Friendly Games

“That’s the one with that guy from Dawson’s Creek, right?”

“¿Que?”

 

It’s obvious she doesn’t speak English.  She speaks Dawson’s Creek.  There was a time in American history when we would have burned her at the stake for such gibberish. Now we’re more civilized.   Now I can only beat the phone against the desk and cough in disgust.

 

“Are you crazy?  Do I look like Dawson’s demo?” Yet I’ve repeated this curse three times in my blog. If it were A horror movie, I’d have Dawson in my lap right now. Yes, one woman’s fantasy is a homophobe’s nightmare. Once again, I’m singing the glory of miscommunication.

 

You’d think that living in the same city my friend and I would speak the same language. We don’t.  The woman at the other end of the phone line is Canadian, maybe that’s it: the dialect of youth.

 

We’re talking American TV.  I thought it was a universal language, but it’s not. Some people just don’t speak it well. They learn it on the street: dark alleys and college dorms are no place for an education in TV talk; the lexicon gets butchered  like the ugly fat girl on Dawson’s Creek. They didn’t have one?  You get my point.  She was wrapped in a bag and tossed off the Creek.

 

I speak Chuck, House, Lost, and lately Fringe.  The latter seems to be where our communication channels change.

 

“They speak the universal language…”

 

No, not that one.  She’s just a girl in my writers’ group.  We talk about TV movies and writing. Not John Cusack movies We don’t really speak the same language, but if we show each other pictures and grunt, the other person usually gets the idea.

 

“Ahhh, Better Off Dead!”

“Ungawa!”

 

It’s about communication.  Right now we’re struggling with grey noise.  We were comparing TV guides, and I mentioned Fringe.  She thinks she’s seen it, but she’s not sure.  This is usually where you can tell how well you get along with somebody.  This works much better than the “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours approach.”

 

That language usually infers more. That’s not what’s going on here.  We’re simply playing communication Red Rover. Everybody does it.  See that guy in the cubie next to you? Say a random word; see what he does.  If he recognizes the word as a friendly word, he’ll lick your hand and say a random word of his own. 

 

“Coffee cup.”

“Pornography.”

 

See?  Now you can decide if you want to continue talking, or speed dial HR. Either way, I’m sure you’ll never look at your Starbuck’s mug the same way again—or leave it out on your desk unsupervised.

 

“I really hope that’s creamer…”

 

See how that works?  Even now, you’re considering whether or not to click the backspace.  That’s the true purpose of communication: comparing mental images.  Why do I bring this up in my divorce blog? Because I think that’s what it all comes down to.  No matter what reason Cindi LouWho gives for leaving David Whom it boils down to a philosophy of mental images. 

 

We’re all playing Concentration.  Remember that game?  Not the Rebus puzzle part, I could never understand the Awl+Bee+Bach stuff. That’s like talking to Arnold Schwarzenegger: I just don’t understand it.  Terminator communication.  No I’m talking about the simple memory game. We have mental pictures.  I say TV, and you see an image.  Maybe it's Webster, maybe it’s Bevis, either way, it’s what you want to see. We all gravitate towards people who see the same images.  The more things match, the closer we get.  Friends can match on a six pack and a few TV shows.  Spouses? Well, that’ll take a wine cellar while matching whole the board if they’re going to communicate.

 

Here’s where things go wonky (technical communication term: means wonky) though.  Sometimes we see things that look like they match, but they don’t.  You both may have a love for leather, but what if three years into the marriage you find out that your spouse has a thing for the whole cow?  Well, that wasn’t exactly what you were looking for.  Trust me, neither was Bessy, but she’s happier this way than she would have been as a belt.  Trust me.

 

And playing communication concentration with cards is like building a house with the same deck.  One image proves false and the whole Babel-plex collapses.

 

That’s why we usually don’t show all our hands.  We only play the cards we need.  My friend talking about Dawson’s Creek?  She’ll never see my dance card. We aren’t playing with the same deck.  Hell, she’s Canadian, I don’t even think hers is full.

 

Yeah, I know, If you see a sea of Hockey Players and moose hunters sluice past your house could you warn me that the tide is coming?  Or maybe that’s not the card you want to play.  Maybe your card says “sit back and watch.” I’m sure somebody else shares that one too.

 

“Is this your card?”

 

That’s right.  There’s a little bit of magic in communication cards too, cuz finding people who’s cards match at all is harder than playing scrabble with a XQZLTJB; I don’t care what word bonus is open. That’s why we try extra hard to make the ones we do find work.

 

Watch:

 

My friend asks me about Dawson’s Creek.

“Go fish.”

“Well is this the same show with old guy who was in Lord Of The Rings?”

See? Now, she’s speaking my language.

 

And that’s how friendships are formed.