The Grapevine--Society's Terror

Telephone. We've all played the game before as kids--you know, the one where you sit down in a circle and whisper something entirely random in the ear of the person next to you. Usually (if your speech has been suitably garbled) by the time the whisper gets back to the head of the line it sounds nothing at all like what you started with:

"I said 'Pink elephants wear pajamas', not 'Pink cheetahs hug their mamas!'" and you laughed as if it was the funniest thing the world over. Which it is not. But we don't quarrel with a five year old's sense of humor. Hopefully they'll grow out of it.

The older I grow and the more time I spend with people, the more I realize how The Grapevine is only a huge game of Telephone. It can work in two directions.

"The direct and the...indirect. Of course the indirect would be less direct than...the direct but..."

 (Pardon the intrusion of Roman Holiday into a perfectly serious post. ;) The Grapevine--that kidney of Society, that organ that filters every little bit of Social blood--can either make you look like a dunce or a diva. There's seldom an in between. You know it's happened to you:

You mention an off-the-cuff piece of news to a friend. Something small like, "I think it would be so much to fun to have a ball sometime this fall."

Two weeks later you meet a friend of a friend of a friend who bounds up to you, clasps their hands and exclaims: "So I heard you're planning a huge dance party for November!"
You start flicking through your mental Dewey Decimal system trying to figure out how such a thing could have been planned without your knowledge. Then you realize. Someone's been your unofficial, unsolicited Officious Solicitor and now the whole world is ready for your Mega Dance Party invitation.
On the other hand, if you were to admit that you struggled in a certain relationship with a family member to another friend and that friend was to blab, give it two weeks. You'll have a sympathetic Rumor Monger hammering down your door with reams of advice as to How To Stop Hating Your Grandmother.

"My grandmother? What on earth do you mean?"
"Don't be such a sly little thing. I heard that you were having a hard time loving her--that you sometimes felt that you wanted to scream when she asked you for the eighteenth time in an hour what day of the week it was."
"First and foremost, you are incorrect and dramatic. I do not hate my grandmother. Second...it is none of your business, third, at this moment in time I come closer to feeling vindictive emotions for the girl who told you all of this than I do for my poor, world-weary grandma!"

That would be my general opinion of The Grapevine in its worst capacity. Essentially, it can easily become a whirlpool of gossip and hearsay. Messages are garbled and lost and changed and can come out to the people on the other end entirely transformed into something not even remotely resembling their original form. There is that danger, but as a Cock-Eyed Optimist, I can't be entirely dismal about The Grapevine. I've found it to be extremely useful in numerous ways when all and sundry keep their tale-bearing tongues in check. James tells us to be "quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger." It's a good piece of advice and one that would revolutionize The Grapevine and every other part of Society. :)
Prayer requests are quickly and expertly related. Needs are filled. Plans are made and finalized. It can be a hilarious, helpful and good-humored leg of Society....provided no one cuts the telephone lines and sends a wrong message.

As Society's operators, lets try to keep the Telephone a useful tool--not a clammy-tongued parasite. :)

Those Awkward Moments...

Dear World,
     I am alike a certain literary character in that  I dearly love to laugh. "What does The Cock-Eyed Optimist like to laugh at?" you might wonder. I love to laugh at people and their oddities and inconsistencies. I never laugh at that which is good and noble, but those things that are a little ridiculous you might find me chuckling over. (Read: you most definitely will find me chuckling over)
The Nocturnal Why is a social-butterfly in that she cannot live without So-ciety. I am a hybrid--I love people dearly, but I am also content to amuse myself. When I am in a group of people (and perhaps it's just the writer in me) I love to study them and try to make out their character.

This odd practice has lead to several humorous observations. Poor people--their little sham-performances are not lost upon me. :D One of the funniest--and yes, I've done it before--is the use of nick-names, slang, and otherwise imperfect titles when you refer to a book, author, etc. to sound smart.

