Without further ado

Why is it that the person who needs no introduction often takes the longest to introduce? Seriously, if this person is so well known, why do we spend so much time reminding everyone what they are already supposed to know?

Perhaps we have awarded the mantle of “Needs No Introduction” much too lightly! We have awarded it to CEOs, authors, politicians, artists and entertainers. All great people in their own circles, to be sure, but someone is always bound to have never heard of these people. So they do, in fact, still need introduction.

Jesus, Hitler, Michael Jackson. I can’t think of anyone else right now, but next to these three, we should all just accept that we are nobodies — or at most, just a notch or two above nobody.

We require so much introduction, in fact, that we often spend our time on nothing else. When I speak, I find that it is often just a continuing self-introduction: “This is my name, these are my achievements, I have been there, and I have done that. These are the other things on my list — things I am working on — more things I would like to achieve...”

Then:

“These are the people I’ve met: people who, like myself, also need an introduction if you are to appreciate me in relation to them. CEOs, authors, politicians, artists, entertainers. This is how I think — and I hope you notice that I think like some of them...”

All this talking just to set up a thing called “Credibility.” So that whatever it is I am preparing to actually talk about (when I am finally done talking about myself) can be believed. So that whatever I say post-intro can be colored by my “Preface” — an interesting word to me because it feels like a conjunction of the words “prejudice” and “facade.”

The Super Secret Law Of Building Prejudice Towards My Façade

The point of an introduction is to set up a system where one can be judged the way one wants to be judged — based on the criteria set, and not based on the actual essence of the words and actions.

When I refer to these introductions, I also like to use the word “Preamble” — to me, a conjunction of the words “pretentious” and “ramble.”

I used to go onstage to perform at open mics (as an emcee or stand-up comic) and musical events (as the frontman for a rock band). I always knew full well that my time on that stage was very limited, but I still managed to waste most of that time with my preamble: a rambling brief history of time, centered around myself, and addressed to a small uncaring group of complete strangers seated in darkness who only really wanted to have a drink without someone trying to make them laugh or sing along to melodies about love and loss that are completely unfamiliar and probably irrelevant to them anyway.

As you can see, I am quite good at speaking in run-on sentences.

These people I introduced myself to, they do not remember my name, much less what school I graduated from. They do not remember the back stories of my songs. I am pretty sure they do not remember a single joke.

And I am to blame, because I spent all that time preambling, so the floor director waved me off the stage before I could get to the meat of my act.

In case it hasn’t occurred to you yet, I am waxing metaphorical. I am actually referring to how we may be spending our lifetime.

Is it a lifetime of building and massaging my ego? Is it a lifetime of laying down disclaimers before I do that special thing I was meant to (and really, really want to) do? Is it a lifetime of preparing to be perfect before I can be with that special somebody I deserve?

Like my stage routine, I need to cut out all my preambling so I can get to the doing and/of that special someone. Like my stage routine, I have to adjust and do away with all the useless preambles in my life — the things I say or do that merely introduce what I am really trying to say or do.

“Pwede ba magtanong?” (“Can I ask you a question?”) This is a good place to start cutting. Variants of this sound similar: “I have something to say… Hey, listen, can I tell you something?… I really want to tell you this, but you have to promise you won’t get mad...”

If I have a question, I will just ask it.

Terms of Agreement are pointless if I will never disagree. This is most popularly manifested in the End-User License Agreement (EULA) that pops up when I try to download or install new software — that stuff I scroll down through to get to the part where I can check the goddamned “I Agree” box.

I’d like to meet the guy who reads through all this and says, “You know what, no, I don’t agree!”

I did try to read through a EULA, but the second I started my eyes glazed over and in about two paragraphs I was thinking of the miserable Cleveland Cavaliers and why Lebron is a nitwit... There is probably a line in there somewhere that says “You must sacrifice your maternal grandmother to The Prince of Darkness,” but I will never find it. My maternal grandmother is old and wise; she will understand and forgive me.

So I agree, already. Let’s do this.

I am reminded of that part of the wedding ceremony where the Presiding Genius asks, “Do you accept this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” It’s like Windows always asking me if I am sure whenever I want to do something on my computer.

I may just be the kind of guy who would say: “Hmm, you know what? I do not. I thought I did, but I picked up some disturbing grammatical errors in her marriage vows...”

But even if I did have a change of heart, I would not realize it at that moment, would I? That kind of realization takes a long time — it has to be nurtured and buried so it can fester and eventually burst out in the form of a newly hired secretary with big boobs. This kind of realization could take... weeks.

So, yes, I do. Let’s get on with it.

Now maybe this is just me, but have you ever been to a Sunday Mass and felt like you were at an open mic? Everything leading up to the communion feels like a useless preamble. Let’s face it: just like a company outing or a free seminar, people are there for the snacks and freebies. Everything else is just “stuff we have to sit through before we can partake.” If you arrived at a Mass and were handed the Body of Christ up front, would you stay till the end?

Bless Me, Forgive Me, And Let Me Go

The fast-food counter lady’s conditioned responses. They’re not necessarily a useless preamble, but it does insert a lot of extra time between “ordering food” and “eating food.” One, she always take a full second to respond. I have to accept the laggy silences in our exchange like it was a phone call to Alaska. Two, all they do is repeat everything I say anyway. They even interrupt me to repeat half of what I am trying to say before I can finish saying it.

I like to order everything exactly the first time out and not give them a chance to interrupt. If they can just listen, I can guarantee that when I am done ordering there will be no further questions.

“I will have a cheeseburger meal, upsize the softdrink — a Pepsi — but keep the fries regular. In addition I’d like an order of spaghetti a la carte — not the meal, just the spaghetti.”

A pause, while the information travels to her brain. And then: “Dine in?”

Wow. I’m stumped. I did not think she could ask that at a drive-thru.

Onstage, I learned to shorten my self-introduction to “Hi, you will remember me as the tall guy with the goatee.”

But I often shared the stage with another tall guy with facial hair — and he was more talented — so I went with “Hey, I’m Ron.” (“Rom? – Did he say Ron, or Don...?”)

And then I realized my name does not actually matter. So I just go: “Hey.”

Because I want to immediately get to the point of my presence. I want to become someone who needs no further introduction. Whether I become Jesus, Hitler, or Michael Jackson, as long as I stop planning and start becoming, I should be fine. Instead of selling you words that promise greatness, I want to present you with actions that inspire!

Fifteen-hundred words is preamble enough. So without further ado, I invite you to join me as I stop talking and start walking.