The Hercules and the Legendary Stilton Burger

Can you believe it? Not one day into the second incarnation of the erstwhile Octuple P Promise, and I damn near fail it. Clearly, I am an ass who should be slapped around a bit, but so be it. Life moves on.

And what a life! Ladies and gentlemen and smizmars, it has been a long time, and there is a strange inverse relationship between how long it's been since you've spoken to somebody and how much you have to say to them when you finally do regain contact. It has to do with perceived importance, I reckon. Like, lets say you haven't seen somebody in a few days, and they ask what you've been up to... well you can regale them! Anything at all notable is grounds for conversation; imagined slights by your enemies, dreams, particularly tasty sandwiches, 'tis all fair game.

Conversely, if you ha'en't seen someone in months... well, there's a lot of mundane in months, so you don't want to do that. It would take forever, and besides, where would you start? So, you think to concentrate only on the big things, which leads to the startling realization... big things don't happen all that often. This, I think, would be what makes them big things, as opposed to merely things. Like, maybe you got, and summarily lost, a girlfriend, and maybe you started taking a class on New Orleans literature, but that's really it... the mental benchmark of importance prevents you from yammering about most of the crap that makes up life, and you wind up with very little to say.

The longer the period of time, the higher the benchmark, and the less worth talking about. This makes introductions difficult... "so, tell me everything important that's happened in your life" sets a remarkably high benchmark, one which a sandwich would have to be REALLY tasty to meet. I've only eaten two sandwiches that good so far, and I think I'm above the curve. It seems more happens to you in a day than in a month.

Note, this is, of course, for "me" values of "you".