The Grandmaster Conversationalist Extraordinaire

Good afternoon, mine excellent good friends! As you may recall, I sometimes speak of the weather, the archetypal embodiment of what some call "small-talk" or "petty conversation" or "inane, meaningless banter." Please note that that last one is only true if "I" am "some." Such a classification of weather-talk, though, I think is entirely inaccurate. As a grandmaster conversationalist extraordinaire, I ought to know about these things, and I can think of no instance when the weather has been the subject of my "inane, meaningless banter." Bear in mind, however, that grandmaster conversationalists extraordinaire do not have "inane, meaningless banter," for they make all conversations deep and meaningful. That being said, all my weather-talk has not even threatened to be such, simply because weather-talk is full of depth and importance. Just consider this conversation I am having with myself:

"When is it going to snow?" I ask.
"It is summertime," I respond.
"No, it is not," I claim.
"Oh, yes," I agree.

Now I realize that I forgot to remember to collect any summer rain. Now what shall I do?

"Now that we agree that it is wintertime, when shall it snow?" I ask again.
"It is autumntime still," I correct myself.
"Not on my calendar," I indignantly state.
"What calendar might that be?" I inquire.

I wonder whether my fellows ever look at their watches to figure out what year it is, only to realize that that information is not on the watch. Always this is a disappointment. I also wonder whether a pocket watch would be a worthy investment...
...I do not think it would be.

"It would be the completely arbitrary seasonal calendar that lives within me," I continue.
"That is absurd," I defiantly tell myself.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead, mind you.

"That is the beauty of it," I say.
"You speak the truth," I concur.
"And do you know what else is true?" I ask.
"What is that?" I wonder.
"It has been snowy for a while now," I smugly affirm.

Perhaps I shall soon be able to build a fort and hide in it. Better yet, I can build an igloo and hide even better in it. May Jack-in-the-Green stay away for a while.

"Then why did you ask me when it would snow?" I try to understand.
"That is what I always ask," I reply innocently.

This is true, except usually there is little snow involved, just the longing for it. That does at all not stop the conversation from becoming at least as profound as this one, for remember, I am a grandmaster conversationalist extraordinaire. Consider this, also:

"When is it going to snow?" I ask.
"I do not know," I respond.

Then I weep bitterly and rend my garment in mourning. This is a frequent occurrence in my imagination. I often wonder, if I tried, could I rend my garment? What if I wear more than one garment? Do I rend them all at once or separately? At what point does one laugh instead of grieve at the inherent absurdity of trying with great effort to rend all of one's garments to express said grief? These are important questions, very useful for the grandmaster conversationalist extraordinaire when engaging in the Art of conversation. I once read in a book that it is important for any grandmaster conversationalist extraordinaire to ask all other conversationalists questions, particularly those that create the illusion that the grandmaster conversationalist extraordinaire is really very much interested in the other conversationalist. It goes like this:

"Hullo! Because I am very much interested in you, I am asking you, what is up, O friend?" the grandmaster conversationalist extraordinaire begins.
The other conversationalist responds, "Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, 'There is a man child conceived.' Let that day be darkness; let not God regard it from above, neither let the light shine upon it. Let darkness and the shadow of death stain it; let a cloud dwell upon it; let the blackness of the day terrify it. As for the night, let darkness seize upon it; let it not be joined unto the days of the year, let it not come into the number of the months. Lo, let that night be solitary, let no joyful voice come therein."
"Great! And how about that crazy weather lately?" the grandmaster conversationalist extraordinaire continues.

With skills like these, how can one avoid success?