Finally...someone said it

I found this commentary in USA Today, well, today. So glad someone with a much larger circulation than I'll ever have is saying this...

One question: Why aren't you asking me any?

Posted 2/27/2007 10:08 PM ET

Every now and then, a reader will ask me to write on a certain subject. Actually, it's not every now and then. It's almost daily.

Why don't you write about penguins, someone asked the other day.

As cute as they are, and as "in" as they are, I don't really have much to say about penguins. Never even met one, in fact.

Nor do I have anything to say about National Pancake Day, which incidentally was just last week. Maybe you missed it. I did.

Someone offered that up as a topic, too. I had to confess I was a french toast kind of guy.

But a reader in Oklahoma City piqued my interest last week when he wrote about a "serious problem" spreading across the land. He thought that if it were highlighted here, it might be stopped. I doubt it, but let's give it a try.

The problem? He dubbed it "me-ism."

What he and his wife have found is that they can spend great amounts of time with recent acquaintances, and those people never ask a personal question of them. Not one.

Even on trips abroad, they've discovered that fellow travelers spend copious amounts of time telling all about themselves but never ask anything in return. A one-way rue in Paris.

Why, he asked?

Good question. And I thought it was just me.

For more than 30 years, it has been my day job to ask questions, so it's natural for me to corner strangers at social gatherings and inquire about everything from their shoes to their children. Women, especially, can talk about both topics for hours. (Without fail, I'm more interested in the shoes than the children.)

But I'm always perplexed that more often than not, no one seems to ask anything about me. As much as I hate the "And what do you do?" lead-in, I'd be grateful for even that on occasion.

Until recently, I thought it was just a Washington thing. In a city filled with egos bigger than Texas, you get used to having people look over your shoulder for someone more powerful, more useful, more connected. As for inquiring about me? I'm not that foolish anymore.

But now it's even happening in Oklahoma City? Not good.

I have turned the one-sided chat into a game. Now when I meet a stranger at a party, I ask a thousand questions, then wait in silence to see if any questions bounce back. Sometimes I've stood there for five minutes, which, believe me, is a long time for me to be silent.

Usually these people just smile and look a bit perplexed, perhaps wondering why I'm no longer interested in their fascinating life.

For years, I've had a button on the bulletin board over my desk. It's bright yellow and has a simple message: Ask a Bunch of Questions.

I don't know where it came from. I've always assumed it was some editor's failed attempt to stir the troops.

Now I think we should make a million copies and hand them out at parties. Maybe they'd bring about dialogue in Oklahoma City, at least.

Washington, I'm not so sure.