Since blogging has transcended so far into mainstream culture, since so many millions experience it every day as writers, readers, or both, the basic issues have become old-hat. I’ll leave the privacy issues to about.com and parenting sites geared towards overprotective mothers. Then you have the grammarians: the prescriptivists, who snap and snarl at “less” and “fewer” mistakes and cite Strunk and White as their acolytes (now who would do a thing like that?) versus the descriptivists, the misguided fools who might campaign for the inclusion of internet and text message short hand in the OED. As I mentioned, I won’t be weighing in here.

While some have also passed judgment on the brevity of online communication (blogging included), they miss a larger point. A short blog post in itself poses no problems; in fact, writers often cite brevity as a compositional virtue. The problem arises when bloggers combine brevity and simplicity. They inform their audiences on the most basic level, neglect to assert themselves as writers, and rely on the research and opinions of others.

In part, these informative bloggers do serve an important purpose: they direct surfers to content they are interested in. Videos don’t go viral until they’ve been tweeted, linked, and embedded ad nauseam. Comparing the role of these informative bloggers in the digital world to their analog counterparts, we might think of a reference librarian or a customer service representative in a supermarket. (Sweetened condensed milk? Aisle 3. It never is where you think it is.)  However, what informative bloggers are not doing, for the most part, is directly responding to consumer requests. Instead, consumers align themselves with blogs that fit their basic interests.

Further away from the notion of the blogger producing something are those blogs fueled by community content. If you like silly cats, capital letters, and a profusion of punctuation, you know where to go. If dogs sporting ridiculous sunglasses and bandannas appeals more, you can make that choice, too. Those two sites manage to maintain interest for so long (especially the former) simply because cat owners across the globe would see it as a true accomplishment to have their photo published. Running these blogs becomes more of a case of hosting a huge network than anything else.

The aforementioned and aforereferenced (I used it, so it’s a word – how’s that for descriptivism?) sites entertain millions of people, which is a wonderful accomplishment. Unfortunately a web community that links, embeds, and retweets can run out of original content. With newspaper presses running dry worldwide, magazines thinning their volumes, and book deals harder and harder to come by, we run the risk of drowning in simple, informative entertainment. Analytical, critical, or persuasive writing may lose its audience altogether.

Harriet, the blog of the Poetry Foundation, recently succumbed to the popularity of linking and embedding. Bloggers at Harriet used to churn out fascinating, insightful, and, most importantly, original content on a daily basis. Check out the archive and simply compare April 2010 and earlier with the last two months of blogging. Previous entries took the form of journal, original poetry, disorganized ideas, formal essays, critical reviews, and obituaries. Now, readers must follow links to find the “full story here.”

Original, complex, content increasingly requires a fee. In the radio/podcast world, many shows solicit and receive donations for otherwise free content in order to stay in the black. Bloggers incur fewer production and distribution costs than podcasters but perhaps the day is not far off when homes of some of the most thoughtful online-only text content, such as NYT’s Opinionator, will require a subscription fee. Until they do, I urge you to vote with your mouse: visit the sites that plant a seed of thought in your head, that probe issues beneath the surface, not those that simply make you chuckle for a few seconds. Even if you disagree with what you read, exposure to true ideas and arguments will serve as your mental pantry to keep you energized and invigorated. That video of a cat falling off a sofa? It’s just like eating candy to curb a bout of hypoglycemia: you’ll get your quick fix, but feel worse for it later on.

Few doubt that the modern fascination with the mohawk style derives from Mr. T, who has made a resurgence of late thanks to an appearance in World of Warcraft (some video game, apparently – I prefer Guitar Hero) and the A-Team movie (in theaters now, unfortunately). Here’s an example of the former incarnation:

My, what pointy shoulder pads. This is technically a Frohawk, by the way, and has separate African roots from the Native American Mohawk nation. This style, in its peroxided form, has been adopted by everyone’s favorite braggart in professional sports, Chad Ochocinco:

His mouth alone outweighs the GDP of several remote Pacific Island nations. This century’s foremost mohawker has to be David “er, you know” Beckham, the fellow who sits on the England bench in his designer grey suit:

Beckham’s look has been replicated in the soccer world by the new poster child, the Portugese star Cristiano Ronaldo:

“But Jamie!” I hear you interject, “the sides of his head aren’t shorn!” Worry not, dear reader. What we have here is the fauxhawk, so named because it’s something of a cop out. It’s more of a hairstyle than a hair cut, and is probably the most popular form of mohawk, since it does not require complete commitment on he who sports it. You coud still hold down a respectable job and just fauxhawk it on the weekends, for example.

