Over coffee this morning, my friend James told me about a business associate. At their first meeting, the man had impressed him with a solid, no-nonsense handshake. Manly, direct, and friendly. But business matters got complicated. The man’s next handshake was soft and dismissive. Nor did he meet James’ gaze. James shook his head at the memory of the asshole and said, “When handshakes go wrong.”

My immediate reaction was what a great title. “Do you mind if I use it?” Sure, he said. “My gift to you.”

I spent the rest of the day watching people greet each other. At Fillmore and Post a couple young black guys came out of the Goodwill. In parting, the initiator swung his arm up and out from his side, then brought it forward, elbow locked, and gave his pal a hearty up and down shake. I mentioned their race because in years past I would have expected the stereotyped black-dude shake. Loose-limbed and complex, palms slipping across each other, leading to a cupped fingers hookup, like a train coupling, and ending with a fist bump. But this handshake was plain and gregarious. Stylized, probably, only to this guy, not his race. It was an impressive handshake, but I couldn’t imagine myself pulling it off.

Leaving the Sundance lobby, two middle-aged men shook hands and hugged. One man hugged, the other limply complied, his upper body arching backwards just slightly. The initiator didn’t appear to be put off. I imagine he hugs everybody, like it or not.

My father had a friend, Leo. A fine man, but he coughed a lot — into his hand. It seemed every time I ran into him, he peppered his palm with germs and reached out to shake. I usually complied, reluctantly. On one occasion, his hand was wet — even mucousy. When I wiped my hands on my pants, trying not to be obvious about it, he took note and apologized. But it continued to happen. I have a woman friend who carries anti-bacterial wipes for discreet, post handshake use. She is very germ conscious. But she’s a nurse, so maybe she knows something.

At what point in a friendship to you stop shaking hands when you run into each other? There are many people I like who reach out — put it there! – long after the expiration date. Once or twice I’ve said “We’re friends, no longer acquaintances. Can we drop the formalities?” Embarrassed moments follow, but it’s worth it.

My friend, Claire, a French-Canadian, routinely kisses me on both cheeks, both at greeting and parting. We sat next to each other on the bus the other day and just before she got off, she leaned over to kiss. I thought there was something clunky about it because she leaned across me and first kissed the cheek on the opposite side from where she was sitting. I turned my head to accommodate, but wondered why she didn’t go for the nearby cheek. I didn’t think more about until today at coffee with James and Lash. Lash insisted it’s left first, then right. But none of us could figure out from whose point of view — the receiver or the kisser. Today, I went to see the movie, “I am Love,” (great great great). There are many formal European scenes and it appears that the kisser always first kisses the left cheek.

There’s a video essay in this. The technology is wonderful — small cameras with unbelievably high resolution. Truth is, I don’t have the discipline to learn how to handle a video camera. But I do have arthritis, and that’s my official excuse.

It’s also my excuse for not shaking hands with bone crushers.