, I have given up making dates and not following through, driving fast, staying up late, over compensation, and as of Sunday, I gave up my belly button ring.

This was a notable accomplishment. I've been wanting to pluck that piece of metal from my body for about a year, but clung tight to it's symbolisms of freedom, rebelion, sexual liberation/prowess and the fact that it enlongated my belly button, which, in turn made me feel thinner. I was pierced on my 18th birthday with Ralph by my side muttering some nonesense about soroities and how when I went off to college, I should join one. In an instant and a painful breaking of my skin I stood up to find a barbell curved in what was eighteen years prior my lifeline.

I was proud for having gone through with the whole experience. I paraded around campus the following day eager to show off my new jewlery (as well as my flat stomach). I managed to only get infected once and rarely did my ring catch on clothes. However, at twenty-three I feel like I need to let go. That ring no longer symbolizes freedom, rebelion, or sexual liberation at all. Rather it represents that last year of high school, rebelion that I'm not longer interested in, a show, being eighteen and all the things that I no longer am. I certainly grappled with letting go. But I'm learning that's central to my character. I have a hard time letting go of things that make up my former person.

I took out the ring and now it sits on my dresser in two pieces. I wonder if the aligned holes in my stomach will close. Perhaps they won't, which is fine. It can symbolize personal growth and moving on. There are better things when you remove the garbage from the past...you may find that you simply have a belly button.