That’s the sting in the tail of the mohawk: while a great look socially, it does not crossover well into the normal work-a-day world. Thus, may of its proponents tend to be athletes, actors, and musicians. Check out, for instance, this 2009 post on the prevalence of mohawks in the NBA from The Hoop Doctors.

This year has also seen a resurgence in mohawkdom thanks to Mark Salling’s character Puck in the TV series “Glee”:

Interestingly, this character shaved his mohawk off half way through the first season of the show to signal his shift in personality. The shave symbolized, albeit in plodding terms that were spelled out for the viewer, a casting aside of the braggart persona to adopt a more mature, respectful, gleeful singing persona that could treat the black, white, asian, handicapped, straight, gay, pregnant, and Jewish characters on the show with equal amounts of dignity.

This example approaches the niche that the mohawk occupies in our culture. Gone are the days of the mohawk as an intense expression of punk counter culture, although the drummer from Blink 182 still flies the flag proudly. Ok, that photo broke. Never mind.

Instead, the popularization of the mohawk reflects a larger swelling of mainstream culture to engulf little counter-culture movements and strip them of their edge. The same has happened to tattoos, piercings, skimpy clothing, baggy clothing, used clothing, torn clothing, and many more.

We have become desensitized to such an extent that shock-value is now almost impossible to attain. Rap music, pornography, mohawks – you name it. This could pose problems as those seeking to make a bold statement, those seeking shock-value, have to move further and further away from the mainstream. Their expressions do not simply frustrate parents trying to protect their children; they begin to cause serious harm.

On the other hand, expanding our cultural norms also reflects our wider acceptance as a culture. While a pre-pubescent, nasal brat sporting a mohawk might strip a legitimate punk of his ability to express his identity, it also marks progress. Gone are the days of rampant discrimination for non-traditional fashion choices.

A final word on the mohawk: it represents confidence, more than anything else. Male fashion is rife with conformity, and a mohawk-sporter announces that he is comfortable with and proud of his mark of difference. But again, the intensity of this statement has been muted as a once-shocking hairstyle enters the mainstream.

Today I’m finishing my regional migration miniseries with a comparative glance at regional migration patterns in other countries. First of all, examining Chinese legislation that prevents regional migration should make us count all fifty of our lucky stars of personal freedom. Second, I will sprinkle this fluffy cupcake of a post with a light dusting of how smaller countries might succeed for the same reason that America falls short: our big, migratory population. You know, the sort of thing you might choke on if you inhale greedily before taking a bite.

While this Economist article on Chinese migration did not first inspire this series, it did come to mind very quickly. I recommend you read it, but what I took away from it: hukou, China’s registration system, requires citizens to register in specific regions of China. In many cases, once a family registers they cannot legally work or send their children to school in another region. If you register in a poor, rural region with limited education and employment opportunities, tough luck. Creators of these laws wanted to separate and suppress rural, working class citizens. Now, those same citizens can move to cities, but have to pay exorbitant fees for services provided to registered, urban citizens free of charge. Furthermore, those with agricultural registration must return to their rural homes out of necessity, meaning that even if they do not live in their rural birthplace for 95% of the year, they still identify it as “home.”

These restrictions illustrate the purpose of our freedoms. While American migrants to magnet states (and cities) might incur short-term economic hardship, they seek (and are free to pursue) long-term prosperity under the bright city lights. This undoubtedly shines on our collective lapel as a badge of modern democracy. But even the notion that the government of the what is fast becoming the world’s most successful economy (China) has such controls in place might give us pause. While I do not suggest Obamigration controls to match the sweeping immigration reform taking root in Arizona, there might be some way we could encourage people to stay put and invest in their community.

Our country is large and densely populated, and while it is portioned into states, these boundaries mean less and less all the time. Yet if we could encourage people to invest in their state with their tax dollars, their civic energies, and their property purchases, each individual state might be able to harness more of these resources on a more consistent basis.

Two analogies for you:

1. Student housing tends to be treated like crap. Case in point: 15 Edgewood Avenue, New Haven, CT. I lived there in the summer of 2005 while enrolled in a summer program at Yale. The place was a cheap dump (albeit filled with lovely people – some of whom might read this – if so drop a comment) largely because nobody was living there for more than a year. If someone were to stay for longer, they might begin repairs themselves (say, on preventing pigeons from flying into the basement at will) or incite a landlord to do so. Of course, there is the counterexample of the long term homeowner who does not plan to sell and thus lets his house rot, inviting local stray cats to linger in the front yard. But still, regional migrants can live in relative squalor for a year, then simply move on. Keep them around for a while, then maybe they will take care of the whole in the floor of the downstairs bathroom. Ah, 15 Edgewood! Sometimes I don’t know how I ever left.

