But Enough About You: Essays Read Online Free PDF

you’ve got your “intoxications” to consider—microbial versus, say, biotoxic or chemical.
    But there I go again, Debbie Downer. Is it worth it? Let me tellyou: There’s something about going to the bathroom and seeing those ryukins wiggling away, going, “Feed meee! No, feed meeee !” that brings a lump to my throat. But that could be the infection.
    — ForbesLife , November 2012

COMMENCEMENT BUTTERFLIES
    I have to give a speech at a commencement exercise next Sunday and I’m a bit nervous. Actually, quite nervous.
    There will be about eight thousand people present. I once spoke to an audience of nine thousand people—in of all places, Bakersfield, California. It was inside a structure that resembled a zeppelin hangar, so it was at least a contained space in which such laughter as I might generate—during the coveted “humor” time slot of 8:45 a.m.—would ricochet about and linger and maybe encourage others to join in. In real estate it’s location, location, location. In public speaking it’s acoustics, acoustics, acoustics.
    Next Sunday’s event will be outdoors, and so my words will be going straight up into the trees, clouds, and roar of passing airplanes. And quite possibly, rain.
    If you’re a famous person like the president, or a movie star, it doesn’t really matter. The audience will pay attention to you ex officio. And even if they aren’t really listening, they’ll pretend to be listening, because of who you are. I will not have this luxury. Many in the audience will, doubtless, be thinking, or whispering to each other, “Who is this guy?” And the audience will include parents, grandparents, and fidgety three-year-olds who need to go to the bathroom right now .
    I’m also haunted by the fact that I spoke on this same ground at my own graduation day (a long time ago, during the reign of Emperor Augustus). Being young and oh-so-clever, I thought it would be witty to close my oration with a quote containing the f- word. I still wake up at three a.m. in a clammy sweat, remembering that golden moment. At the level of taste, it was on a par with Janet Jackson’s Super Bowl wardrobe malfunction. No, lower. How proud my parents were. I wonder, did they nudge the parents sitting next to them and say, “That’s our son!” My father’s graduation present to me was a typewriter—remember those?—with the f, u, and two other relevant keys painted over with my mother’s nail polish.
    I’ve given one or two commencement speeches before, but not at universities. The first time was to my boarding school alma mater, a fine institution run by Benedictine monks. I was somewhat surprised to be invited, since I had recently written about my agnosticism in a newspaper of wide circulation.
    “Are you sure ?” I said warily to the lay headmaster.
    “Absolutely,” he insisted. “We definitely want you.”
    My extremely Catholic father, upon learning of the invitation, e-mailed me furiously to say that he was “appalled” that I had accepted such an “inappropriate” invitation. He added: “If I were a parent of one of the students graduating, I would walk out of the ceremony and urge the other parents to join me in boycotting you.”
    We’ll put you down as undecided, leaning against.
    I replied somewhat frostily that I had not sought this invitation, and indeed had tried to decline it. He dismissed that as irrelevant. We didn’t speak for months.
    Arriving at the headmaster’s office on the big day, I was greeted by a low, ironic chuckle: “I must say, your selection as speaker has proven to be most controversial.”
    “Thanks,” I said. “You certainly know how to make a speaker feel relaxed and full of confidence.”
    Had it all been a plot, to embarrass a lapsed alumnus? Catholics do know how to plot, as you know from history.
    On the way to the stage, I was accosted by Father Damian, my old housemaster and English teacher. I retain abundant fondness for Father Damian, but he still