Nothing Dinner

and the human need to talk about nothing

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Those snowbound roads we met in Nebraska

I’ve lost my ability to talk about nothing.

It’s an inherent human need, I think, to talk about nothing.

Like how beautiful the evening is, or what shape the clouds are.

Or that episode of “The Office” where they’re trying to decide on whether to use their surplus to buy new chairs or a new copier. And Michael sits down in Pam’s chair, and as he’s talking, he’s slowly sinking lower and lower below the desk and all the people in the office are craning their necks to see him.

I used to be very good at talking about nothing. I’d do it in the passenger’s seat in a snow-bound car on icy roads. I’d do it when I had a friend who was upset and wanted to stop thinking about whatever it was that was upsetting them. I’d change the topic from ice or irritation to Vanilla Ice (you know he designs swimming pools now?) or irrigation (did you know that LA doesn’t have a system to catch their rain fall?).