I have a neighbor who isn't, eh, let's say socially proficient.

Once I spoke with him, I discovered his social type. He's the type who sort of latches onto you and doesn't stop talking, until you say, "Gosh it's time to go wash my hair and translate my Italian book."

Ask him a basic computer question and you walk away with knowledge of Spyware and innovations in file-sharing programs.

Ask him how his day was and you find out what he does for a living, how long he's been doing it and how he got into it.

Basically, he's really amiable and doesn't know when to stop. And one time, when he labeled himself a dork, I didn't know how to respond.

Last time my friends came over for typical Saturday night festivities, I knocked on his door to let him know.

Walls in my building are really thin; we hear footsteps in the hallway and laughter when it's quiet. Our philosophy has adapted accordingly. On a good night, if you can hear the laughter and music, you're welcome to join. Why not. He was down.

He stopped by. I had a conversation with him -- an extended conversation -- as usual. Over his stay, I caught him in a few extended exchanges with my other friends. I overheard what they were discussing, and I wasn't missing out on anything.

So I knew that it wasn't just me; this was his style. He's a nice guy... who talks about things that people don't really care to discuss.

He talks a lot, but he's sort of unable to judge when he's doing all the talking.

Take away the social context and he's got very redeeming qualities. Just get to know him and it's visible.

When our Internet connection was but an unopened box, he volunteered some time. And he plays drums, my roommates and I hear it often. So he's not so hot at mingling, but he's got some pretty useful knowledge. And he's in a band.

Most people have found a niche, something at which they're very talented. It's an unabashedly warm and fuzzy thought, but there is something rewarding about finding a person in his most natural environment.

This zone exists in everyone's lives -- even yours. It's pretty cool to discover. It's much better than fixating on the negativity which easily surfaces through first impressions. When you don't know a person intimately, you've much less of an opportunity to discover what he or she possesses in the way of talents, achievements and personal growth.

Don't be afraid to read people, and read between the lines. Search for it. You'll be amazed by what you find. One time I went out for a nice meal with some friends. Our waiter was a little bit ... different. I studied him; I wanted to figure him out.

He had a ponytail and donned shorts, and high socks. I was judgmental. Yeah, I wrote him off.

But I shouldn't have. It was an ethnic restaurant and he had a beautiful grasp of the German language.

He knew the menu very well and described the dishes with great capacity. While we were there, a beekeeper friend of his came by to deliver a fresh honeycomb.

And our waiter really didn't have to do this, but he went around to each table and offered spoons and tastes of fresh honey. Inside that café, he was a king. Every customer was a satisfied customer. And he loved his job. How refreshing is that?

Also, I have a TA who is very humble and quiet. She probably doesn't have much of a wardrobe. The same green sweater appears multiple times in a week.

Her jeans are always generously oversized. But she has an understated elegance. And she possesses an exotic beauty. It's sort of intriguing.

In certain sections of campus, I've seen guys roaming around, disheveled and very unorganized looking.

Glasses are pretty common, as are the wrinkly, half-tucked shirts. But I wonder if any of them are the next John Nash.

Sit one of them down with a pen and paper and see what kind of crazy things they're capable of.

Maybe this comes off as condescending, maybe not.

But I don't intend to count myself out. I've shown up to my share of classes a real mess - late, without much to offer during discussion, armed with a half-completed assignment, toothpaste still on my lip. Oh, the horror.

But you're reading my column, aren't you?