Anchor ads are not supported on this page.

4S Ranch Allied Gardens Alpine Baja Balboa Park Bankers Hill Barrio Logan Bay Ho Bay Park Black Mountain Ranch Blossom Valley Bonita Bonsall Borrego Springs Boulevard Campo Cardiff-by-the-Sea Carlsbad Carmel Mountain Carmel Valley Chollas View Chula Vista City College City Heights Clairemont College Area Coronado CSU San Marcos Cuyamaca College Del Cerro Del Mar Descanso Downtown San Diego Eastlake East Village El Cajon Emerald Hills Encanto Encinitas Escondido Fallbrook Fletcher Hills Golden Hill Grant Hill Grantville Grossmont College Guatay Harbor Island Hillcrest Imperial Beach Imperial Valley Jacumba Jamacha-Lomita Jamul Julian Kearny Mesa Kensington La Jolla Lakeside La Mesa Lemon Grove Leucadia Liberty Station Lincoln Acres Lincoln Park Linda Vista Little Italy Logan Heights Mesa College Midway District MiraCosta College Miramar Miramar College Mira Mesa Mission Beach Mission Hills Mission Valley Mountain View Mount Hope Mount Laguna National City Nestor Normal Heights North Park Oak Park Ocean Beach Oceanside Old Town Otay Mesa Pacific Beach Pala Palomar College Palomar Mountain Paradise Hills Pauma Valley Pine Valley Point Loma Point Loma Nazarene Potrero Poway Rainbow Ramona Rancho Bernardo Rancho Penasquitos Rancho San Diego Rancho Santa Fe Rolando San Carlos San Marcos San Onofre Santa Ysabel Santee San Ysidro Scripps Ranch SDSU Serra Mesa Shelltown Shelter Island Sherman Heights Skyline Solana Beach Sorrento Valley Southcrest South Park Southwestern College Spring Valley Stockton Talmadge Temecula Tierrasanta Tijuana UCSD University City University Heights USD Valencia Park Valley Center Vista Warner Springs

Minglewise

David, posing for the camera at a holiday party
David, posing for the camera at a holiday party

"So, what do you do at — ” I stole a glance at the name badge on the chest in front of me. “San Diego Story?”

“I review music,” said Christian, the man behind the badge.

“And you?” I asked Kris, the woman standing beside Christian. I recognized her from previous events, but I only knew her as one of the directors on the board of the San Diego Press Club.

“I’m a dance critic,” Kris said.

“Right. Very cool.” My knowledge of the classical music scene was weak, so I directed the conversation toward dance. “Have you seen Rayna Stohl’s new show, The Echo of Dracula? It just opened. She cowrote the story, which I read, but I’m hoping to get out to see the performance in person.”

Sponsored
Sponsored

“No, I haven’t heard about that yet, but I love Rayna,” Kris said. As she told us interesting information about the local dancer and choreographer, I relaxed and sipped wine from the glass in my hand. Conversation started. Mission accomplished.

photo

SD Press Club Holiday Mixer

The nametags at these sorts of parties definitely help, minglewise. This one — the Press Club’s annual holiday mixer — was easier to navigate than most. Conversations have no choice but to be struck up in a room full of reporters. When everyone is wearing a nametag at a “mixer,” people expect you to introduce yourself. But a house party is a completely different beast. It’s hard to tell — even for a social butterfly such as myself — when it’s okay to step up and insinuate yourself into a conversation with strangers.

I’ve been to a handful of parties this holiday season that were held by acquaintances with whom I shared few, if any, contacts. This meant I was often walking into a room full of people I didn’t know. Rather than, “Hey, good to see you,” directed at someone I recognized, I was left to scan unfamiliar faces above unlabeled chests and decide who looked the most approachable.

At one party, I cringed as I heard myself using the old cliché, “So, how do you know [insert host’s name here].” But I couldn’t think of any other port from which to launch my conversation. At least at the Slow Food Urban San Diego event (technically a mixer, but without nametags) I could begin with something interesting and sure to be familiar to everyone there: “Have you been down to the new Public Market yet?”

As the end of December drew near, I’d grown tired of telling my own stories. I knew how they all ended — I’d seen this show a thousand times; I wanted something new. The reason I dragged my ass out of my house almost every night for three weeks was to find out what’s going on in town beyond my usual orbit.