2. Next, consider the classroom. While debates about classroom size abound, many in America preach smaller is better. That might not be the case, but given our heightened sense of individual freedom, we think that every child deserves tailored, focused attention from teachers. I don’t foresee Americans caring any less about themselves and their freedoms. So creating smaller communities that can evolve to fit the needs of each resident more acutely, that know those needs because said residents have invested in said communities more consistently, and that can give said residents government benefits that they actually want will tackle the problem from the other side. This way the teacher-mayor calls on all of us, knows our names, and writes insightful comments in the margins of our essays.

Analogies done.

If we stop looking for greener grass and instead seek the absolute verdantest (definitely not a word) pastures earlier on, then perhaps we will be willing to put in more and reap true rewards from our communities. Am I following my advice? Absolutely not. But still…

According to some measures, smaller countries outperform larger ones. Take education for example. A gander at PISA tables of the best countries in different subjects while also craning one’s neck over at the list of the most populous countries shows that only Japan is in the top ten of both, and only tenth in terms of population. Finland, which tops all PISA educational result tables, sits a meager 112 on the population list.

If we grant states more autonomy and incentivize loyalty to one state, we could end up with different states specializing in the fields that their residents need/want to specialize in. They won’t all top the PISA charts, but could create on a wide range of measures for residents that stick around.

p.s. I might take a break from this mini-series format. If anyone has any ideas for future blogs or another mini-series, drop your comment like it’s hot and steamy.

Now that I’ve arrived in DC, I have been trying to dig in, to localize myself. As it happens, this city serves the purposes of my post perfectly, since it is number five on the list of “magnet” states, according to a 2009 Pew poll. That means it ranks fifth in the percentage of its current population born in another state. But this is nothing new to me, since I moved to Arizona, which ranks number two, behind Nevada. As I liked to say when living in Arizona, nobody here is from here.

Politically and economically, this is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, these magnet states benefit from their swelled population of migrants when it comes to representation and funding. As we fill out our census forms, this population factor becomes all the more relevant; more people means more representation on the federal level.

On the other hand, though, these magnet states do not win the loyalties of their migrant residents. Arizona, for example, draws huge numbers from the Midwest, mostly for climate and quality of living purposes. Yet, in my experience, these transplants will not fully invest in their new state. When I say invest, I don’t just mean financially. They do not adopt a local mentality. They still spend what are essentially tourist dollars visiting family in their native states. They still cheer for the Cubs (no matter how woeful Alfonso Soriano’s fielding is).

Furthermore, they pass on these migratory traits to their children. In Arizona, I taught a large number of children who may have been born in the Midwest, but moved to Phoenix in their very early youth. They still cling to their Midwest pride just because their parents do.

What I lack the data for (and if anybody finds it, please send a link by commenting) is the average length of time these migrant transplants spend in magnet states. I suspect it is mighty low. If that is the case, a kind of freeloader problem exists. Prosperous adults move to a magnet state, but do not plan on staying. As  a result, they do not care about state laws, funding for schools, local government representatives, and the long-term future of their temporary home. Without investing in their communities, these transplants still reap the benefits.

Even more worrying is the reality that migrants tend to be wealthy. You need decent amounts of liquid assets to move frequently, and at the first sign of trouble (like a new immigration bill, ahem) the transplants will be the first to leave. They do not experience the same pull of loyalty that will keep natives put and impel them to weather the storm. Whenever a state’s tax revenue relies on the big incomes and property taxes of wealthier migrants, funding for schools, emergency services, and other public services might dry up suddenly.

Stopping this trend of regional migration will only happen if governments both state and federal incentivize staying put and staying active in your community. Americans might cling to their freedoms mightily, but the power of the dollar also speaks strongly to them.

I might go on to hypothesize how migration leads to flipping property quickly, which fuelled the property bubble, which put us in our current hole, but I need to go to the bathroom, so let’s call it a day, shall we?

This started off as one post, but half an hour in, I recognize the need for another mini-series. Today, part one will focus on the freedom to move around and the different reasons people have for moving. In part two, I will present some drawbacks to regional migration. Finally, in part three, I will go global: what prevents such migration in other countries, and what other models are there for regional population shifts? Don’t hold your breath from parts two or three, though; given my current migrant status, I can’t promise anything.

National migration serves as one important form of American freedom: we have a large country to choose from when planning a move, seeking a new job, or choosing where to go to college. These days, dire economics and an arid job market might determine our geography to an unsettling degree, but for the most part, we like the freedom to move, to claim new spaces, seek fresh starts, and capitalize on new economic opportunities.