A person who has once been embarrassed by referring to Les Miserables phonetically (Less Miserables) will from that day hence call it "Les Mis"--as chummy as you please. It little matters if you haven't the foggiest idea who Jean Valjean is; you can pronounce the title and sound "in," if you will.

Another common tactic for those who like to sound well-read (even if they aren't particularly so) is to speak of authors by their last names. Think about it: A person who goes around saying "Charles Dickens" sounds as if they just got done swallowing A Tale of Two Cities for high-school English class. A person who refers to "Dickens" in an off-the-cuff, self-assured manner has made himself master of the name and all Society bends knee. But "Dickens," "Austen," and "Lewis" are on the lower end of the importance spectrum. It is even better if you can parade your "Dante" or "Hugo" or "Chesterton", for precious few people get truly familiar with those great authors.

I think it rather amusing too when a person tries to repeat a famous quote, intending to repeat it verbatim and hashing it terribly, only to end with: "Well, I'm paraphrasing!" :D

Another Social Masquerade I love to watch is two near-strangers recognizing one another at a social function outside of their usual stomping-grounds. The body-language is hilarious. There is the accidental catching of the eye. The back straightens. A few more looks are stolen by each party. If the two acquaintances are both of a reticent nature it may go no farther. But there are some who have Social consciences. These will continue to steal side-long glances and pretend they want punch that they might get a better view of their acquaintance. What on earth are they wanting to assure themselves of? There simply cannot be another person in America with such flaming red hair and a nose that big, I'm sorry.
But their little charade goes on. Both parties circle the room like sharks, veering off in the opposite direction when the other sees them. The web of nonchalance grows more intricate. The circle grows tighter, the glances more frequent. Having assured yourself that that the person is indeed who you took him to be from the first, the moment is fast-approaching when this loitering cannot continue. You are now a mere 5 feet from each-other. With a last turn you find yourself face to face with your acquaintance, both of you red-cheeked, hot, and damp from the exertion of Pretending. If you are really good you will have remembered this acquaintance's name and the fact that their mother was ailing from a paper-cut the last time you met. (Which was two years ago.)

You inquire after the mother.

You exchange incidental remarks that you will feel stupid for on the way home.

You make fierce, dogged conversation on random subjects such as...hummingbirds--a topic neither of you have ever thought of in the whole course of your lives, but that lent itself to the situation in such a way that you could kiss the buzzing bird and revere it for all eternity.

You sip your punch and stare hard at the other side of the room, pretending you are much enthralled with watching something--anything.

The conversation dwindles. You both stare at the same nothing pretending it is something and hoping your partner will not guess anything.

You both glance back at the same moment and find twin discomfort and awkwardness in the others eyes.

You laugh--too loudly.

You say good-bye too warmly.

You leave, too red.

It is an old drama, and one that I hate repeating myself. What is it that causes people to act in these silly ways?

Self-consciousness. Yes. That old dragon. I find one glare from his glimmering golden eyes will set my blood rushing, as I know it does to the person who has mispronounced Les Miserables or the amateur who goes about calling authors by their last name, or to those two actors in that play of Not-Noticing.

The consciousness of Self.

Self--that other dragon who comes in so many forms it can always catch the average person unawares. It has often occurred to me that self-consciousness is just a backward form of vanity. We sit there thinking about how much other people are thinking about us. It causes embarrassment and awkwardness where there need be none.

We probably wouldn't worry about what people think of us if we could know how seldom they do.  ~Olin Miller

That quote hits home because it is so true. That's why I laugh over the little social charades and all the sham performances--when all is said and done you can be assured that you think of yourself far more than anyone else does.

“People may flatter themselves just as much by thinking that their faults are always present to other people's minds, as if they believe that the world is always contemplating their individual charms and virtues.”
― Elizabeth Gaskell

 We ought to slay the dragon Self--it's an old worn out beast who clings to us because of our sheer perversity in giving him credence. Think about it: how many little pretendings and silly affectations would disappear if we thought less of ourselves and how we might sound, and focused instead on making one or two intelligent remarks?

You might cheat me of one of my treasured laughs, but I'd donate it, tax-free. ;)

         Everly,