Intended Consequences

We need to have a word. About words.

I’ve always been obsessed with language and its power to persuade when properly, cleverly assembled — song lyrics, poetry, long-form drivel, headlines, subheads, body copy, the rhetorical flourishes of an up-and-coming politician, strongly worded letters to the editor, even pharmaceutical gobbledycrap. Been there, wrote that. And tried to write right.

Still at it. Because now our language is under siege. For decades, it’s been used, abused, and repurposed to manipulate — and we’re too distracted and complacent to see it. We are compelled to use words that are just not words. We are made to accept demonstrably incorrect and coercive definitions. Capitulation and compliance are not only expected but legislated. And if we question any of it, we’re chastised, even banished from polite society.  Well, a guy can only hold his tongue so long. You can only kick a dog so many times before he bites. Choose your own metaphor while you still can. Sorry, I’m pissed.

So, I decided to finally write the damn book. Well, now it's a damn blog.

Turns out, actually, that after going through far too many U-HAUL boxes from far too many moves, I’ve been writing this thing for around 30 years. I just didn’t know it. Mostly, I read or hear something interesting, get in a mood, write down what I’m feeling, and move on. No one gets hurt. And I feel better. See, I’m sort of an early-onset curmudgeon. I’m a decent guy with strong opinions that, as I re-read them, have remained consistent over the years and that generally qualify as, well, logical. That means they’ll often stray from the pack; from the accepted, scripted narrative of the day. That can be a problem. Or, if you want to sound smart nowadays, you’d say problematic. See? Dumb words like that. I have a problem with it.

A lot of what I’m pointing to is benign and just funny to hear. A lot like problematic. You know, corporate speak; people thoughtlessly parroting language their bosses use without regard for meaning or how idiotic they sound while trying to sound smart. Ironic.

But while we’re entertained by middle management nincompoopery, bad grammar, and malaprops, we miss the all-out assault and purposefully dangerous effort to craft new words into new narratives.

So here we go. This is the at-long-last result of decades-long griping on napkins, on folders, on notepads, and more recently with my Messages app talking into my phone like a psychopath while walking the dog at midnight. It’s important because I think all my positions whether they’re personal, social, or political, they’re rational; free of emotion. They are all rooted in originalist meaning of the words in the battle-worn 1966 Webster’s Dictionary here on my desk. I resent and reject non-words and revisionist meanings, and I refuse to get dragged into a pissing match based on evolving sensibilities. I’m simple. Give me a word, I’ll give you a definition. Give me an issue, I’ll give you a position. I may not give you what you want but I will be honest. And I’ll use my words. It’s all I have. I can’t sing. I can’t act. I can’t paint portraits, sketch landscapes, or chisel muscle out of marble. Still, I’m no more or no less qualified to share the thoughts I've thunk than is any singer, actor, actress, painter, or sculptor who uses their talent to share theirs. My canvas (if I may be so pretentious) is the blank sheet of paper. More specifically, the blank Microsoft Word document. You can do with that — and with me — what you like.

As I began cranking on the organization of these literally thousands of handwritten and digital words, bloody and idiotic Facebag flashbacks, as well as voice memos from over the past couple of decades, I’m realizing that a) I’m nuts, and 2) by sharing this here self-indulgent screed, I risk alienating plenty of people I love. That’s not my intention. That’s certainly not the desired result. I’m focusing on the words and the professionals among us — media, marketing, news, and advertising — who deliberately and maliciously misuse them to frame and defame. Everyone who knows me knows how grumpy I can be. It’s sort of in a good-natured way so they still have me around. That and, I can cook.

True friends are family and vice-versa. Folks who always answer when you call and help when you need — goes both ways. This ain’t about them. It ain’t even about me. And no true relationship will crack under the pressure of a challenged belief. So, let's relax. Let's talk.

