Saturday, January 14, 2006

Extreme Listening

Monday I had my first speech pathology session in a month. To practice listening skills, speech path and I flipped on NPR and listened to the Alito confirmation hearings.

Now, I don’t know what was more astonishing – that I could understand easily 90 percent of what was said, or the sheer crapolitry of what was said. Actually I know -- Good Lord, were these people to ever remove their heads from their butts, the fresh air would kill them. The big bad wolf never spoke such bull to red riding hood. At one point, Senator Hatch spewed so much hot air that he just lifted up and floated off through the clouds.

“There he goes,” said the NPR commentator. “Out over the mall. Drifting south by southwest. The second since lunch.”

I took notes:

Sen FEINSTEIN: Me. Bush. Me. Me. Bush. Me. Me. Oh azure skies, rhetorical flourish! Me. Me. America.
Sen COBURN: Baby killer.
ALITO: My wife. Tears. Dark rain. My mind: open like sesame. No, whoops, it’s closed. Everywhere, the men are white.
Sen BIDEN: Anyone hungry? Anyone got popcorn, no-fat butter? I got Mike & Ikes to trade.
Sen SPECTOR: I’m in charge here. Don’t forget it. Sen Kennedy?
Sen KENNEDY: Yes, senator.
Sen SPECTOR: I’m in charge.
Sen KENNEDY: But can you look upon me and not think of all that could have been? Camelot! The heart stopping moment before the miracle ended!
Sen BROWNBACK: Word. Your neck is big.
Sen COBURN: Baby Killer. America hater.
Sen BIDEN: Raisenets, anyone?
Sen FEINSTEIN: Me. Still here. Me. Me.

After half-an-hour of this, I reached over and shut the radio off.

“Why’d you turn it off?” the speech path asked. “We still have twenty minutes left in our session.”
“Can we read some of that Shakespeare instead?”

And so we read some of that Shakespeare. And from 400 years in the past, he peeled off all the layers so that the insubstantial pageant revealed its true face-less face. But you people—

--have some splaining to do.


Blogger Bankable Poetry said...

I always thought it was the fact I spoke French that made it impossible to understand a lick of what our head-up-the-butt pox-lick-ticians say. Or maybe because Bankable Poetry studs can only get off on Shakespeare read backwards... Josh?
Man, I feel for you. You shouldn't have to hear these imbeciles. You should be left alone, spared the tragedy.

1:53 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home