Partly Cloudy, 64°
Death. As humans, we cannot avoid it, nor ignore it. About it, Woody Allen quipped: “I’m not afraid to die, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”
I’m Ira Glass. Today, in this op-ed: Truth, in three acts. I write an article about one true and devastating fact: If I stop enunciating, I’ll die. For one instant, if I stumble over a word, betray the hint of a lisp, or neglect to map out our program both fluently and coherently, my heart will explode because of a terrifying, Kafkaesque cardiological condition that my doctors discovered just as I started preparing for this segment.
God help me, I’m Ira Glass.
Franz Kafka himself, the namesake of my present nightmare, once wrote, “One of the first signs of the beginning of understanding is the wish to die.” I have not begun to understand; therefore, I want to live!
How does the fatal mechanism work?
Act one, articulation. You’ve probably never heard of cardiophonular disease, but for some people, including me, it’s a daily reality. This is my story.
It’s my op-ed. I’m Ira Glass.
Act two, pronunciation. According to my doctors, I require meticulous oratory excellence to keep my heart from bursting into mush. Each ‘P’ must pop like popcorn. If any verbal kernels remain intact, my heart explodes. ‘K’ sounds must crackle quietly, yet crisply, into the microphone, or else NPR will fire me. And, of course, my heart will explode, transforming my chest cavity into a grizzly crime scene.
I’m alive. Oh, it’s so good to be alive. I’m Ira Glass.
We’ve arrived at Act Three, Speed. In Jan de Bont’s action thriller, Keanu Reeves portrays a man who must keep a bus moving at more than 50 miles per hour, lest it explode.
Woody Allen once quipped, “Watching Speed is like eating oysters: I’m supposed to be aroused, but instead I just get a stomach ache.” Synonymously, I must never rush, nor drag, my speech. If I do, then from WBEZ Chicago and Public Radio International, my heart would explode with a faint “click.”
Well, my op-ed was produced today by Nancy Updike and myself with Alix Spiegel and Julie Snyder, senior editor Paul Tough, contributing editors Jack Hitt, Margy Rochlin, and consigliere Sarah Vowell. My pencil was sharpened by Jakob Elowinzowski—I’m sorry, Elawinsow—Elew—wait, no, no, ARRGUGHHHH…
