I have nothing to say to any of you

I am reminded of a conversation I had with a classmate on Halloween afternoon. I was in my friend Meg's office, playing with her dog, whom she had dressed up like a monster. I forget the dog's name... Scruffy or something. Anyway, another guy in the office, Marty, was talking aloud to himself about some program he was working on and he said "GRR! I don't get it, this doesn't make any sense!" Just to be silly, I say "It's a dog wearing a costume, Marty... it's not that complicated." This got a few laughs from Meg and others in the room, but the best reaction was from Marty himself, who said "Whoa, that was pretty good Mike... I've never heard you say anything funny before."

Not to be immodest, but I was completely floored by that remark. I tell jokes constantly, and sure they're not all gems, but at least I'm trying. Then I realized what was going on. Marty's not in the group that I mentally label as "my kind of person." There are two kinds of people in this world (oh boy, you just know something profound is coming up next!): my kind of person, and everyone else. I can identify my kind of person almost immediately. They're usually huge nerds, but not always. They like most of the same TV shows that I do, especially the cartoons. But the real distinguishing -- nay, defining -- characteristic of "my kind of person" is whether or not they will be receptive to my kind of jokes.

Marty doesn't fall into that category. I fundamentally don't understand how the humor center of his brain works. There's some overlap between mine and his, but it's incredibly hit-and-miss, as with all of the non-my-kind-of-persons. Hence the cause of his remark and the reason why I rarely talk to Marty: I cannot, with any degree of reliability, make Marty laugh.

Not to sound cold, but I have almost no use for such people. Maybe I'm desperate for attention, maybe I have an underdeveloped sense of showmanship, but if I can't make a person laugh then I don't really want to talk to them at all. I honestly get bored with any conversation that's not littered with jokes. If you were to ask everyone I've ever met to describe me, most of the responses would fall into one of two categories: 1) "Oh, you mean that red haired guy? I've talked to him like once, I don't really know him." and 2) "Oh Mike? Yeah I know him, he's hilarious! He does this awesome impression of Dr. Zoidberg..." (people in Category 2 tend to gush... it's embarassing, really).

Sadly, most of the world is in Category 1. If I have decided you fall into Category 1, I will make almost no effort to talk to you, and may even actively avoid you. Most of my relatives are in Category 1. My housemate is in Category 1. My grad school advisor is in Category 1. You see how I'm surrounded by these people. I honestly feel kind of uncomfortable talking to them. If you put me in a room with them, I'll barely talk at all, and if I do it'll be completely serious. I become a totally different person because I know that all my attempts at humor will fall on deaf ears. I'm serious, polite, and probably incredibly bland and uninteresting. I'd honestly rather be alone. Much of the reason why I hated working at Google so much was because I was surrounded by non-my-kind-of-people. I just sat at my desk, purposely ate lunch by myself (which was hard because Googlers are notoriously sociable), and counted the days.

One large chunk of Category 1 is women. Very very few women have a sense of humor that is Mike-compatible. A more objective way to say that is "I don't have any idea what women find funny." The few exceptions are my female friends, and they're my friends for exactly that reason. I would happily marry most of them. I get very attached to the people who fit squarely into Category 2, and on any given night I would rather be sitting in a room full of them than anywhere else. We don't even have to be doing anything in particular... just put us in a room and fun will ensue.

The incident with Marty represented one of the occasional freak cross-overs, when Category 1 and Category 2 briefly coincide. I had shaken Marty's mental image of me as serious, bland, uninteresting guy, because up until then that was who I had been around him at all times. Granted, I don't think I shook it very much. I don't expect to be invited to his wedding (and not just because of the fact that he and Chris can't get married now that Prop 8 passed). But who knows, I might get a couple more chuckles out of him before I graduate. It will probably be as big of a surprise to him as to me.