You Ought To Know

We were yin and yang, this stranger and I, reacting completely differently to the same thing.

Both of us had gone to the Criterion to see "The End of the Tour," a film best described as a talk-fest, nearly two hours of two men talking to each other - in diners, in cars, in Mall of America, at home.

I was riveted; this was the story of writer David Foster Wallace and his genius 1996 work "Infinite Jest," a book I knew of but had never read. The movie revolves around Rolling Stone writer David Lipsky's five day interview with Wallace, a far-ranging conversation about loneliness, fame, writing and aspirations.

Meanwhile the woman one seat away from me was clearly bored out of her mind and miserable watching the film. She draped her legs over her boyfriend's legs, leaned her head on his shoulder while closing her eyes and laid her head in his lap, anything to avoid watching the screen. She sighed loudly and often.

I didn't hear her ask if they could leave, but I'd be willing to bet that she did during one of the many times she whispered in his ear and he patted her thigh to calm her down like she was a restless toddler.

How could she not have been fascinated by this brilliant writer who also happened to be a TV addict (and back in the '90s, too, before the birth of binge-watching), recovering alcoholic, devoted Dad to his goofy rescue dogs and a guy who went to dances at the local Baptist church where he did the "monkey" and the "swim"?

I know I was. This was a man who kept a poster of Alanis Morisette on his wall because she had "real woman" hotness, believable hotness.

As someone who's been in the interviewing game for decades, I could relate to the scenes where DFW began asking Lipsky questions, essentially turning the tables on the interviewer, who was surprised to find himself in the conversational cross hairs.

I can tell you from experience that when that happens, the interviewer is never sure if the subject is honestly interested enough to ask (in which case I answer) or merely trying to deflect questions aimed at them (in which case I reroute the direction of the conversation).

As it happened, my day prior to the movie had been spent doing two interviews, the more enjoyable of which was at a winery having a fabulous lunch - salad of wheatberries, arugula, strawberries and goat cheese with one petite yet perfect crabcake atop it - with the winemaker outside on a patio under a wisteria-covered pergola.

He was a good subject: passionate about what he does, full of knowledge yet eager to learn more. When I asked why he'd left Napa Valley for Virginia, one of his reasons was to cut his travel time to Europe in half.

That's a man who has his priorities in order.

But where he won my utter devotion was when he told me that if he goes in to a Virginia restaurant that has no Virginia wines on the list, he gets up and leaves. This subject alone sent us on a protracted tangent that only someone who feels the same way can possibly understand.

Make no mistake, I love a good conversational tangent. I seek out companions who can follow mine, usually finding myself disappointed when they can't. If you can't take the occasional detour off the beaten path and wind your way back around, you're not capable of the kind of talk-fest I live for.

All comers welcome.