Geographically, the United States also offers a wide variety of choice, allowing migrants to select a new locale based on quality of life. Whether seeking the beach, humidity to ail your arthritis, dry desert heat, access to skiing, hiking, kayaking, mountain biking, or what have you, this country has it all. Consider the lyrics from “God Bless America” – “From the mountains, to the prairies, to the oceans, white with foam.”

The lyrics pose an interesting enthymeme of sorts: God bless all of America, from the mountain ranges, to the prairies, to the oceans, and everything else in between. By including such a list of geographical regions, the song suggests that we should be proud of such geographical variety, both in terms of conquest (My, what a big country you have!) and diversity (our people are diverse to reflect our diverse geography).

In turn, this diverse geography gives us the opportunity to find the perfect place to live. The location, location, location mantra of the real estate industry drives our desire to find a patch of American soil to call our own based on our unique desires and goals. Want to grow wine in the spring AND snowboard in the winter AND work on your tan AND have access to world-renowned art? No problem! Want to live downtown but also be mountain biking within an hour of leaving home? We can do that. Find your spot, an online quiz, will take you through the process in a matter of seconds then spit out your suggestions. I first took the quiz in my junior year of college, and after talking to friends and family about their results, I developed a conspiracy theory that the whole thing was secretly funded by the Oregon tourism board, since everyone I knew was apparently going to find happiness in Portland, OR.

This freedom to escape and move around need not be permanent: the frontierist bent in our culture motivates us to get away from it all, to hit the road and not look back. “Get out the Map” by the Indigo Girls, the song inspired this series, summarizes the romantic ideal, and is a personal favorite of mine. Here’s a studio version with some boring home video footage. Just listen:

I joked to my friend Logan, who knows of my intense love of the song, that I would be listening to it on repeat for my entire drive from Arizona to DC. Sadly, that hasn’t been the case.

Another song that conveys a more melancholic version of this escapism is Montgomery Gentry’s “Speed.”

That song also ties this migratory sense into the convenience of doing so in the comfort of your very own automobile. Since we have such a complex web of interstates, highways, and byways, we can travel on a whim without having to book tickets, or check train timetables. Our cars also serve as extensions of ourselves. Thus, while traveling, we can maintain privacy and perform all of our disgusting habits, whether that means eating a Double Down from KFC for every meal or listening to Bananarama. In short, more freedom. Isn’t it delicious?

Another motive for migration might be escape. It allows you turn your back on your problems; if you blow your chances and make enemies in one town, you can always pack up and move on, just like the Music Man, or the monorail guy from The Simpsons.

A final nuanced benefit to this migration issue: the ability to insert yourself into a community. A person who grows up in rural Nebraska might have a wide range of choice for college. She can become a city girl, a beach bum, a liberal, a conservative – the possibilities are endless. She can mold herself o her surroundings or mold her surroundings to herself. Maybe a move to the coast will encourage her to try new activities; but maybe she will seek a landscape like her own. I think it’s fair to say that most of us like to surround ourselves with similar people, in terms of education, politics, appearance, and lifestyle. In America, you can seek those people out and move where they are. Similarly, if you want to be the local rebel, the one with the most extreme politics, the highest percentage of your body covered in tattoos, and the sharpest mohawk at the punk shows, you can insert yourself into a culture that you can actively counter. This reminds me of the “Only Gay in the Village” sketch series from “Little Britain”:

So why not move around? You’re free to roam, and pack up at the first sign of trouble.

In the United States, the rhetorical power that can be achieved by invoking the country’s armed forces overwhelms me at times. Popular musicians and filmmakers are almost guaranteed success by paying tribute. Here’s the Dixie Chicks performing their song “Traveling Soldier” live:

Elsewhere, the Veterans of Foreign Wars sponsors an annual essay contest for middle school students and an audio-essay contest for high schoolers, both inviting students to respond to prompts relating to patriotism and democracy. Similar contests abound that give students the chance to lay a wreath at the Tomb of the Unkowns in Arlington National Cemetery.

This machine of military patriotism in America seems to be winding down slightly after an active decade that started with the September 11 attacks in 2001 and continued through the war in Iraq. Now, it seems, the embers of anger and revenge are only glowing dimly; interest in the war effort in Afghanistan continues, but, I would argue, cannot compete for the nation’s consciousness with the economic crisis, political reform, and a spate of domestic and global disasters.

Some aspects of this military patriotism remain fairly unique to the United States: the country’s unflappable faith in its armed forces; the pride that comes with serving in the military; the outpouring of grief and sympathy in response to the loss of life in war. These factors seem somewhat unprecedented, given that the country’s war effort has focused on pre-emptive attacks of groups that the military believes could pose a threat to the United States in the future. There exists no mass invasion such as those faced by European countries in World War II.

