With Further Ado

I’ve been hearing the phrase “without further ado” quite a bit lately. So, curious, I asked AI what a world with further ado would look like. That may have been my first mistake, since AI stopped creeping into our lives long ago and has now become something of a daily necessity. People will soon ask themselves how we ever did without it, the way we once asked how we lived without the internet. I suspect the answer will be the same: very well, thank you.

But beyond adding to the massive, Borg‑like databank that AI has rolled itself into—like a snowball rolling downhill—I’m glad I asked the question. If you spend any time on social media, especially YouTube, those ubiquitous talking heads known as “influencers” are without‑further‑ado’ing all over the place. I have to believe they know not what they do. I am ashamed for them.

In answer to my question, here is what AI came up with. First, a definition: “From Middle English, ‘ado’ means fuss, commotion, bother, or needless delay.” Uncharacteristically brief, that. I was pleasantly surprised. It then added: “So when we say ‘without further ado,’ we mean: ‘without any more fuss, delay, throat‑clearing, or pointless preliminaries.’” Also brief, thankfully. The irony, of course, is that AI may be the greatest ado’er in human history. It never shuts up, but that’s another story.

Without intending to, AI landed smack dab in the middle of the battlefield between silicon and carbon. Fussing, delaying, and engaging in pointless preliminaries are part of the human condition. They reflect our imperfection. Take away pointless preliminaries and we are left adrift, cast asunder, exposed to the elements. I just spent 360 pages on a book whose main character clears his throat precisely to create ado, not eliminate it. He is an ado‑maker in the best tradition of a belly‑acher. What could be more human?

And yet AI—the Silicon Ado’er—accuses us Carbon Ado’ers, of–if you can believe it–overdoing. As my favorite satirist, the Irish writer Laurence Sterne, once said, “Alas, poor human nature! Is there anything so weak and so pitiable as the condition of man?” Probably not. We’re at least in the playoffs.

I like a good shaggy‑dog story. In fact, most everything I write has a healthy coat, you might say. I object not to the concept or practice of ado’ing—my bread and butter—but to the expression “without further ado.” Whenever I hear it I think, Really? That’s the best you can come up with? Come on, put some elbow grease into it. Put your shoulder to the wheel. Even a hearty “take it away” would be better than that.

So, let’s drop the line but keep the sentiment. Throw in some fuss, delay, and pointless preliminaries. By the way, who decides what makes a preliminary pointless? Sure, I am frustrated with interviewers who ramble on and on without getting to the question, but ado is not about superficial rambling. Like the shaggy dog, it wanders toward a goal, stopping to sniff at bushes and poles and occasionally taking a piss.

As with anything, there are basic rules to follow. First, the ado has to tie eventually to the topic. It can take as long as it wants rounding third, but it must cross the plate. Sliding is better than not. It’s more theatrical that way, and ado is all about theatrics. Second, it should be informative. For instance, tell us what groats are but don’t give us a dissertation on endosperm, unless it ends in a dirty joke. Third, wit. It’s got to be witty, which is not to say clever but sharp and shiny. Like a knife that you don’t even realize has cut you.

Finally, I spoke with somebody this week who thought I was writing about “adieu” and the act of—as he put it—“adieuing.” I didn’t know that was a word, but since I’ve been wrestling with Emma Bovary lately, I’ve added it to my vocabulary list (see Georgics on My Mind). The trick will be using it in a conversation. Maybe I should just throw it out there, you know, without further ado.

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Images: Jesus Loves Austin, Saeed Moslemi. Want more? Click on Amazon above right for other publications or go to Robert Brancatelli. Visit other blog readers under “Who You Are.” Leave a comment by clicking on the Comment tab above. Happy belated birthday, Beth Flanzbaum.