Thus said my horoscope the other day. Her Ladyship read it out boldly to me, and we had a good laugh, because, in all honestly, that’s not something I do well. Often over the years, I’d be sitting in a meeting where that little voice in my head would say, “keep quiet”. Sometimes I could, but sometimes, not so much. I come from a long line of “Did I say that out loud?” Irish folks. Discretion and restraint aren’t really our strongest attributes. When Abraham Lincoln said, “It’s better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak up and remove all doubt.”, he may well have had a number of my ancestors in mind.
Many a time, over the years, Herself would say to me after social gatherings, “Didn’t you see my look? I was ready to leave a while ago, and you were still talking.” Most likely, I was. I have so much that is vital to share, and yet it often goes well beyond the capacity of my audience to absorb and appreciate. Many of my readers will no doubt feel the same way. Others, on the other hand, have virtually nothing to contribute, and yet they too will feel compelled to keep talking. I sometimes would like to have a small sign in my hand that says, “Please stop” that I can just hold up. Or the t-shirt that says, “And yet, despite my eyes rolling, you’re still talking.” Non-verbal communication should be important. But, sadly, that’s not part of my DNA.
It’s hard to tell what will set off my “compulsive verbal” response. Sometimes, it’s a television commercial to which I feel compelled to respond. Over and over. At other times, it’s just something I can do to set off Her Ladyship. Years ago, during our driving trips to DC to visit the Princess, as we’d pass through Hartford, Connecticut, and see the signs for the Mark Twain House, I’d casually mention that I’d always wanted to see it. At which point, from the seat beside me, I’d hear, “Every damned time . . . . . .” While I’d expect it, there was always a feeling of satisfaction when it sprang from her lips. On another occasion, on a return trip, as we passed by a Starbucks in New Jersey, the Princess commented that she’d always wanted to stop there, at which point, her friend Meghan, who was with us and beside her in the back seat, muttered “Every damned time . . . .” The two of them then lapsed into squeals of laughter. They may have been mocking us.
Now that I’m writing fairly regularly for the local newspaper, my pieces will from time to time elicit responses from readers. If they correspond directly with me, via email, and it’s a positive one, I’ll acknowledge them with a “thank you” and perhaps an additional comment. If it’s not, I’ll again thank them and send my standard, “we’ll just agree to disagree”. Particularly if it’s something political. It often takes every ounce of restraint that I have not to write back, “Just unplug your computer now, and make sure your thoughts die with you.” Or, which really cannot be either said out loud or printed, “Cross your name off the checklist – you’ve been deemed way too stupid to vote.”
The first of the presidential debates is coming up this week, and while both candidates would probably benefit from just standing on stage and smiling, we all know they’ll speak. In fact, Mr. Trump, who constantly talks when he should be listening, and is a true master of the rude interruption, should be in rare form. He’s never met a spotlight and a microphone he didn’t love. They’re surpassed only by his phone, on which he’ll tweet. He couldn’t stop talking if someone held a gun to his head and barked, “be quiet”. What comes out is typically verbal diarrhea – off the top of his head, untrue, and exceedingly smelly. President Biden’s content is significantly better, but his delivery isn’t. He is, using his own words, a “gaffe machine”, and he has an unfortunate tendency to squint when he makes a point. We can only long for a smooth and polished performances of a John F. Kennedy or a Ronald Reagan. Even the late Senator Bob Dole injected a bit of humor into his delivery that set a pleasant tone. He told the story of the campaign stop, where, as he began, a man in the back raised his hand and shouted, “I can’t hear you.” To which a lady in the front row spoke up in response, “I can hear you perfectly – we should switch places.”
Someone once told me that, in the seminary, young candidates for the priesthood were given instructions about delivering homilies. “If you can’t get your message across in ten minutes, there’s a good chance you’ve lost or will be losing your audience.” I’ve often thought, sitting in the pew, that was good advice. As a music teacher, it’s the same. Early on, Her Ladyship, my mentor, told me in a concert setting that I talked too much. “Nobody comes to hear you”, she said, I thought quite brutally. But, and I hate to admit this too often, she’s right. Parents haven’t come to hear us speak, they’re there to hear their children sing or play. Sing, Play, Go Home. I had a conversation with a band director in my department, who felt a compulsion to announce every musical selection about to be played, even though there was a printed program. I asked him why he did this. His response was, “I just think it’s important.” Without seeming repetitive, I asked again, “why?” That brought the conversation to an awkward, extended pause. Some directors felt a compelling need to explain each piece of music. A few selections might need a footnote, but most don’t. Again, to quote Her Ladyship, “Just shut up and play.” In public, the phrase, “less is more” was never truer.
The world can do with fewer expressed thoughts. The great 19th century orator, Edward Everett, was invited to speak, along with Abraham Lincoln, at the dedication of the battlefield at Gettysburg. He is reputed to have spoken for well over two hours, after which, Lincoln delivered his famous Gettysburg Address. It was reported later that Everett, rather hoarse after his speech, commented to Lincoln after the ceremony that Lincoln had captured in about 15 minutes what he, Everett, couldn’t in two hours. Less is more. Would it not be refreshing to have a couple on “House Hunters” simply state that house isn’t to their liking. Don’t give us a rundown on what was right or wrong. Don’t explain why it’s not to your taste, that the closets won’t handle your excessive shoe collection, or tell us for the eighteenth time that you don’t like carpeting. We got it the first time. And please don’t explain in excruciating detail at the end why the house you chose fulfills all of your dreams, expectations, and life goals, or how your children and pets will spread out into the various spaces. WE DON’T CARE! Just smile at the camera and say, “goodbye”. And sportscasters, you too need to permit yourselves and the viewing audience a moment of quiet celebration for a home run or a spectacular play. Don’t ask the manager what he’s thinking after every inning. And, for God’s sake, whoever thought it was a good idea to mic players during a game ought to be publicly flogged. Remember people, talk is cheap and less is more.
I'm Thinking...No! 