My manager, Mr. Marks, is scolding me for screwing up my “networking” opportunity at the most recent Grammy Awards. I have little patience and skill for small talk.
We live in strange places: each in a universe of our own. The people with whom we populate our universes are the shadows of whole other universes intersecting with our own.
Being able to glance out into this bewildering complexity of infinite recursion and say things like, “Oh, hi, Ed! Nice tan. How’s Carol?” involves a great deal of filtering skill for which all conscious entities have to develop in order to protect themselves from the contemplation of the chaos through which we seethe and tumble. SO GIVE ME A BREAK, MATE! OK?