Much of this intense military patriotism responds to the anti-war sentiment that took over in American culture during the 1960s and early 1970s. From 1965-1971, approval of the Vietnam War plummeted from 52% to 28%. Coupled with growing free speech and civil rights movements, this opposition to the war thrived off of political activism, ignored and often discouraged by mass media outlets.

What remains in the consciousness is an overwhelming pathos for American servicemen and women. Victims of conscription, big politics, public protests, and harsh military conditions, Vietnam veterans were abandoned by all. We feel as a culture that we cannot abandon American troops ever again. Even if Americans oppose the political motives for war and the strategies through which it is carried out, the troops on the ground deserve support.

This support bleeds over, however, to a larger support for war. If you care deeply about soldiers, then perhaps it is in your interests to also support the generals, the senators, the president and his advisers. Picture a bus full of people, and imagine that one of the people on the bus is someone you love deeply. Since the fate of that loved one depends on the fate of the entire bus, and is tied up with the fate of the other passengers, your care might extend to those other passengers, the tires, the engine, the seat belts, and everything else. Maybe you will even vote for more tax money to be directed towards maintaining and improving that bus.

By contrast, in England, after Tony Blair’s lapdog act t the start of the recent Iraq war, pacifist disgust dealt him and the Labour Party a series of crushing blows that have now led to a Conservative-Liberal Democrat coalition government. This is the same disgust that inspired Wilfred Owen to quote Horace so bitterly in his poem “Dulce et Decorum Est.”

Obama understands this intense military patriotism, and he realizes that any withdrawal from Afghanistan needs to be gradual. He needs to keep the ethos of Stanley McChrystal and the like on his side, so it serves as a card he can play. Anything else would anger the millions of Americans that will support the American war effort almost unconditionally, not because they believe everything America is doing is right and justified, but because of the troops.

Today, I want to focus on how American culture allows for interaction with strangers more than other cultures. Before I do so, though I should warn you that I don’t have solid evidence that Americans are more likely to seek conversation with strangers. All I can cite is my own experiences and those of others I know.

I grew up in London but regularly traveled to the United States to visit relatives. Since moving to these shores for college in 2003, I have lived in Connecticut for four years and am now finishing a three-year stint in Arizona. Maybe I’ll save the whole immigration law/boycott/buycott business for another post.

As I’ve mentioned earlier in this series, there are certain situations that lend themselves to stranger interactions: bars, sporting events, parties – basically public spaces in which your attention is not focused directly on your friends, such as at a restaurant. In addition to these interactions, which are essentially peer-based in that both potential interactors are likely to treat each other as equals, American service-based interactions tend to be marked by extroverted behavior. In clothing stores, supermarkets, and coffee shops, for example, American employees tend to engage their customers more than their English counterparts. At times, greeters at clothing stores won’t even let you in the door before asking if you need help. A recent New Yorker cartoon depicted two waiters watching over a pair of diners, when one remarks to the other something along the lines of, “Quick, they’ve got their mouths full; ask them how their food is!” Even if these service-based interactions do not seek true social connection, their ulterior motive should not rule them out of this equation. Furthermore, these interactions often linger beyond the normal service context.

Back to the peer-based interaction for a moment: I recall quite clearly flying back to London from college in my junior or senior year. I was flying out of Newark airport and arrived incredibly early, as I love to do. Having recently turned 21, I was easily lured by a Samuel Adams bar near my gate.

The small bar had about four other customers, all men drinking beer and reading newspapers or novels, and all performing privacy. This was fine by me – I pulled out my book and got reading. Now, I assumed that all these other men were English, because none of them were at all interested in making eye contact with me, and because all of them were reading. It always baffles me how few people bring reading material with them on airplanes. But once again, I digress.

An American came into the bar, scanned the crowd, pulled up a chair next to me, and initiated small-talk 101. Whether it was a joke about security, a comment on what was on television, or a question about where I was traveling, I can’t remember. But for the next hour and a half, this American fellow warmed up to me, told me his story, inquired about mine, and bought me significant amounts of Boston Lager, which led to one of the most unpleasant flights of my life.

This experience illustrates the cultural difference very effectively and relates to personal habits as well. Sure, some Americans will read quietly in an airport terminal, but many still assume that their entertainment will come from sitting next to a stranger at a bar and chatting away the hours.

I’d be interested to hear your theories on this as well as your reactions to this whole four-part series idea. Here is one to get the ball rolling:

Christianity fosters and encourages kind behavior towards strangers, and according to the 2008 American Religious Identification Survey, 76% of Americans identify themselves as Christians, as opposed to only about half of English people. Other religions aside from Christianity also encourage and foster this sort of behavior, too, but just focusing on Christianity takes care of the vast majority of Americans.

