Ta-Nehisi Coates has a good post up about Joe Wilson’s “You lie!” comment during the president’s speech last night, putting it in the context of other … altercations.

I always like to point you to helpful advice elsewhere, so here’s today’s recommendation: a good blog post about inviting “plus ones” and when to assume
your significant other is invited and when to assume s/he is not:

If your significant other is invited to a social event, and you’re really and truly not sure the invitation included you, then it’s acceptable for the invited person to ask. For most social events, it’s nice to ask both halves of a couple. But there are actually people in the world who are close to Max, but not to me – and vice versa. And it’s completely conceivable that they’d want to have him over for, say, an intimate dinner party with eight carefully selected guests, and I’m not one of the other seven. That’s utterly fine with me. If you host an event, you get to have it exactly like you want it.

The invited person should phrase the question in such a way as to give the host a graceful way to say, “No, that person is not invited.”

One may not pretend to misunderstand as a ploy to try to wangle invitations.

(The questions are addressed primarily from the guest’s perspective; I gave some advice for hosts and hostesses a while back, here.)

Don’t click just yet.

See, the blogger I just linked to is one I never would have linked to off my boston.com blog. She blogs (and works) under the name Mistress Matisse, and she is a professional dominatrix. And a good writer, too. (Mr. Improbable blogged a post she’d written once from Las Vegas, after witnessing a magician’s bondage-suspension act go badly wrong, which struck her as ironic given that she was on vacation trying to leave work behind her.) Her “invitations” post is, specifically, about how people in polyamorous relationships should negotiate the “and guest”:

If the invitation – either verbal or written – says “bring a date,” or “you plus a guest,” then the invited person may bring ONE guest without further clearance from the host. One.

You’re on your own if you read the rest of the blog, which I certainly wouldn’t recommend doing at work. I would recommend reading it, however, if you enjoy a good laugh, if you’ve ever wondered if there are sex workers who enjoy their jobs, or if you are fascinated by the paradoxes of human behavior.

For a while, my two favorite personal (as opposed to political, pop-cultural, or social-science) blogs were Mistress Matisse and an orthodox rabbi who has since stopped blogging. This struck me funny one day so I e-mailed both of them, pointing out that while our jobs were very different, one way or another we all told people what to do for a living. Mistress Matisse didn’t write back, but the rabbi did. I guess enthusiastic attention from a stranger feels more validating to an orthodox rabbi than it would to a beautiful blond sex worker, for whom it may be more of an everyday occurrence.

Before yesterday’s appearance, I wrote up some notes about dealing with difficult people–both in general, and a few specific varieties. Here’s the 411, since I didn’t get to deliver it all on the TEEvee:

Some general advice for dealing with difficult people:

1. Dilute them! If you are obliged to entertain someone you don’t much care for, invite them to group events–or activities with the emphasis on activity.
2. Reinforce the behaviors you want and ignore the ones you don’t. Giving in to whining, flattery, bullying, etc. is tempting, but makes it more likely that the person will continue in their bad behavior.
3. If you decide to confront someone, present the situation as a problem for both of you to solve together, and be willing to make compromises in your own behavior.
4. Pick your battles. Not everyone is going to be pleasing to you in all ways at all times. Learn to not be easily annoyed.
5. Getting along well with difficult people is a marketable skill. Developing a reputation as someone who can handle tricky, temperamental people can be a great help in your career.

Some particular types …

The socially overbearing spouse/significant other of a good friend. Don’t try to socialize as couples if you can’t stand a friend’s worse half. Instead, get together in large groups–or else get together with your friend sans spouses. When entertaining Beauty and the Beast is unavoidable, let it enhance your appreciation of your own marriage.

The know-it-all new co-worker. You could let the obnoxious new kid fall on their face–and maybe they’ll need to once or twice before they listen to you. Rather than hazing a workplace newcomer, even–or especially–if they’re getting off on the wrong foot, become their mentor. Help them navigate your workplace culture, and translate their ideas and perspectives.

The overly helpful neighbor. Some people just can’t help themselves–they want to bring a casserole to your carefully planned sushi brunch, tell you about the new supplement that’s supposed to be so good for people with that medical condition you wish you hadn’t told them you had, help you plant tulip bulbs whether you like tulips or not. These folks only want to be helpful, and you can’t block their energy–but you can redirect it. Ask them specifically for the kind of help or advice you do want–and if you truly don’t want anything at all, then ask them for the favor of a listening, nonjudgmental ear.

