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

Tom Sawyer ejaculates! And when word meanings change

(736 words)

I was startled to find not one, but two ejaculations on the pages of “Tom Sawyer.”  

And here I wasn’t even sure the 139-year-old Tom has been through puberty.

I wondered if perhaps I’d stumbled onto one of those pornographic parodies. Some of you more worldly types may have heard of those.

They’re where the smut merchants tweak a famous title and turn something wholesome into something filthy. Examples: “On Golden Blonde,” “Shaving Ryan’s Privates,” and “E.T.: The Extra-Testicle.”

But I soon realized I mistaken.

No one had tampered with the words of Mark Twain.

Time had tampered with their meanings.

In today’s porno-drenched society, I avoid using the word ejaculation. It’s too freighted with XXX connotations.

It wasn’t that way when Twain wrote Tom.

The first instance is in Chapter 15, “Tom’s Stealthy Visit Home,” in which he’s hiding under Aunt Polly’s bed as she loudly laments her belief that Tom’s dead.

“He had to keep still long after she went to bed, for she kept making broken- hearted ejaculations from time to time …”

Ejaculations resume in Chapter 21, “Eloquence — And the Master’s Gilded Dome.” 

“There was a buzz of gratification from time to time during the reading, accompanied by whispered ejaculations of ‘How Sweet!’ ‘How eloquent!’ ‘So true!’ etc…”

I’m unable to discern when ejaculation went from being a word that conveyed words gushing from our mouths to a word that meant something other than words gushing from elsewhere.

But it is indicative of how, well, fluid the language can be.

It’s that way with intercourse, another word that would today make modern Tom Sawyers snicker the way they do whenever the astronomy teacher mentions Uranus.

Intercourse used to be a proper Victorian word that meant two people engaged in polite conversation.

For instance: “Last week my wife had intercourse with the man who played Greg Brady in ‘The Brady Bunch.’”

Given the 19th century definition of the word, it’s perfectly true and within the marital restrictions set forth in our wedding vows.

It’s okay because, heck, I had intercourse with him, too!

It’s how Pennsylvania has a charming village named Intercourse. You can blame Sigmund Freud for the word’s perversion. He in scholarly works began to describe carnal intimacy as “sexual intercourse.”

So today my favorite unofficial state motto is: “Virginia Is For Lovers But Pennsylvania Has Intercourse!”

Hospitality is another example. We love hospitable people, hosts who treats guests with warmth and aplomb.

Care to guess the Latin root word of hospitable?

It’s hospital!

Yes, in 19th century England children slaving away in dreary work houses used to dream they’d get sent to the hospital because treatment there was so superior.

It was hospitality at its finest.

Today, nobody says, “Cabo’s booked. Why don’t we just head over to the hospital for a few days of R&R?”

Another example: Did you know the word computer is about 360 years older than the first computers?

It’s true. The first computers were people who made calculations; they’d compute.

Condescending used to be a word that described noble men and women who’d take the time to explain complicated issues to less educated souls.

Today, condescending to someone is faux pas — and I’d explain the definition of faux pas, but I wouldn’t want to risk coming off as too condescending.

Here are two from a read-worthy and related Collins Dictionary article:

Broadcast was initially an agricultural term that meant spreading seeds with a wide sweeping motion. It wasn’t until the 1920s that the term was applied to spreading the news.

We’ve all heard Teddy Roosevelt ejaculate the word “Bully!” Well, it used to be a term of endearment for do-gooder men and women. It wasn’t until the bullies began showing off their good deeds that bully began to morph into a word that meant intimidating.

I’m curious about where the word terrific will eventually settle. Of course, the root of the word is terror.

In fact, when T.R’s cousin, Franklin Delano died 70 years ago April 12, his last words were, “I have a terrific headache!”

It’s a sure thing FDR didn’t mean it the same way admiring film critics did when they wrote, “Michael Keaton is terrific in ‘Birdman!’”

So that’s it for today’s blog ejaculation. Thanks, babe, for the bully intercourse.

I hope you’ll check in tomorrow.

I promise you and I will have a gay old time!

Related . . .

Happy 50th Birthday to these words (including 2 whopper profanities)!

Greg Brady (sorta) endorses my book

Searching for Mr. Stupid

My new $295 dictionary

Dipsh!t (and me) turn 50 this year!

Word quest: My own personal zeitgust

Movember getting hairy for mustache men

For a moment I felt like the misfit bully in the AT&T commercials who believes his co-workers are deliberately excluding him from the hall taco party outside Bill’s office.

Then I realized a key difference. He thinks people make fun of him.

As for me, I now know they do. I know this because for the past 15 days they’ve been in my face.

And it’s all because of what’s on my face.

Yes, it’s Movember!

That’s November with a “Mo” to go. Mo is Australian slang for mustache.

Five days ago I’d never heard of Movember, an Australian export that didn’t hit the U.S. until 2007. Now it consumes me.

Movember is doing for November and prostate cancer what pink ribbons did for October and breast cancer.

Organizers have since 2004 raised a whopping $174 million by encouraging every man on the planet to grow a mustache for the month. That’s all. People donate money to men who’ll grow mustaches and the many mos generate awareness.

It’s like a charity 5K for couch potatoes.

They call it the “hairy ribbon.”

It is to me it is one of the most ingenious fundraisers ever conceived. It’s a perfectly manly way to reach men about an area they’re often reluctant to discuss. And I’m not talking about their funny bones.

I did this story about it for msnbc.com after learning Qantas had decorated a terminal building and Boeing 737-800 with really cheesy mustaches style savvy people make fun of.

Apparently like mine.

Adam Garone, one of four co-founders of Movember told me he and his mates were sitting around a Melbourne backyard in 2003 discussing how every fashion recycles. All but one.

