I have misophonia (common sounds annoy me)

(641 words)

I self-diagnosed acute misophonia when I realized the sound of the dog licking his ghost balls was driving me insane.

We had his raisin-sized testicles removed years ago, yet he still licks the vacancy with lusty gusto.

He does it every night in our bed for 15 minutes just as I’m trying to fall sleep. The sound makes me, well, nuts.

I was thinking of this when the Oxford English Dictionary word-of-the-day sailed into my inbox.

Misophonia: An extreme negative reaction to common sounds other people ignore.

The condition wasn’t diagnosed until the year 2000.

It can involve the sound of someone chewing, clicking their teeth or drumming their fingers.

Bernie Tiede has it. 

He was the subject of a 2011 film starring the reliably entertaining Jack Black as Bernie, a beloved Texas funeral director who became soulmates with wealthy widow sourpuss Marge Nugent (Shirley MacLaine, above).

Nugent eventually took control of Tiede’s life to suppressive lengths. She began to dominate every aspect of his once-joyful existence.

Sure, that was stifling, but the movie deftly belabored a point that what got the better of Tiede was Nugent’s habit of chewing every single bite of food 25 times. Even things like jello.

Close-ups showed of her chewing seemed to amplify the sound.

What did Bernie do?

He — spoiler alert! — murdered her and stuffed her bullet-riddled body in a freezer.

I imagine it’s the sound of steel doors at the Telford state prison clanging shut that grates on him now. He’s there serving a life sentence.

Now, I don’t want to murder Snickers, but he’s the reason I realize I have misophonia.

Mine seems to be an rare case because my misophonia seems to afflict me just some of the time.

See, I hate his shrill bark, his nervous yips and the gross licking, but I love the sound of my daughters laughing when they’re playing with him.

I love the sound of train whistles rolling through the valleys on still mornings, but hate the sound of the souped up muscle car that’s right now idling outside my office window at the intersection. Both convey travel, but one does so with romance, the other riot.

I love the sound of Penguin announcer Mike Lange’s voice as he exalts, “He shoots! He scores!” Same goes for announcer Greg Brown’s when he alerts Pirate fans it’s time to raise the Jolly Roger.

But my misophonia becomes acute anytime I hear any announcer say, “And Tom Brady has just led the New England Patriots to another Super Bowl victory!”

I love “The Sound of Music,” a family favorite, and I love the sound of music as long as I’m in charge of what’s playing.

I hate the sound of anyone offering an opinion that differs from mine. I especially hate it when logic gives me a sneaking suspicion they’re right and I’m wrong.

I love the sound of leaves blowing along the ground, but hate the sound of leaf blowers.

Some of my favorite sounds aren’t even sounds at all. A million snowflakes striking the ground outside my window on a Sunday morning cannot be heard, but it conveys an awesomeness I relish, one that promises a day of warm family togetherness.

I love the sound of people speaking in respectful hushes in libraries, but I also love being startled by occasional bursts of laughter there.

I guess I just love being in libraries.

I enjoy hearing Simon and Garfunkle sing “The Sound of Silence” while realizing it is 3:05 of blatant titular fraud.

I guess I prefer the sound of silence.

I’d explain all this to the stupid dog, but I realize I’d just be hearing myself talk.

When it comes to putting up with annoying sounds, he’s been neutered, but I’m the one who’s licked.

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I speak & understanding the power of the pause

(698 words)

I’ve gone in just one year from speaking to 10 members of the Butler Rotary Club to successfully keynoting state associations with more than 250 enthusiasts.

The trajectory has me egotistically concluding I’ll by 2018 be invited to address the United Nation’s general assembly of the global benefits of using all the crayons.

And there can be no denying it will be wildly beneficial.

For me, at least.

I’m speaking today before the Westmoreland County Chamber of Commerce at Carbone’s Restaurant. Next week it’s the Middle Pennsylvania Meeting Professionals International at Kalahari Resorts in the Poconos.

And my recent decision to join a national speakers organization already is bearing fruit. I’m under short-list consideration for high-profile — for me — 2016 keynotes in Wisconsin, Nebraska and North Carolina, all results from just one leisurely day of applications.

All this makes me confident that 2016 will be my year.

Of course, I’ve been saying that every year since 1992, so don’t hold your breath.

But this year could be different because recent events have bestowed me with something I’ve never had before.

I now have a profound understanding of the sublime power of the sound of silence.

This is not to be confused with the ’64 Simon & Garfunkel song, “The Sound of Silence,” which, while a catchy tune, has always to me been 3 minutes and 4 seconds of titular deception.

No, I’m talking about pure silence. The utter absence of noise. Audio nothingness.

What folk rocker Todd Snider calls “music’s original alternative.”

Its power became apparent to me after my recent hour-long talk to the Pennsylvania Restaurant & Lodging Association. It was very well-received and afterwards an attendee came up and charmed me with a compliment that stuck.

“You were great,” he said. “I loved what you had to say, but my favorite parts were when you said nothing at all.”

I’m used to hearing similar sentiments from my daughters, but that’s not what he meant.

He was talking about the interminable tension-filled seconds where I refuse to continue until I’m absolutely sure everyone in the room gets the joke.

It can be terrifying. You think you’re bombing. But when the laughter begins to bubble up, it’s very satisfying. I was unaware I’d been doing that until the man pointed it out.

Now, it’s my intention to begin exploiting it.

You see, keynoting is not at all like writing magazine stories. For that pay is by the word. A typical magazine assignment pays, let’s say, $1.50 a word for 1,500 words. It’s all laid out in the assignment contract.

If I write just 1,000 words, I don’t get paid. It’s as simple as that.

It’s not like that at all with these speaking engagements.

The contracts for those specify I’ll be paid a princely sum for one hour on stage.

But they don’t say what I have to do on stage.

It’s for me a dream loop hole.

The more deliberate and extended pauses I build into my paid presentations, the less work I have to do!

I’ve always admired Mark Twain for doing something similar. One of his bios said Twain would take the stage in front of a huge audience . . . and just stand there.

The reactions were initially excruciating.

He’d just stand there and awkwardly look around. He’d look at his shoes. He’d look at the audience. He’d look back at his shoes. The audience would lean forward when it looked like he was on the verge of verbalization.

Then he’d again look at his shoes.

Finally some nervous laughter would begin to ripple. Then more. It grew. And grew. Eventually, the auditorium would shake with laughter as everyone began to realize they were all in on the joke.

Ah, the peerless Mark Twain. It’s sometimes more fun to read about him, than to read him.

But with him as a polestar and with the encouragement of recent reactions, my path is clear.

I’m going to try and succeed as the world’s first speechless speaker.

I’m now on a bucket-list mission to get paid to say nothing for an entire hour.

It’ll be the sound of silence equivalent to coloring with invisible crayons.

Related . . .

My compliments: My day with the PR&LA

Greatest American speeches and why mine’s better

On the road again: My Western PA Rotarian Tour rocks!

How I became a PROSEtitute

I speak: some laugh, some cry, some snooze