The nosy in-law. The only way to put off a barrage of nosy questions is with good-natured, laughing stubbornness and a refusal to give in, ever. When are you going to have children? They’ll be among the first to know! How much rent are you paying? Enough but not too much, thanks! Make sure your spouse is on the same page with this tactic. (“Why do you want to know?” is usually a good response to a nosy question, but you can’t use it with family, because they will TELL YOU.)

The one-upper. You went to Cape Cod; SHE went to Paris. You are thinking of getting a Prius; SHE is moving to a yurt in Montana. You can’t beat the one-upper at her own game; the only thing to do, really, is to enjoy and applaud the gusto with which she plays it. Because ultimately, these people aren’t competing with you, but with some unattainable image of themselves.

We’ve been talking a while now about awkward questions and the difficulties they’ve posed. How about some success stories?

What are difficult questions you’ve found a good answer to?

Here’s one I’ve finally figured out an answer to: “Do you have children?”

Why is this awkward? As I’ve mentioned, I’m childless by choice, and I wasn’t even offended when I was asked to explain how I could possibly feel that way. So it’s not that I think the question is invasive, or rude, or hurtful in any way.

It’s just awkward because the answer is “No.”

And I hate answering questions “No” with no followup. I’ve had too much theater training to do that. There’s a rule in improv called “yes-and”: the idea being that you never stonewall your partner’s attempt to connect. You agree, and then take things in a new direction. Like so:

When I was starting out in Chicago, doing improvisational theatre with Second City and other places, there was really only one rule I was taught about improv. That was, “yes-and.” In this case, “yes-and” is a verb. To “yes-and.” I yes-and, you yes-and, he, she or it yes-ands. And yes-anding means that when you go onstage to improvise a scene with no script, you have no idea what’s going to happen, maybe with someone you’ve never met before. To build a scene, you have to accept. To build anything onstage, you have to accept what the other improviser initiates on stage. They say you’re doctors—you’re doctors. And then, you add to that: We’re doctors and we’re trapped in an ice cave. That’s the “-and.” And then hopefully they “yes-and” you back. You have to keep your eyes open when you do this. You have to be aware of what the other performer is offering you, so that you can agree and add to it. And through these agreements, you can improvise a scene or a one-act play.

Obviously, in real life, you don’t have to answer “Yes-and” to every question literally. (“Do you have a moment for the environment?” “Yes, and I’m not going to waste it talking to you!”) But you do, if you want to be a successful conversationalist, have to give someone something back when they hand you a question, some other peg to hang the conversation on.

“I like your scarf.” “Thanks, I got it in New York. Do you get down to the city much?”

“What do you do?” “I’m a nuclear physicist. And I coach my kids’ soccer on the weekend. Do you ever play?”

“Do you have children?” “Yes, two. And I’m just trying to get our oldest into a good day school. You wouldn’t believe the paperwork!”

See, all those answers give the other person somewhere to go, conversationally, in a way that a flat, factual answer just won’t. Especially if the answer is “no.”

And I’ve never found anything to stick on the end of that “no” when the question is about kids. Sometimes you can stick the actual reason on the end of the “no”: you say, “Are you taking any trips this summer?” and they say, “No, we’re trying to save money,” and then you talk money-saving tips. But I’m not going to offer, unsolicited, my reasons for not having kids, especially to someone I’ve just met who does have them, because yeesh.*

The ConductMom sometimes responds, when people ask her if she has grandchildren, that Mr. Improbable and I are very involved in our careers and travel a lot. This is true, but that isn’t why we don’t have children. If we’d wanted them, we’d figure out ways to juggle our other commitments, just as other parents do. Besides, I’m uncomfortable with painting a picture of us as so ambitious and driven that we’ve sacrificed parenthood on the altar of Mammon. (Especially given the modest Mammon we’re bringing in; if it were a sacrifice, we wuz robbed.) We didn’t not have kids in order to do some other thing, and I don’t want to present it that way. (Although the ConductMom can deal with that question however she likes; I’m not criticizing her, only explaining why her solution doesn’t work for me.)

When we got Milo, I immediately considered and rejected the “No, but we have a dog!” This implies that dogs are child substitutes, which is a notion that as a responsible dog lover I think is incredibly dangerous. Milo is not a child substitute because 1) he is not a child, and 2) he is not a substitute. A substitute is something that takes the place of some other, desired, thing. I don’t want kids, so Milo is no substitute for them. It’s also insulting to parents to compare children and pets. (In some ways, anyway. I talk about what you can and can’t say in that regard in the pets chapter of Mind over Manners.)

