Madam and Eve invited me over for dinner last night.
I get along fine with my neighbors. Seattle fine. That is, we're friendly. We bleat affectionate noises at one another. We laugh at one another's jokes and consume one another's food and drink. And they could not tell you a single thing about me, because they simply do not care. "That's John. We love John," they would say. "He's from Iowa or somewhere and works with computers or something. You have got to try his Manhattan."
I like them, but they are quintessentially "Seattle people" to me. Behind every assurance that if I move they'd be devastated is my certainty that they have no idea, nor any interest in, who I am.
But Eve's parents do. Last night Dad asked about Pittsburgh, and he asked the hard questions. I admitted I find it much more comfortable there. This floored Madam and Eve. They tried to argue the social merits of Seattle. I replied by showing them my phone history.
"I've got 21 years invested in my Seattle friends. I've got 5 months invested in Pittsburgh friends. And you tell me—who do I hear from more?"
Eve considered the question and came to the only logical conclusion. "That's a really weird metric, John."