When you are at a dinner event listening to a speaker, and there is cake on the table, you are going to think about rubbing that cake in the speaker’s face. You are going to envision yourself doing it; you are going to map the route from your chair to the podium; you might even put your hand on the plate just to create the feeling of a plan in progress. Think about it – his face all gooey with frosting, wouldn’t even know what hit him! He’d be all like, “I’m saying something real important, look at me, I’m the speaker, I think that –” BAM! CAKE FACE! YOU THINK NOTHING!
This past weekend I was in Washington, DC for a fellowship on the study of the office of the Presidency. I wore a suit the whole time. Fellow fellows used words like “furthermore” and “ergo.” All I could think about was throwing some cake. Oh, you are a respected author and former Special Counselor to President Reagan? Well, what are you going to do when you’re making your big ole speech and all of a sudden you hear “pthhwwwbbbbttttt!” from the audience? That’s right, a two-palms-to-the-mouth-fart-sound! Who’s the Special Counselor to President Reagan now, hotshot?
I know that you are also paralyzed by these incessant thoughts when listening to a speaker. “How will my life change if I smush my apple strudel into this retired Colonel’s crotch?” you ask, at which point the person next to you glares and moves away. The train of thoughts rumbles on. “What about if I just scream STRUDEL NOODLE and clap twice? Things might be real different for me after that.” It’s the same thing as when you hold a baby and can’t stop thinking about how you could smash its head in. I’m not saying you would do that, but of course you’d think it. And illustrate it in your journal. A lot.
The fact that many of the fellows were from West Point, Naval Academy, and the Citadel was instrumental in me not following my burning instincts. These people are trained for these situations and I don’t want a broken neck just for hurling a muffin at the guy from the State Department or flailing and yelling “BOOBIES!” while the woman from the Heritage Foundation talks about OPEC. But then I saw a fellow from the Coast Guard – but not just a regular fellow- a fellowess, a woman! She was pretty and wore a uniform and a hat and said “hi” to me causing me to start urinating wildly. I was tongue-tied and intimidated and aroused and the only coherent thing I said to her was, “So…you like boats?”
She gave me a polite smile but essentially ignored me. I guess “Ms. Maritime Law” is too good for “Old Pastry Tosser” over here. I guess “Ms. Blue Uniform” is too good for “Ol’ I Smell Your Hair When I Sit Behind You;” I guess that’s how it is. As she walked away I whispered, “I love you,” and started to think about my tie. That tie had no functional reason whatsoever to be around my neck and its very presence implied that no rules or logic exist and that everything is fair game. Hang a piece of material around my neck but tie it in an elaborate knot first? Fine, but then no one has a right to take my slide whistle away while the Brookings Institution scholar is speaking. Last time I checked this was a free country! My ancestors fought bravely against the British for me to have the right to play my slide whistle (1).
My point is this: when you are in a big lecture class, sit in the back of the classroom and, midway through the class, cup your hands around your mouth like a megaphone and yell “Booorrrrring!” It seems so obvious! It seems like everyone would already be doing that! It would kill; people would laugh; the Professor wouldn’t know what to do. If you have done this or will do this, e-mail me and my next column will tout you as the hero that you are. THEN I’LL NOOGIE YOU! No one expects the noogie anymore (2).
I wouldn’t really knoogie you, but I’d think about it and curse the social inhibitions that prevent me from doing it. Sometimes you have to give those inhibitions the old “skip-to-my-lou” and do what that increasingly demanding voice inside your brain is telling you to do. For me, that voice is named “Soup Dog.” Soup Dog cares very little about studying the Presidency or adhering to hotel rules about sleeping in elevators. Soup Dog likes instinct, irresistible inclination, and Elyssa Pachico.
Soup Dog knows he is not alone and that you are reading this and thinking “that’s exactly how I feel!” You are not alone. We are all in this together. Hand in hand, cheek in cheek. And ya know what? We are going to win. Because we are as strong as we’ve ever been, and the future is now.
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