But my little guy did come to my rhetorical rescue after all, when I realized I didn’t have to compare Milo to a child–I could compare dog-owner me with potential-mommy me instead. So now, my usual response is, “No, and it’s a good thing! As bad as I spoil my dog and bore my friends with stories about him, I would be insufferable if I actually had my own children!”

This is self-deprecating but not self-insulting, not anti-child or -parenthood, honest, and provides a lot of areas for the conversation to go afterward (sharing dog/kid stories, sharing stories about friends or relatives who won’t shut up about their kid or dog, etc.).

So thanks, Milo. You really are the gift that keeps on giving.

What are awkward conversations that you’ve found good answers to?

*Although I’ve never gotten grief about my choice from an actual mother of children still living at home. Moms, more than anyone, get that bearing and raising kids is incredibly difficult, and far too great a responsibility to be undertaken out of a vague sense that having kids is just what people do. The most common response I’ve gotten from mothers if I mention I don’t want kids isn’t, “Oh, but you’re missing out on nature’s greatest miracle!”, it’s “Well, good for you! Being a parent is so hard no one should do it unless they absolutely want to 110%.”

Apparently I’m not the only one. Many of you are also driven crazy by comments or questions that you know are wholly innocent and socially appropriate. And I dare say that any of us who have occasionally been in one of those “Just don’t ASK me how [my job hunt, the dissertation, trying to have a baby, selling that house we've had on the market since mid-2008, recovering from my hip surgery] is going!” moods sometimes feel a twinge of discomfort when we encounter friends or acquaintances who are in similarly delicate situations. Ought we ask? Are they tired of talking about it? Ought we not ask? And risk them thinking we are tired of listening? Oy. One wants to be sensitive … yet it is so difficult! With apologies to Oscar Wilde, the only thing worse than being asked personal questions is not being asked personal questions.

The fear of saying something hurtful-if-not-rude reminded me of this post from my Miss Conduct blog, on the pros and cons of friending one’s parents on Facebook. Many commenters rightly pointed out that nothing on Facebook is really private anyway, with one stating, “[M]y worst enemy will never see anything other than banal posts like ‘I took my dog for a walk’ or ‘I’m grilling hamburgers with the family.’” So that’s the reason so many Facebook posts are notoriously boring! Rather than risk giving offense, or giving ammunition to someone who may wish you ill, people cling to dull, anodyne status updates that no one can possibly object to.

And here’s where I’m going with all this. It’s terribly trendy these days to run around accusing the rest of the world of narcissism (I’ve written about this before). I wonder, though: if people are focusing more on themselves, and talking more about themselves, might there be at least some degree of pro-social motivation to this? “Why do you think the rest of the world cares what you have for breakfast?” the anti-narcissism crusader against Facebook thunders. Maybe the person who posted, “Greek yogurt and honey is yummy!” isn’t necessarily convinced that hundred of friends are breathlessly eager for this news. Maybe she simply wants to express herself, a sort of virtual wave hello, but doesn’t want to risk starting a debate about abortion, or having her mother nag her to explain the origin of some private joke, or her employer see that she was out until 3am last night. In short, perhaps all those “Time for bed!” and “Coffee, STAT!” updates are less the result of compulsive self-expression than they are of compulsive self-censorship.

In face-to-face conversation, too, I wonder if we sometimes come across as self-absorbed because we fear asking, or saying, the wrong thing. We hesitate to ask the graduate about his job plans, the mom-to-be about her pregnancy, the groom about his honeymoon, the academic about her grant application. And haven’t we all been taught that when fighting with loved ones, we are to use “I” statements (“I feel hurt when you do X”) rather than “you” statements (“You always do X, you big moron”)? Awareness of diversity, too–of the different ways that men and women, whites and people of color, straights and gays experience the world–can leave the sensitive soul feeling that she can only speak with real authority when she is speaking about herself. (Compare this to some fifty years ago or so, when men and white people felt quite capable of speaking for humanity as a whole.) Certainly, this sensitive soul feels that way. I use a huge number of first-person pronouns in my work–a measure sometimes used as a dependent variable to determine a writer’s level of narcissism! But it doesn’t stem from that at all. I mean, of course I’m in love with my own words, that’s why I’m a writer. But my compulsion to keep qualifying them as my words comes less from hubris than humility. This is my opinion of what your mother-in-law said at the last family picnic. Not God’s. Not Jane Austen’s. Not Oprah’s. Just mine, influenced by my own unique experiences and education. Don’t take it for more than that.

Some people are still self-absorbed jerks, I’m not saying they aren’t. But I wonder if there aren’t other motives at play as well. What do you think?