I knew I’d fizzled when, at a friend’s annual holiday open-house (a day-time affair featuring dozens of pastries the hostess had spent days preparing), someone asked me what I was working on these days and I yawned. I caught myself and stood up straighter, but I only managed a weary, truncated update about my projects before I punctuated it all with a sigh and a tone of self-mockery when I said, “You know, blah blah blah... What’s up with you?”

Pastries by Grace

That same night, after just a few hours’ break, I again found myself standing, back against a wall, in a room full of people talking excitedly to one another. David had braved the crowded kitchen to work on creating a cocktail for me. I surveyed the room looking for a potential conversant, but it seemed everyone was already engaged.

Rather than stand there like a lamp, I headed to the backyard for a change of scenery. I sighed at the familiar party landscape: clusters of people seemingly deep in conversation. If I wanted to interact, I would have to interrupt someone. I approached the closest group — three men — and, when they paused to open their circle a bit and acknowledge my presence, I jumped right in.

“So, what are you guys talking about?” It felt good to get right to the meat of things, to not bother with the whole, “Hi, I’m Barbarella, what are your names?” boring bullshit. I smiled and waited.

“Um...” The one who spoke giggled, and the other two followed suit. It was slightly unnerving, but I kept up the smile and expectant stare. The guy shrugged, seemed to come to some silent consensus with the others, and then turned to me and said, “We were talking about vasectomies.”

“Oh,” I said, briefly destabilized. Still, I’d come this far — I wasn’t going to give up now. They’d revealed the subject, which meant they must be cool talking about it, and this was the furthest topic from my tired material, so I was all in. “And? Where are you at with them?” I looked first to the guy directly to my right. “What’s your story?”

Over the next several minutes, I learned that one of the trio was happy capping his family at four children, hence his interest in the procedure. The man in the middle — an older gentleman — had gotten his tubes snipped long ago but now found himself in the interesting and not unpleasant position of having a partner with grandchildren. “I got to skip fatherhood and go straight to being a grandpa,” he said with a smile.

The last — the youngest and the only one of the trio not currently in a relationship — said a vasectomy was his Christmas gift to himself. Here, I could contribute something to the conversation. “My husband had selected self-sterilization before I’d met him,” I said. “And I have a friend who I drove to get his — it’s really no big deal. You walk right out of there. He said if he ever changed his mind and wanted kids with his wife, he’d adopt.”

“There you are.” David came up behind me and handed me my cocktail.

“Ah, here he is now,” I said to the vasectomy triplets. I realized I couldn’t properly introduce my man, as I hadn’t gotten any of their names. David said he wanted to introduce me to a few people he’d been chatting with while making our drinks, so instead I said, “Well, guys, enjoy the rest of your night, and good luck with your man bits.”

The latest copy of the Reader

Please enjoy this clickable Reader flipbook. Linked text and ads are flash-highlighted in blue for your convenience. To enhance your viewing, please open full screen mode by clicking the icon on the far right of the black flipbook toolbar.

Here's something you might be interested in.
Submit a free classified
or view all
Previous article

Why did Harrah's VP commit suicide last summer?

Did the fight the Rincon casino had with San Diego County over Covid play a part?
Next Article

Jazz guitarist Alex Ciavarelli pays tribute to pianist Oscar Peterson

“I had to extract the elements that spoke to me and realize them on my instrument”
David, posing for the camera at a holiday party
David, posing for the camera at a holiday party

"So, what do you do at — ” I stole a glance at the name badge on the chest in front of me. “San Diego Story?”

“I review music,” said Christian, the man behind the badge.

“And you?” I asked Kris, the woman standing beside Christian. I recognized her from previous events, but I only knew her as one of the directors on the board of the San Diego Press Club.

“I’m a dance critic,” Kris said.

“Right. Very cool.” My knowledge of the classical music scene was weak, so I directed the conversation toward dance. “Have you seen Rayna Stohl’s new show, The Echo of Dracula? It just opened. She cowrote the story, which I read, but I’m hoping to get out to see the performance in person.”