In my mind I picture them all there, drunk and very Aussie cool.

“We talked about mustaches and how popular they were in the 1970s and ‘80s,” he said. “But they never came back. We decided to devote the month to growing mustaches, mate.”

(He didn’t say “mate,” but I added it for antipodean color.)

Expecting support, they received scorn.

“Oh, my girlfriend hated it,” he said. “My boss said the mustache made me so ugly he wouldn’t let me go out on sales calls. It was sooo ugly.”

I admit I live a cloistered life, but when did the mustache fall out of favor? When did it become a topic for cool people to ridicule?

Could I have somehow missed an important fashion memo?

I’ve been rockin’ the ‘stache since 1985. I like it because it conceals and distracts numerous other flaws ranging across my face. Without the mustache, people’s eyes might go to the moles, the bloodshot eyes, scars and other mug-ravaging deformities.

I hope one day my mustache grows up and becomes Sam Elliott’s mustache.

What would Mark Twain be without his mustache? How about the over-looked acting genius Burt Reynolds? He had a great ‘stache that matched the color of that black Trans Am that caused Sheriff Buford T. Justice so much manly trouble.

Just about everyone in my bar has thick mustaches -- including half the gals.

Are we that hillbilly backward?

Apparently so. A little research revealed we’re a minority that needs protecting.

That’s where the American Mustache Institute comes in (motto: “Protecting the rights of, and fighting discrimination against mustached Americans by promoting the growth, care and culture of the mustache”).

While I’ve been stationary, I somehow became part of a movement.

So while I fully support Movember and its noble goals I kindly ask they rescind ‘stache bashing as part of their promotions.

Would it be acceptable if the joke was on African-Americans? Bi-sexuals? Chrome domes?

All we mustachioed men ask is to be treated like equals, to get a fair shake, and to have the results of our prostate exams come back clean.

And then maybe we’ll enjoy the fruits of what other minorities, mustachioed and otherwise, have earned.

We’ll be Mo-vin’ on up!

My new $295 dictionary

I can generally gauge the foolhardiness of any impulsive purchase by the sound my wife makes when I tell her about it.

It’s the same involuntary gasp she makes when a deer jumps out in front of her car.

When I tell her I just spent $295 for a dictionary I can’t hold, can’t own and will only be able to access for 12 months, it’ll sound like a 14-point buck just appeared three-car lengths from her front bumper.

The color will drain from her face and she’ll swear I’ve made a grave mistake, one in a long line that’ll continue to ensure my poverty.

She already considers me something of a dictionary polygamist. Besides computer spell checkers and myriad on-line freebies, I already own three dog-eared dictionaries. 

So why did I need to spend nearly $300 on a subscription to the on-line version of the Oxford English Dictionary? 

As I’ve mentioned before, my sole professional ambition is now to get one of my 58 (and counting) coined words in a reputable dictionary. 

My theory is that writing one really good word that will last an eternity will be more gratifying than writing a 75,000-word bestseller that will be yanked from the shelves in time for next summer’s beach reads.

And, geez, just do the lazy man’s math: one word versus 75,000 words.

It’s a no brainer.

There are 1,803 books that fit the description “dictionary” in the august Carnegie Library in Pittsburgh.

There are bartender dictionaries for mixologists, medical dictionaries for physicians, plant dictionaries for those with botanical bents. There’s even an “Equine Dictionary.”

Who knew horses had vocabularies so advanced they’d find themselves stumped in pastoral conversation? I imagine it would be great fun to watch frustrated ponies trying to turn pages.

But what is known as the OED is the Mt. Everest of them all. The elegant 20-volume hard cover weighs 137.72 pounds and sells for a whopping $1,165. It’s the granddaddy of all dictionaries containing the definitions to more than 600,000 words (the average person knows and uses just 5,000 words).

In just a few days it’s become the cerebral staple of my web surfing. I love sleuthing the history of unusual words, when they were formed and how their meaning has shifted over the years.

For instance, “pussyfoot” is a word that tips its hat to prohibition. Who knew? It was the nickname of W.E. “Pussyfoot” Johnson (1862-1945). He was a staunch prohibitionist who used underhanded -- maybe underpawed -- and behind-the-scenes methods to further his truculent and, I say, brain-dead opposition to Demon Rum. For reasons of taste, I’ll withhold comment that a man named Johnson was the inspiration for a word featuring what is now an anatomical vulgarity.

There are browse features galore, timelines and, sure, you can randomly jump to any point in the entry field. It’s web surfing for savants. I can search the 2,304 Mark Twain quotes the OED used to illustrate the meaning of words. Give it a freebie test drive at www.oed.com.

I’ve learned the word “puck” definition involving hockey is but the fourth most common historical definition listed behind “an evil, malicious or mischievous spirit or demon of popular belief” and “a cattle disease.”

Yes, the vulcanized rubber disc that is the focus of a popular winter game had four previous incarnations centuries before Don Rickles made it a catchphrase insult. 

And I can predict almost exactly what my friends in the bar will say next time I try and foist that fact on them during a break in the action.

“WTP?”

Already I’ve learned fascinating and previously unknown things about many of my favorite swear words I’ve been using since the fourth grade.

You can search the exact year words first appeared in the OED. I like that the word “boink” first appeared in 1963, the same year as I was born. But you won’t hear me  bragging that my birth year also coincided with the evident need for the word “dipshit” to be saluted with OED recognition.

I feel like I’m wading into a vast lexicographical ocean. It’s exciting. I feel enriched every time I log in with my secret handshake of a password and only hope I can retain a fraction of all I’ll learn with each fascinating search.

So, no, paying $295 to subscribe wasn’t a mistake.

Telling my wife about it, now that’ll be a mistake.