So this post on etiquette as a blunt instrument, or the difference between hurtful comments and questions and rude ones, got me wondering: what are ordinary, innocent statements/jokes/questions that drive you nuts? That are personally hurtful, or at least annoying, to you, but that can’t really be classified as “rude”?

I gave a talk last night, and I was asked three questions. More than that, really, but three that I want to focus on. They were:

1. Has anyone told you that you look like a female Spock?
2. Can you explain why you don’t want to have children?
3. Are you going on a book tour?

The first two questions are, I think most people would agree, distinctly rude. The rest of the audience certainly seemed to think so, squirming in their seats and muttering, and the poor organizer damn nearly fell over herself apologizing for whoever asked the first one. (I don’t know who asked it. When I give talks to private groups, I’ll usually have people write questions on index cards and pass them up to me after I speak, because I’ve found that little bit of anonymity makes things easier. After I’ve answered the questions on cards, folks feel emboldened enough to raise their hands.) We don’t evaluate women’s appearance to their faces, and we certainly don’t tell them they look like aliens. We also don’t question the reproductive choices of others. The book-tour question, on the other hand, is exactly the sort of intelligent, other-focused followup question that is the hallmark of civil conversation.

The first two questions delighted me beyond all measure, and the third made me miserable.

Which finally gave me the “aha” I’ve been struggling toward for some time now: that etiquette is a blunt instrument. What is hurtful is not always rude, and what is rude is not always hurtful.

I was massively entertained by the Spock question (which wouldn’t have been out of place at a science fiction convention, like the one I’m speaking at next month, but this was a Jewish women’s organization). Yeah, lady, I DO know I look like Spock’s little sister. (Or big sister, depending on which Spock you mean.) If I was bothered by that, I wouldn’t have chosen a bob haircut with short bangs to offset my narrow eyes, high cheekbones, and dramatic eyebrows. I’m a big Trekkie and Spock was probably my first crush as a pre-teen. Seriously, who doesn’t think Spock was hot? I’m only sorry that I didn’t keep the card to put on my refrigerator. Inappropriate or not, the question struck me as funny, flattering, and accurate.

The second question, too, was okay by me. It was asked in an honest fashion, not like “OMG you don’t want babeez what is WRONG with you?!” The woman just wanted to understand a state of mind that wasn’t fathomable to her. It’s still way the hell too personal a question to ask anyone but a close friend, but I’m comfortable with my choice, and I don’t mind discussing it. In fact, I find it both philosophically and scientifically interesting. Is it even possible to describe lack of desire? And why would a person, from an evolutionary point of view, fail to want to reproduce? (My guess is that because birth control is a relatively new invention, evolutionarily speaking, there’s no pressure to want children per se. There’s only pressure to be competent enough to raise them if and when they appear.) I’m happy to open up my life in order to help moms and non-moms understand each other better.

That book-tour question, though–God, do I hate getting asked that. No, I’m not doing a tour. My publishers don’t think it makes sense for me to have one, and while I could put a tour together myself, I don’t have the temporal, financial, or organizational resources to do so. But it makes me feel like I’m not a real writer. Real writers go on tour. Real writers go on “Oprah.” Don’t remind me. Don’t even tell me what you hope for me. Yes, I think I’d be great on “The Colbert Report” too. You know him? Want to put in a good word? I’m skinlessly sensitive at the moment to anything having to do with the discrepancy between my dreams of greatness and the adequate but not stellar present.

But “Are you going on a book tour?”, much as I hate it, is still a reasonable and polite question to ask. So suck it, Miss Conduct. It may be hurtful but it isn’t rude.

Obviously, there is a correlation between hurtful and rude; the rules of polite behavior represent an attempt to cut out that which would be hurtful to most people most of the time. But everyone has their own idiosyncratic vulnerabilities and can be hurt by behaviors entirely within the bounds of etiquette. And everyone, too, has particular areas of great tolerance for particular sorts of rude behaviors. Perhaps you don’t mind picking up the check, and find your freeloading friend’s habit of sneaking off to the men’s room when the tab comes to be hilariously transparent, a bit of entertainment well worth the price. Perhaps you’re a freewheeling sort of host or hostess who really doesn’t care if people RSVP or show up on time. Personal questions or even frank assessments of my appearance have never bothered me. I suppose it’s a combination of the lack of inhibition and objectivity about the physical self that characterizes so many theater people. We all have a different set of buttons, and some of them are on a hair trigger and some are missing entirely.