I grew up going to an American Lutheran church in London and have visited a handful of church services in America. Aside from the biblical foundations of this kindness towards strangers, these behaviors are reinforced as part of church services. Strangers are welcomed, newcomers are often encouraged to introduce themselves, and regular members of the church are often on the lookout for new recruits over a cup of coffee after the service. Quite often, these people can give strangers the benefit of the doubt for their personalities. They are, after all, in a church, praying with you, listening attentively to the sermon (perhaps), and might be well-dressed, too.

In England, religion plays a much smaller role in society. It does not inform politics to such an extent, it does not define identity, and Christianity’s “love thy neighbor” message is at odds with the more private lives sought by many Brits.

Thoughts, comments, and suggestions are always welcome. I’m embarking on a cross-country drive on Wednesday, but will try to post at least once more, probably focusing on Memorial Day and the role of military service in American culture.

Let’s recap: Wednesday was all about how people perform privacy in public, while Thursday night’s post analyzed the opposite behavior – seeking and initiating conversations with strangers.

Today, I shall examine the benefits of meaningful conversation, often with acquaintances, not strangers, over small-talk. My piddling efforts at reasearch on this topic turned up a post on New York Times’s “Well” blog published a coupe of months ago.

The author discusses the findings of a study by a University of Arizona psychologist on happiness and depth of conversation. The results show a positive correlation between depth of conversation and happiness, with the happiest person engaging in meaningful conversation almost half the time, while spending only a fifth of his conversations on small-talk. I want to augment this basic correlation with a couple of ideas of my own.

First, consider the nature of meaningful conversation. It usually requires extended discussion on some specific topic. That topic need not be particularly complex or serious itself, though. As the New York Times blog puts it, “human beings are driven to find and create meaning in their lives.”

This practice brings to mind Pamela Spiro Wagner’s poem “How to Read a Poem: a Beginner’s Manual,” in which Wagner defines poetry in a succinct and earthy gerundial phrase as “doing holy things to the ordinary.” This has been my quotation du jour ever since I taught the poem to my students almost two months ago. I may have even mentioned it in this very blog.

Meaningful conversation need not be analyzing differential equations, particle physics, or obscure poetry from England’s Restoration era. Instead, we find and create meaning in every nook and cranny of our lives, which, otherwise, might seem overwhelmingly mundane.

Now, in order to do holy things to the ordinary with someone else (that sounds like a really bad/totally incredible pickup line), you probably both have to be operating within the same frame of reference. That’s why I just don’t talk about crosswords nearly as much as I’d like to – because I do not have very many cruciverbalist friends. Some of you might be thinking I talk about crosswords way too much as it is. But anyway, you and your interlocutor both need some basic understanding of the topic at hand in order to discuss it with meaning.

Some topics possess an elasticity in this regard, because they are widely known. For example, if you wanted to debate immigration reform with a random stranger, you would not have too much difficulty in finding someone to do that with. On the other hand, the more specialized your topic of interest, the more difficult it will be to find someone else who is interested.

The example of immigration serves to illustrate a further nuance to this business of meaningful conversation. Even though almost every intelligent human being could discuss hot topics such as politics, religion, abortion, immigration, and war, it is seen as impolite to do so with strangers, since these topics contain radically different opinions. Thus, you might have to test the waters with a new acquaintance before delving into political debate. Not only do you need to know the topic well, but you might also have to share some fundamental opinions on the topic.

In addition, many employ personal anecdote in conversation to some extent. Maybe they want to discuss what happened at work, an amusing incident from a party they attended, or a heated argument they had with a relative. As a listener in these situations, your ability to understand, empathize, and respond depends on your knowledge of the speaker’s life. If a man is seeking advice from friends about a love interest, it is more efficient to speak with someone who has some knowledge of the situation already. Talking to a stranger would necessitate extensive background information, delaying the meaningful, fulfilling part of the conversation.

Given these parameters, it becomes much clearer why meaningful conversation is linked to happiness: because meaningful conversation is much more likely to occur with close acquaintances than with strangers.

Before I go, I want to leave you with a basic scenario that bridges small talk and meaningful conversation. Say you meet someone at a party. You are sitting next to that person, or you are introduced to that person by a friend. This might be the perfect breeding ground for transcending the barriers of small-talk. You might get on famously, talking for hours and not noticing the time pass. But to what extent are you editing your own social performance in order to make a necessary connection? If that person really loves Harry Potter, stands in line to see the midnight premieres of the films, and regularly categorizes friends by different houses at Hogwarts, but you only sort of enjoy Harry Potter, read some of the books, and saw one or two of the movies, to what extent would you entertain extensive Harry Potter conversation in order to achieve meaningful conversation?

