So I attempted "No Questions Asked" and I think I can firmly say that it was a resounding failure. I tried to begin at work mid-afternoon Friday, and while I think the best I did was the six hours I was blacked out between 3:30 and 9:30 this morning, I do feel I learned enough to embark on a mini-treatise.

On the Nature of Humanity
(or, Only Inanimate Objects Can Limit Themselves to Declarations Alone)

I decided to take the task in a slightly more extreme fashion. I refused to allow myself rhetorical questions, and even considered invitational statements somewhat suspect (e.g. "I'd like to know what the time is"). At first it was only mildly frustrating. My friends were arranging a happy hour, and I felt somewhat helpless being unable to ask such essentials as, "What/where is CPR?" and "Do I need to drive?" and "Why are we going out the front entrance when all our cars are parked in the back lot?"

I did make it to the bar with only a few mishaps, but while sharing my ride with our intern I realized that questions are an essential way of socializing. It's how we express interest in each other; it's how we invite others to share something of themselves. I felt like a brick wall of a conversationalist: bounce the basketball kids, but equal and opposite reaction isn't exactly a new force. This became especially apparent once we got into things at McMenamin's (still trying to figure out how McMenamin's == CPR) and people started discussing mortgages. This is a subject of much interest, and I was grinding my teeth giving up opportunity after opportunity to pump for additional information. Plus I was continuously, keenly aware of my rotten social interaction. Without questions, how could I indicate my interest? How could I engage my companions? I think the real killers, however, were my two favorite fallbacks: "Huh?" and "What?" Ah, the disadvantages of lousy hearing.

I resigned myself to (temporary) failure when I volunteered to drive the intern home. It might have worked out if she were one of those people who does things like, "You should get into the right lane now" and "You'll make a left turn at the next light". However, when working with things like, "Turn at the light," our safety and efficiency (made all the more urgent by an increasing need for restroom facilities) depended on my ability to clarify things like "Turn left or turn right?" and "Here? But that's not a stop light".

I suppose I could have restarted at some point today, as I did manage to spend the entire day without any human contact whatsoever. All I have to say about that is that I never realized how frequently I talk to myself and the kinds of things I so often say to my kitty. Consider: "You want some chowzy?", "How are you feeling this morning, handsome?", "I know you're grumpy, but would you really mind if I pet you right now?", and equally trivial smalltalk.

Then, while taking a late afternoon constitutional in the Tualitin Valley Nature Preserve, I waxed philosophical on the very nature of statements versus questions. I realized that my entire methodology of interacting with the world is based on curiosity, on questioning. From, "Should I take a shower or eat dinner first?" to, "I feel kind of scared now that I'm lost and it's getting dark; if I run into someone else out here, is it more prudent to dive in the bushes or stride on nonchalantly?" I concluded that far from making me feel aggressive and empowered, as I see Sam Burrell felt, it made me feel vulnerable. I guess I use language as my most frequent tool, and bereft of its benefits, I felt at sea.

Consequently, I've concluded that I'm just not psychologically cut out for this task, short of complete hermitage (darn that job and social life -- really puts a damper on hermitage!) But, just in case, I'll leave it on my todo list.