The schmoozefests that I miss

Badger writes about a party, or series of events, that all the fabulous San Francisco sex radicals were at. Contained in the account are all the reasons, in mirror image, that I no longer even try to go to such events. I don't know anybody, I'm no longer cute but old and fat, I hate dressing up, I don't have the requisite fuck-em-if-they-can't-take-a-joke attitude, and so on.

And all those are not only the reasons I do not go, but also the reasons I should not go: because who wants to go to a party with someone like that?

One more reason: My hearing is damaged, and in a crowded chattery situation, I simply cannot understand what people are saying. Yesterday I went out to lunch with co-workers and customers, and in the noisy lunchtime restaurant I caught only about 15% of what people were saying, even the people across from me.

When social occasions are successful for me, it's a real exception. The ideal situation is a quiet dinner in someone's home with no more than ten or twelve people, a majority of whom I know. The situation Badger describes is so opposite of that, it's like being on another planet. So, I don't go. I can't.