Before I do, I’d like to debunk. Let me fetch my trusty debunkatron from my satchel.

Western narrative art forms portray a shockingly unrealistic amount of stranger interactions and do so in idealistic, romantic terms. The whole boy-meets-girl motif has been riffed to death. Take Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, that mind-boggling effort from your resident existentialist, Charlie Kaufman:

Here, even neurotic counter-culture types who assume they will never meet anyone worthwhile meet the respective loves of their lives. So to what extent do people seek to replicate their favorite movies, novels, or songs in their own lives? To what extent do these lofty expectations motivate their interactions with strangers?

Casting aside the b0y-meets-girl motif, we should still examine how many more works of narrative art involve strangers meeting and later forming some sort of meaningful, albeit platonic experience. A recent Italian film, Pranzo di Ferragosto, depicts such an encounter between a middle-aged bachelor and a group of elderly women:

There’s nothing romantic here, but the clash caused by strangers meeting unexpectedly leads to humor and then, even more unexpectedly, significant experience.

Thus, we absorb countless fictions of encounters with strangers leading to something truly enriching. Life, in my experience, does not operate like this. Instead, we navigate our own social webs in search of expansion (a friend of a friend here, a previously-ignored colleague there).

Aside from those seeking to replicate the revelations they absorb through art, others seek public interaction with strangers simply because of their extroverted behavior and their desire to share an experience. We think we can talk to a stranger because we have, or believe we have, something in common with that person. Perhaps, our commonality is a belief or opinion for which we seek validation.

Here’s a scenario to mentally gander: You are standing in a slow moving line (to buy tickets to a movie, to get into a club, to penetrate the Pearly Gates) and find yourself in an argument with a friend. You both happen to be extroverts who do not mind voicing your opinions in public; thus, others can easily overhear you, whether they want to or not. Now suppose someone queuing ahead of you turns around and picks a person to side with. Maybe one or both of you (you and your friend) have almost invited the opinions of others through the volume of your conversation.

First of all, such extroverted behavior on the part of you or your friend oozes confidence. It says to an innocent bystander, “I believe you would benefit from our opinions. You might might find them rather witty, if not downright intellectual.” Secondly, you are clearly transforming what seems to be a private matter into a public one. It probably isn’t a truly private matter; otherwise, you would not be so extroverted in your discussion of it.

Then, think of the social reward you gain from luring a stranger into your social trap! They have validated your opinion! By caring, they have shown that your repartee is relevant and engaging to others (even strangers!). Yours is a bounty of riches, my friend, for you have proven that you are the life of the party.

This is one tactic of stranger interaction – seek common ground, no matter how trivial (Dude, red is one of my ten favorite colors too!) in order to have your opinions validated by others and to pretend that you have something in common with said others.

These interactions tend to take place in situations or scenarios in which you have an open, not a closed physical position. Take sitting at a bar, for example. Instead of closing yourself off from others by engaging your attention on your fellow diners at a table or booth, you adopt the same posture as everyone. Even if you are sitting with friends, you are probably not facing them completely. The same is true of crowded public settings, such as concerts or parties. Since you cannot close yourself off and establish the boundaries of your group clearly, others can penetrate, and, depending on the situation, you might even want them to do so.

This all seems very mutually beneficial, and in many cases, it is. But then there’s Hank. Hank is an old guy that sat next to my friend Tamara at the bar the other night. She had a laptop, and according to Hank, computers in general are a one way ticket to misery. So, Hank lectured Tamara on the evil within the otherwise innocent-looking casing of her Dell laptop while I got my gimlet on.

The thing about Hank was that he was playing against the odds. He was trying to convince us that computers were a waste of time, even though Tamara had one in front of her. He must have been able to infer that she did not share his view. Instead, he was trying to convert her. I saw this as incredibly selfish and ridiculous. Hank had no ethos to stand on, being just some old guy sitting at a bar. Why should we listen to him? His presumed ethos derived from his age. He reassured both of us that we would remember him, Hank, and realize that he was right about how useless and mind-numbing computers were.

Hank mistook this public space for a soapbox. He forgot we were strangers and operated outside the parameters of triviality that epitomize stranger interaction. All we were looking for was a quip for our troubles, a banal aside about the weather, or a concise anecdote. Instead, he tried to convert us.

Searching for basic commonalities seems natural to most when faced with interactions with strangers, as it should. But I find it disturbing that some people mistake these situations, presume that their opinions carry oodles of integrity around with them, and expound their rear ends off to convert and convince. It’s called small talk for a reason, and it carries with it as reward not a bejeweled trophy, but a modest social trinket of validation, and, maybe, if you’re lucky, mayhaps, something meaningful a few thousand miles down the road.