As Bob Hope’s character, theater critic Parker Ballentine opined in the widely panned 1963 “comedy” Critic’s Choice when cornered about whether to review (pan) a play by his wife Angie (played by Lucille Ball), “If I lie about Angie’s play or if I try to get off the hook…I’ll lose my self-respect. Maybe my self-respect sounds tiny…but if I start disliking myself, I’m gonna start disliking the whole world, Angie included. Never sell off a piece of yourself just to avoid hurting someone. People that matter will understand and forgive. The others, well they don’t matter.”

The comedy legend’s character takes a more cynical position than I do but the sprit is the same. And that last line is a tad harsh. People that don’t understand don’t cease to matter to me. If I’m engaged, you matter. Maybe I just need to try a little harder to make myself clear. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they’re as hard-headed as I am. But I guarantee throughout my life and work, I have been on the receiving end of plenty of venom and hate from folks who clearly did not care whether I understood or forgave. And to them, I clearly did not matter. Good riddance. My life has been better without you in it. But the family and friends with whom I’ve beefed, we've come out the other side stronger, even when I’m sure some private thoughts remain intact. That’s fine.

We’re grown-ups. And I have work to do.

I just want to share my observations and understanding and to speak my simple mind — before losing it. For realz. Personally and professionally, just going along to get along fucks with a guy’s mental health, with his career, and his relationships. I’m writing because it’s what I do.

With Following the Heard I’m on a mission to defend the English language against its vandals. And to shine light on the intended consequences that follow the abuse. It’s nothing new. It’s just time. If anything I say ticks anyone off, OK. Apologies. Tell me where I’m wrong. I’ll listen. That’s something that’s entirely absent in today’s tribalized discourse — humility. That's a quality conspicuously absent in folks for whom base, raw criticism serves as critical thinking. As noted philosopher Dennis Miller has said, “Contrarianism is creativity for the untalented.” He’s not wrong. You know the type. Say something — anything — and they’ll come back from the opposite direction, knives out. They short-circuit debate by attacking your character. Arguing gives them a rush. They feel smart. They don’t necessarily believe or comprehend the position they take but it feels righteous. The words they spit are the ones they heard and thought, “Oooh. That’s good. I’m going to use that.” Though today they’d probably say I’munna. Just to tweak me.

I’m not sure why I’m being all preemptively apologetic. I’m just really really tired of grabbing my ankles. And a smidge concerned about blowback.

Here’s a radical notion — when we’re upset, we should want to be wrong. And we should want to be told so, if so. Logically, we’d feel better. Granted, it’s not as fulfilling as planting some dumbass in the dirt for his idiotic and easily disprovable statements and stances, but maybe it’s healthy to look for it. You know, learning. I can give it a try.

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At its heart, language is communication. Duh. It’s also the catalyst for conflict. So, it’s important to get it right. I insist on using words as intended. I insist on correct grammar and syntax as was drilled into me by my parochial schoolteachers. Text speak and emojis will be my death. Well, yours. Use your damn words, OK? I was a grammar cop before it was cool so, yeah, I’ve been alienating normal people for decades. U know who u r.

Sorry.

It’s ironic, I suppose, at this point, that a guy who’s made a nice living working with words would form such a bitter relationship with them. I’ve always love-hated my New York City advertising career. In the belly of that wildebeest, I’ve met some of the best people I’ve ever known. I’ve also answered to some of the least-qualified “creative types” with some of the most impressive industry titles. Because of my career, I’ve had the opportunity to travel a great deal and also the great misfortune of working with some of the most insufferable celebrity twats. Advertising, as I have always said, is the business of persuasion. Colloquially speaking, it’s getting people to buy crap they don’t need with money they don’t have — and doing it with words and images crafted to influence and arouse, to shape and sell, to distract and deceive. But none of that matters here. My professional career is just a small part of my overall experience arranging words into creative patterns.

So, yeah, I feel qualified to critique the silliest, the dumbest, and the most malicious mouthpieces among us. And to laugh at the lemmings.

Onward.