This distinction is something, I realize, that I’ve struggled to articulate in my columns. I sometimes get letters from people who are hurt by behaviors that are not rude. Often, the LWs (letter-writers) want me to condemn the people who are behaving in a hurtful way. But I can’t do that, because those people are not actually doing something wrong. I can acknowledge the hurt, that’s for sure. Even when I think someone is really off base, they still have a right to their feelings. And if the relationship is a close one, I can suggest ways of talking about the bothersome behavior. We have the right to expect our friends and family to honor our quirks, within reason. But we’ll have a better chance of getting them to do so if we realize that this is what we are asking–their indulgence for our quirks. We aren’t scolding them for not adhering to the rules of etiquette if they, in fact, are.

Similarly, I’ve occasionally gotten letters from people upset about a breach of etiquette, yet who do not seem to be, in fact, hurt at all. Given how very many battles there are to fight in this world, fighting for abstract principles of manners that you don’t fundamentally care about strikes me as a waste of time. The most controversial version of this was my response to a man who disapproved of his wife’s habit of talking on the phone during dinner. He disapproved of it. He expressed no hurt about her neglect, nor any particular desire to talk to her himself. He merely seemed offended that she was breaking a rule of etiquette.

So I told him, in essence, to get over it. Just as we expect more than etiquette strictly demands from those whom we love, we should be willing to accept less than etiquette demands if there are no emotions at stake. That’s how it works with those whom we love and who love us: we learn which buttons to avoid and which ones we can happily pound away on all day.

And it’s absolutely vital to sanity to realize that when you step out of your circle of loved ones, you no longer have the right to that kind of customized treatment. People will say things that are hurtful to you, and if those things are within the common bounds of civility we’ve defined as a society, you cowboy up and answer them politely.

We think of etiquette as refined; we associate etiquette with fragile glassware, sensitive palates, subtle locutions. But etiquette, however delicate its trappings, is a blunt instrument.

Let’s talk commenting.

This is about the beginning of a conversation, not the end of one. One thing I love about blogging is the fact that it’s a continuous work-in-progress. Blogs are never all set. A blog is always still working on it.

I’m trying to decide what kind of commenting policy I want to have on my blogs. When done well, the comments section can be as powerful, entertaining, and educational as the blog itself. When not … oy. We all know what that’s like.

The price of a good commenting community is, unfortunately, eternal and unpaid vigilance on the part of the blogger. You have to moderate, and you have to moderate aggressively and consistently. This article in Slate describes, admiringly, the draconian moderation at Television Without Pity, which did not change after the site was bought out. TWOP moderators don’t just enforce civility and keep the spam out, they make sure you are bringing your A-game. No “Hah hah ITA Zak Quinto is soooooo hawt” on the TWOP boards, no sir. Ta-Nehesi Coates described his commenting policy as, “Don’t be boring, and don’t be an ass,” which I think sums it up pretty well. That’s what everyone wants for the comments on their site: interesting, insightful, on-topic.

So how to achieve that? Philosophically, I’d rather err on the side of deleting an “innocent” comment than publishing a “guilty” one. In practice, however, I do tend to let stuff through. The software on the Miss Conduct blog isn’t really the best for moderation. And certain posts, like the Monday question (check it out and weigh in on today’s, eh?), get linked to on the boston.com home page, which means that a bunch of newbies show up who aren’t necessarily followers of the Miss Conduct Way.

I guess what particularly bothers me is that when things have gotten a bit heated over at the other ranch, invariably someone pulls the “I can’t believe that on an etiquette blog …” card. This bugs me. It’s like the Susan Boyle phenomenon: we should treat all frumpy middle-aged women with respect and dignity, not just the ones who can sing. I don’t want you to not be an asshole on my blog because it’s an etiquette blog, I want you not to be an asshole on my blog because it’s not cool to be an asshole. Just because you’re commenting on RSVPs or wedding presents doesn’t mean you have to type with your pinkies in the air.

Okay. Enough of my maundering. Let’s air your dirty maundry. What do you think? If you’re a frequenter of the Miss Conduct blog, what have you liked and not liked about commenting there? Have there been comments that you think I should have deleted? (A note: I grade pass/fail. I’m not going to edit a comment, that’s too time-consuming. If there’s any inappropriate content, it gets dumped, even if the rest of it is good.) What blogs do you think handle moderation well, or have good comment policies?

More questions … Should comments be deleted if their only offense is lack of content (e.g., a comment consisting solely of “LOL!”)? Do you like it when the blogger participates in the comment thread, dislike it, or are indifferent? Is it annoying that I don’t open all posts up for comments? How much does threadjacking and topic drift bother you?

Comment away!