Sponsored
Sponsored

“No, I haven’t heard about that yet, but I love Rayna,” Kris said. As she told us interesting information about the local dancer and choreographer, I relaxed and sipped wine from the glass in my hand. Conversation started. Mission accomplished.

photo

SD Press Club Holiday Mixer

The nametags at these sorts of parties definitely help, minglewise. This one — the Press Club’s annual holiday mixer — was easier to navigate than most. Conversations have no choice but to be struck up in a room full of reporters. When everyone is wearing a nametag at a “mixer,” people expect you to introduce yourself. But a house party is a completely different beast. It’s hard to tell — even for a social butterfly such as myself — when it’s okay to step up and insinuate yourself into a conversation with strangers.

I’ve been to a handful of parties this holiday season that were held by acquaintances with whom I shared few, if any, contacts. This meant I was often walking into a room full of people I didn’t know. Rather than, “Hey, good to see you,” directed at someone I recognized, I was left to scan unfamiliar faces above unlabeled chests and decide who looked the most approachable.

At one party, I cringed as I heard myself using the old cliché, “So, how do you know [insert host’s name here].” But I couldn’t think of any other port from which to launch my conversation. At least at the Slow Food Urban San Diego event (technically a mixer, but without nametags) I could begin with something interesting and sure to be familiar to everyone there: “Have you been down to the new Public Market yet?”

As the end of December drew near, I’d grown tired of telling my own stories. I knew how they all ended — I’d seen this show a thousand times; I wanted something new. The reason I dragged my ass out of my house almost every night for three weeks was to find out what’s going on in town beyond my usual orbit.

I knew I’d fizzled when, at a friend’s annual holiday open-house (a day-time affair featuring dozens of pastries the hostess had spent days preparing), someone asked me what I was working on these days and I yawned. I caught myself and stood up straighter, but I only managed a weary, truncated update about my projects before I punctuated it all with a sigh and a tone of self-mockery when I said, “You know, blah blah blah... What’s up with you?”

Pastries by Grace

That same night, after just a few hours’ break, I again found myself standing, back against a wall, in a room full of people talking excitedly to one another. David had braved the crowded kitchen to work on creating a cocktail for me. I surveyed the room looking for a potential conversant, but it seemed everyone was already engaged.

Rather than stand there like a lamp, I headed to the backyard for a change of scenery. I sighed at the familiar party landscape: clusters of people seemingly deep in conversation. If I wanted to interact, I would have to interrupt someone. I approached the closest group — three men — and, when they paused to open their circle a bit and acknowledge my presence, I jumped right in.

“So, what are you guys talking about?” It felt good to get right to the meat of things, to not bother with the whole, “Hi, I’m Barbarella, what are your names?” boring bullshit. I smiled and waited.

“Um...” The one who spoke giggled, and the other two followed suit. It was slightly unnerving, but I kept up the smile and expectant stare. The guy shrugged, seemed to come to some silent consensus with the others, and then turned to me and said, “We were talking about vasectomies.”

“Oh,” I said, briefly destabilized. Still, I’d come this far — I wasn’t going to give up now. They’d revealed the subject, which meant they must be cool talking about it, and this was the furthest topic from my tired material, so I was all in. “And? Where are you at with them?” I looked first to the guy directly to my right. “What’s your story?”

Over the next several minutes, I learned that one of the trio was happy capping his family at four children, hence his interest in the procedure. The man in the middle — an older gentleman — had gotten his tubes snipped long ago but now found himself in the interesting and not unpleasant position of having a partner with grandchildren. “I got to skip fatherhood and go straight to being a grandpa,” he said with a smile.

The last — the youngest and the only one of the trio not currently in a relationship — said a vasectomy was his Christmas gift to himself. Here, I could contribute something to the conversation. “My husband had selected self-sterilization before I’d met him,” I said. “And I have a friend who I drove to get his — it’s really no big deal. You walk right out of there. He said if he ever changed his mind and wanted kids with his wife, he’d adopt.”

“There you are.” David came up behind me and handed me my cocktail.

“Ah, here he is now,” I said to the vasectomy triplets. I realized I couldn’t properly introduce my man, as I hadn’t gotten any of their names. David said he wanted to introduce me to a few people he’d been chatting with while making our drinks, so instead I said, “Well, guys, enjoy the rest of your night, and good luck with your man bits.”

