Debatable

 

(John F. Kennedy debates Richard M. Nixon, 1960, Associated Press)

Did you watch last night’s debate?

No, I didn’t catch it, it was on too late.

But didn’t you hear, it went great?

No, I had too much on my plate.

Almost every answer was first rate.

But I’ve lost respect for the fourth estate.

That’s okay, I’ll do you a favor and annotate

There’s still too much time to bloviate

Still want me to automate?

There’s not much to celebrate

Anything else to resonate?

Neither that nor resuscitate 

Any faith in the welfare state?

Am I allowed to vacillate?

Only if you want another Watergate

Wouldn’t want to overstate

You’d be surprised what the public will tolerate

Do you care about either running mate?

I’d rather defibrillate.

Ya know, some watch just to commiserate. 

Sounds better to evacuate 

What if they incriminate? 

Exonerate, consecrate or indoctrinate?

Not much left to disseminate

Lots to capitulate

Or impersonate?

Usually gesticulate and berate

What is there left to evaluate?

Are we supposed to donate?

To whom: the newish candidate?

Or the future inmate?

But by not watching, I don’t need to recuperate.

Maybe next cycle, I’ll recalculate

It’s not exactly hate

But it might’ve been something I ate. 

Voice in the wilderness

 

(James Earl Jones in a 1982 Broadway production of William Shakespeare's Othello, photo by Martha Swipe, New York Public Library)

It’s not always what you say, but how you say it. The phonebook, an artifact of a simpler epoch, is often cited as a fair verbal test for the truly mellifluous. Ticking off a list of Polish plumbers sounds easy enough. But does it sound beautiful? Voicemails harken back to when people were unreachable. Out and about and nowhere to be found. A nice voice can make the caller forget the reason they were calling in the first place.  

 

You can read the menu in silent desperation while the waiter waits patiently for your decision. Or you can belt out each ingredient like an opera star. 

A great voice can cut through birdsong, propellor song and other examples of manmade or natural noise pollution. A great voice is not a voice of a single generation, but a voice for every generation. Leaf blowers, lawnmowers, chainsaws and many things not used by professional landscapers are no match.

 

Each piece of incomprehensible fine print is typically ignored by the average tax preparer. There are those who can utter any old piece of tax code minutia and render the room speechless. And not because of the temerity to claim extra dependents. Coming out the right mouth, nutritional facts can almost sound good for you. 

 

Oh, and a great voice is also nice in the movies or on stage, too

Mirage

 

(Noel & Liam Gallagher, 1990s, Getty)

 

How do you create a successful band? It’s a recipe that many still fail to grasp whether in basements, garages, or gazebos. Even if there’s evidence laying all around us, under dusty amps and cord clumps. It’s true you need good songs, but you don’t need original songs. Let me amend that, you need songs that appear to be original but like tailgating an ambulance, merely drafting off their past success. The audience feels like a tune is eerily familiar it’s usually because it is eerily familiar. 

 

And you don’t need good poetry. That’s the thing about poetry. Put any decent rhyme to catchy music and your job is done. Just two blokes in a band that was once massively successful, who’ve sailed on the coattails of ancient work for decades. You see, being a great artist isn’t always about producing great work. It’s about criticizing other artists, furrowing your brow during interviews and maintaining a hostile view towards pretty much everything. Ornery over irony, since few know the difference. Convincing the public you’re talented requires adopting a persona that feigns interest in all things. Stay mysterious. 

 

Do this and you’ll be fine. When fans squint through their trendy sunglasses, you appear like a good band. A great band. Only the view is amid the desolation of a harsh desert. There’s no water, only sand. No animals, only camels. They’re desperate to attach themselves to something meaningful. Like an oasis they embrace the annoying melodies and maudlin lyrics against their better judgment and without the assistance of drugs.

 

It’s not the nineties anymore. They're older. They know the difference between water and sand. Because this? This isn't a comeback. This isn't a reunion.

This is a mirage. 

The Class of Emails

 

(Weasel)

Hello class, today you will be learning how to craft deliciously nebulous sentences for maximal deniability. Don’t know what nebulous means? That’s a good thing. You shouldn’t. use a dictionary to find cool words, not definitions. The less you know, the more you can say.  But the more you say, the less clear you should be. Pepper your emails with long words that just feel right. Was the meeting “woebegone”? Maybe. Maybe not. The point is that people will be searching and by the time they have deciphered the note, you’re gone for the day, tucking into the cocktail hour with extreme prejudice.  

 

Instead of saying, “we’re doing X” say “we’re considering thinking about the possibility of doing x under the right circumstances that need to be weighed through pros and cons.” 

 

Understand? Not really? Good. You’re learning. The more exclamation points, the better, especially when making a demand of an agitated underling.  

 

Use colors, bold, italics, underlines, strikethrough for added emphasis and unclarity. What you want is for someone to be so confused what you’ve written that they give up and move on. Apathy creates a fine working environment. 

 

Any questions that I won't understand? 

All things being sequel

 

(Michael Keaton in Beetlejuice, dir. Tim Burton, 1988)

Instead of focusing on mediocre movies that place a large emphasis on spandex, let’s take beloved artifacts of pop culture that no one has ever considered following up on and do exactly that. Right when you think there’s nothing more to say is the best time to say something...more.

Dog Day Evening 

 

Front Window

 

Some Pulp Fiction

 

Sound of a Woman

 

Eight Samurai

 

The Big Lebowski

Some Like It Hotter

Mostly about Eve

Closer Encounters of the Third Kind

Triple Indemnity

North by North

Midday Cowboy

From Here to Not Quite Eternity 

The Fourth Man

Lawrence of Suburbia

Apocalypse Then

Mr. Smith Leaves Washington

Goodfellas 2: Greatfellas

 

Multi-factor authentication

 

(Mission Impossible, dir. Brian de Palma, 1996)

 

What’s your name?

 

What’s your mother’s maiden name?

 

What’s your mother’s father’s uncle’s aunt’s maiden name?

 

What’s your dog’s name?

 

What’s your dog name?

 

Where did you go to high school?

 

Why did you go to high school?

 

What did you have for dinner last night?

 

What did you want to have for dinner last night?

 

When did you have dinner last night?

 

What are you doing with your life?

 

Why are you here?

Hello, I’m an automatic reply

 

(Monica Vitti in L'Avventura, dir. Michelangelo Antonioni, 1960)

 

Why deal with a written response when you can automate something to suit the situation? 

 

Hi, I’m on vacation and away from my computer, phone or any other trappings of modern technology. 

 

Hello, I’m currently out of the office, watching the sunset through

a champagne flute from the deck of a Russian

oligarch’s yacht.

 

Hi there, I’m under indictment and have been advised by my legal counsel to avoid unnecessary correspondence. 

 

I can’t respond to your email right now, since I’m playing a game of chess with a nice man with a considerable amount of drool on his shirt at a public park.

 

When I return from my lavish escapades, your note will be at the bottom of the pile (yes, you read that correctly, I print out all my emails and stack them in a large, paper pile)

 

My time is clearly more valuable than your time because you’re reading this while I’m not even writing it.

 

You have the wrong email. Try again.

 

This is the closest you’re going to get to a response from me, so enjoy it.

 

No.