The New Yorker:

We’re all busy. But are we busy in the right ways?

By Joshua Rothman

I like to talk, and, sometimes, when I find that I’m droning on and on, I rein myself in by calculating an interestingness ratio. The I-ratio, as I think of it, relates the interest a listener has in what he’s hearing to the interest the speaker has in what he’s talking about. In the best-case scenario, the ratio is one: listener and speaker are equally interested in what’s being said. But it can rise above one, if, for example, you unwittingly let slip some piece of gossip you don’t recognize as fascinating. And it can fall below one, when you’re being boring. If the I-ratio keeps dropping, then you’re basically talking to yourself.

I suspect that no subject has a lower I-ratio than hobbies. So as not to offend, I won’t catalogue times that people have bored me while describing theirs. What I can say is that, over the years, I’ve bored many others—especially my wife—with talk of cameras, computers, kayaks, wetsuits, spin bikes, weight lifting, e-ink tablets, science-fiction novels, Lee Child’s “Jack Reacher” series, home-brewing setups, tiny synthesizers, electric scooters, watches, Japanese outerwear, and other hobbies too embarrassing to mention. To my shame, I’ve even recounted stories about exchanges I’ve had with other hobby enthusiasts in online forums.

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