Talk less, think more

I hate talking on the telephone. I do it because my carrier pigeons have gotten too fat and lazy to deliver my messages anymore. I'm not a big fan of talking, period. I mean, I like to talk, but I am not one of those females who can carry on a conversation for hours and hours and hours and talk about everything under the son three or four times over. Ten minutes and I'm done. I hate repeating myself, and if we've already talked about something once, there is no real need to talk about it again. I prefer the written word. People can't interrupt or ignore you when you write something. One of the reasons I started this blog was so my mother would actually hear everything I have to say.

My mother doesn't interrupt on purpose, it's just that whenever something pops into her mind, it comes out her mouth at the same time. If you just happen to be talking, that's your tough luck.

But she's not the only one. In fact, everybody interrupts these days. Even Oprah - the less famous her guest, the more she interrupts them. The art of conversation is dead. Everyone is too busy thinking of what they want to say that they don't take the time to actually listen.

I hate the One-Uppers, too. You know, you tell someone that you (insert here), and then they have to tell you a similar story only they did it faster, sooner, better, or cheaper than you did. They can't just listen to your story or maybe laugh about it with you. When I was in high school I knew a girl like that. You could tell her you just rescued on alien from a pack of rabid penguins in a stolen school bus and she'd say, "Oh, I rescued two last Tuesday." It's no fun talking to a person like that, you don't learn anything new. Like parrots, they regurgitate your story back to you with a few changed details.

Bigfoot died today. If you're a Howard Stern fan, then you know who he was. For everyone else, he was the giant in the movie "Big Fish." He was 32, the same age as me. That's creepy. RIP, big guy.