Comments
Sponsored

The latest copy of the Reader

Please enjoy this clickable Reader flipbook. Linked text and ads are flash-highlighted in blue for your convenience. To enhance your viewing, please open full screen mode by clicking the icon on the far right of the black flipbook toolbar.

Here's something you might be interested in.
Submit a free classified
or view all
Previous article

Jazz guitarist Alex Ciavarelli pays tribute to pianist Oscar Peterson

“I had to extract the elements that spoke to me and realize them on my instrument”
Next Article

Jayson Napolitano’s Scarlet Moon releases third Halloween album

Latest effort has the most local vibe
Comments
Ask a Hipster — Advice you didn't know you needed Big Screen — Movie commentary Blurt — Music's inside track Booze News — San Diego spirits Classical Music — Immortal beauty Classifieds — Free and easy Cover Stories — Front-page features Drinks All Around — Bartenders' drink recipes Excerpts — Literary and spiritual excerpts Feast! — Food & drink reviews Feature Stories — Local news & stories Fishing Report — What’s getting hooked from ship and shore From the Archives — Spotlight on the past Golden Dreams — Talk of the town The Gonzo Report — Making the musical scene, or at least reporting from it Letters — Our inbox Movies@Home — Local movie buffs share favorites Movie Reviews — Our critics' picks and pans Musician Interviews — Up close with local artists Neighborhood News from Stringers — Hyperlocal news News Ticker — News & politics Obermeyer — San Diego politics illustrated Outdoors — Weekly changes in flora and fauna Overheard in San Diego — Eavesdropping illustrated Poetry — The old and the new Reader Travel — Travel section built by travelers Reading — The hunt for intellectuals Roam-O-Rama — SoCal's best hiking/biking trails San Diego Beer — Inside San Diego suds SD on the QT — Almost factual news Sheep and Goats — Places of worship Special Issues — The best of Street Style — San Diego streets have style Surf Diego — Real stories from those braving the waves Theater — On stage in San Diego this week Tin Fork — Silver spoon alternative Under the Radar — Matt Potter's undercover work Unforgettable — Long-ago San Diego Unreal Estate — San Diego's priciest pads Your Week — Daily event picks
4S Ranch Allied Gardens Alpine Baja Balboa Park Bankers Hill Barrio Logan Bay Ho Bay Park Black Mountain Ranch Blossom Valley Bonita Bonsall Borrego Springs Boulevard Campo Cardiff-by-the-Sea Carlsbad Carmel Mountain Carmel Valley Chollas View Chula Vista City College City Heights Clairemont College Area Coronado CSU San Marcos Cuyamaca College Del Cerro Del Mar Descanso Downtown San Diego Eastlake East Village El Cajon Emerald Hills Encanto Encinitas Escondido Fallbrook Fletcher Hills Golden Hill Grant Hill Grantville Grossmont College Guatay Harbor Island Hillcrest Imperial Beach Imperial Valley Jacumba Jamacha-Lomita Jamul Julian Kearny Mesa Kensington La Jolla Lakeside La Mesa Lemon Grove Leucadia Liberty Station Lincoln Acres Lincoln Park Linda Vista Little Italy Logan Heights Mesa College Midway District MiraCosta College Miramar Miramar College Mira Mesa Mission Beach Mission Hills Mission Valley Mountain View Mount Hope Mount Laguna National City Nestor Normal Heights North Park Oak Park Ocean Beach Oceanside Old Town Otay Mesa Pacific Beach Pala Palomar College Palomar Mountain Paradise Hills Pauma Valley Pine Valley Point Loma Point Loma Nazarene Potrero Poway Rainbow Ramona Rancho Bernardo Rancho Penasquitos Rancho San Diego Rancho Santa Fe Rolando San Carlos San Marcos San Onofre Santa Ysabel Santee San Ysidro Scripps Ranch SDSU Serra Mesa Shelltown Shelter Island Sherman Heights Skyline Solana Beach Sorrento Valley Southcrest South Park Southwestern College Spring Valley Stockton Talmadge Temecula Tierrasanta Tijuana UCSD University City University Heights USD Valencia Park Valley Center Vista Warner Springs
Close

Anchor ads are not supported on this page.

This Week’s Reader This Week’s Reader