The Rest Is Silence

U. S. Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas has been silent for nearly five years straight during oral arguments-- and a lot of people are talking about that.

(You like that?)

Whatever you may think about Clarence Thomas as an adjudicator supreme with pickles, special sauce, and a sesame seed bun-- whatever you may think about his alleged propensity for doing socially unacceptable things to other peoples' Coke cans, you've got to admire somebody who has the balls to be quiet for that long.

Well, at least... I admire him. For that.

Call me young, dumb, and full of pubes, but I like to think that, when people are quiet or, dare I say, silent: they're listening. Sure, sometimes people are daydreaming about boobies or their cats or their feet or scallops and scampi at Red Lobster-- I can appreciate that, but I would hope that a Supreme Court justice who has been quiet for that long is taking it all in, in an introspective way, surveying the scene, ticking away the points of attorneys and fellow justices in his head... taking it all in, the way one might at a museum.

Do you know what I think about people who talk too much at museums? I think they should be arrested on the spot and forced to wash dishes in the kitchen adjacent to the overpriced cafe that peddles cafe au lait and panini. And those charged with supervising their involunatry detention and servitude should say to them, "You want to run your mouth inside a museum? This is the place to do it. And I hope you know Spanish, because Paco over there's got a great story to tell you about his older sister, a pair of nylons, a roll of duct tape, a chinchilla, and a microwave."

You might be surprised that someone who blogs so, um, incessantly(?) is a proponent of silence in certain situations, but I definitely am. Oftentimes, it is most called-for. Believe it or not, but I am frequently silent. Either that, or I say far, far too much. There is no in-between with me. I'd say "I'm working on it," but I'm not.

I've been going to a series of trainings at work and, while others at the intimidating-looking ovoid table in the intimidatingly-named board room participate energetically, I am more often than not silent. Even though I started in early September, I still can't help sometimes feeling like the new guy. And what new guy wants to open up his trap and be judged? And who wants to hear the new guy make an ass out of himself?

I know, that's all coming from within. I get it. I do. Still, sometimes it's just so hard to speak. I'd rather listen, and judge everybody else.

After all: that's what I'm really good at-- isn't it?

As far as Clarence Thomas goes, I don't know especially what he's good at. Never met the guy, you know? I don't know. All I do know is he's not being paid that exorbitant sum of money and wasn't granted that forever-if-you-please title for talking. We're not paying him to talk. We paying him, really, to think. To pontificate. To evaluate. To adjudicate. To deliberate. To interpret. Yeah-- to think. And, the last time I checked, it's hard to do that while running your mouth like you've got something to prove to someone, or to yourself.

Maybe I just like the strong, silent type.

Shhhh....