Today

The older I get, the more I come to realize that being average is actually superior.

The older I get, the happier I am with mundanity.
--Mama Mojo today

You may have noticed this quote on Google's homepage today:

The man who writes about himself and his own time is the only man who writes about all people and all time.
- George Bernard Shaw

You're invited, but I'm going to ignore you.

Have you ever been invited someplace. You got a warm invitation from the host. You go happily. You prepare your wardrobe carefully. You feel good. You're confident of your place. It seems like the right thing to do. You're convinced, but of course, there's always a twinge of doubt, because you can never be 100% sure about anything you're doing. Still. You take your chances, and you go only to be disappointed. The host ignores you. You try talking to people, but most of them are cold and uninterested. You don't really connect with anyone. The spark isn't there. The clothes you picked out so carefully turn out to be all wrong for the crowd, and the occasion. You walk in the door glittering, but within an hour, you realize that you're out of place. You spend most of the evening wandering around alone. People are together all around you in groups. They are intimate with each other. You thought you too were an intimate, but when you introduce yourself to people, try to make connections, it doesn't work. People aren't buying even the most genuine things about you. They look at you suspiciously. Your conversation can't hold them. They're already engaged in conversation with someone else, and shortly thereafter, they've walked away from you, leaving you there standing. Once again you're left grasping, and on your own. Still, you were invited by the host. You were warmly received when you walked through the door, so you linger, even though you've been feeling uncomfortable for hours, you linger, because you think, "I belong, don't I?" You get invited the next night, and dutifully, you go. It's become your duty now. You made a commitment to the host. You've already agreed, so you have to go, but really, you've had it already with lingering around on your own an entire evening long. You'd be better off doing something completely on your own, rather than hanging there, waiting, hanging on to little snippets of conversation, waiting to be included for a moment, and it does happen. You are included here and there, briefly. What you're thirsty for is a long, meaningful, and involved conversation. You've become so starved, your words begin coming out in uncertain halts. Your sentences are half formed. Your ideas, split. Still, you can understand. The host is busy. He's invited lots of people, and you're only one person. You should be able to fend for yourself, to take advantage of the opportunity. You know there are enough people you could approach. You've seen some of them looking at you, and it's all your job. You have to approach them. The host has nearly totally abandoned you, and your social skills are waning, undermined. Gradually, you begin once again to realize the futility of social contact. There are plenty of people to talk to; there's enough to say, but once you've said it, you'll never see that person again. It will never lead to anything, anyway.