I am not a fun person, according to nearly any commonplace definition of "fun." I am not energetic (I do muster a basically dependable heartbeat and minimally necessary amounts of peristalsis) and I am certainly not "up for anything," in fact in some crucial way I am up for nothing. Yet I am not a killjoy or morose character either, I don't turn a naturally retiring demeanor into a dreary pose. I am an affable and mirthful cynic. While my initial tendency is often sourness I can usually rally to simple indifference. I have my enthusiasms, I enjoy things. I think I do. Don't I? How can we measure one person's passions against another's, this is a vexing problem. How can I be said to enjoy life more or less compared to someone else, or a whole group of people, there's no objective pleasure measure. If you look at personals ads you conclude that every single person in the United States likes to hike, enjoys the outdoors generally, and every single person also likes to "chat." I occasionally find myself in places where hikers can be expected to turn up, and they are usually pretty empty, mostly mossy rocks and squirrels that stare. I don't see these vast numbers of chatty hikers clogging the footpaths, filling the wilderness with spirited conversation and slicing gestures. Personally, I like there to be people around but not right next to me. I like to see them in the distance, out of earshot and too far away for me to read their t-shirts or smell their cologne, yet a reassuring human presence nonetheless, close enough to come to my aid if I begin to choke on my own bile. People work wonderfully as abstractions or sources of debilitating erotic torment, you only run into trouble when you push too hard and start demanding specifics such as a pleasing personality, strong character, and more than quotidian levels of intelligence and mental agility. If you make a friend, for instance, it's best not to get too giddy about it until you can be reasonably sure that they aren't going to start talking about their so-called spiritual convictions, which of course simply ruins everything.