Hello, I saw you, I know you, I knew you,
I think I can remember your name.
Hello I’m sorry, I lost myself,
I think I thought you were someone else.
Should we talk about the weather?
Should we talk about the government?

The album was released in 1988, but, if anything, the lyrics ring more truly today than they did back then (not that I would know, since I was turning four at the time). Despite constant concerns over internet privacy, especially on social networking sites, if you know what you’re doing, you can keep to yourself online. But this potential for online privacy does not carry over to human interaction. Perhaps because we are so used to privacy in our e-lives, threats to it in the real world disturb us all the more. A chasm has opened between those that retreat to e-socializing and those that scorn the spider’s web and seek to foster off-the-grid connections, often viewed as more authentic and fulfilling.

Today, I will explore the behaviors that we can hide behind to avoid real human interaction. Part two, due tomorrow, if I get my act together, will examine behaviors that can initiate conversation, part three will explore the fulfillment that can be achieved from these different interactions, and part four will seek to define the American qualities of these cultural behaviors versus those of other countries.

I’m writing this in a Starbucks in downtown Phoenix while waiting for my car to be serviced. As I scan the room, I can see several behaviors that others are performing to announce themselves as closed off from interaction.

Like me, four other people are working on laptops. No matter how vapid your computer work might be, the laptop serves as a hugely effective signifier of being busy and private. Think about walking into a coffee shop and seeing someone working on a laptop. How well would you have to know that person to interrupt them and say hello? Would you let some coworkers and distant friends simply keep working?

Books, newspapers, and headphones all serve a similar function. They occupy the attention of at least one sense. Someone who is working on a laptop while listening to music through headphones, for example, has their visual, aural, and tactile senses spoken for. A phone conversationalist is already listening to and speaking to someone else, making their attention difficult to capture.

Let’s go back to those four laptop workers. One of them seems really immersed. Even my attempts to make eye contact by staring at this person for more than ten seconds do not yield any connection. The other three, though, have glanced back. One is even winking at me. She’s walking over here now. Does this thing have a boss button? Will she think I’m a creep if she sees me typing about her?

Ok, those last four sentences were all huge lies. No winking occured. But those others are distractable. For my own sake, I’m not going to keep staring, though.

The one person that is immersed has more than a laptop going for her; magazines, books, a laptop, a coffee (which we all have – does a caramel macchiato occupy more attention that a dark cherry mocha?), and some sort of baked treat. I didn’t even consider food until now, but that’s another great one. I’d hope that there is little intersect between the chewers and talkers of this world. This onslaught of items separates her from the others, who only have a laptop and a drink. If you want total privacy, pile on occupying accessories.

However, these privacy seekers might still seek some lower level of social interaction. Why aren’t they working at home, in a library, or in an office? They have sought a public venue. Furthermore, some privacy-seekers choose their device of privacy to invite interaction with a select few. I’m thinking here of the seemingly casual placement of a novel on a desk. These people manipulate our culture tactfully. The same could be said of wearing college-branded clothing in public, even though this doesn’t have the inherent irony of both establishing privacy and seeking interaction with a certain few. If I wear a Yale t-shirt to the gym, for example, I open myself up to Yale-related conversation. For this screening method to work, the cultural message conveyed needs to be specialized for your cultural context. Two Arizona State University alumni sporting their garb in rural Maine are much more likely to strike up a conversation than the same two Sun Devils in Phoenix.

Certain situations necessitate public space, stripping the individual of choice. Air travel comes to mind here. I usually use some combination of a book, a crossword puzzle, and my iPod to announce that I don’t want to talk, at least for the early segments of longer flights. Especially before takeoff, when those early glances and comments might arise, I bury my head in a book, even if I cannot focus fully on said book. Then again, if I see someone else working on the same crossword as me, I might be more likely to talk to them.

Twice on recent flights, I’ve attracted interaction through my privacy-announcer: once while reading Pride and Prejudice (we chatted about literature) and once while grading student essays (we talked about education, then our respective jobs). Both interlocutors were within three years of me in age. Both were white. Even though I wasn’ t trying, my cultural emissions attracted people.

The richness of our culture requires this delicate procedure of announcing privacy in public while simultaneously screening for potential friends. We have so much more to talk about, we hail from more diverse backgrounds, and the noise of migration and diversity makes finding compatriots more difficult. Finding someone with substantial commnalities requires more work than it used to.

Even though these behaviors relate to the live, human sphere, they might have arisen from Facebook and the like: as we are prompted to announce our cultures on our profile pages, that desire to wear our hearts on our sleeves might spill over to the real world, too.