“No Dr. Phil for this kid!”

“Sling together more than five words, and you’ve exceeded the attention-span of the average person.”
I said that to **** *********, who I previously worked with at the Daily Messenger newspaper in nearby Canandaigua. He was a reporter/editor, and I was a “typist” — although I never typed anything. What I did were computer-tricks that generated reams of copy.
Page-editors loved it when I cranked a school honor-roll. That would blow an entire page.
My statement isn’t a complaint; it’s an observation. With TV and now the Internet, instant gratification became more possible. I’m guilty myself. Reading, though pleasant, became too time-consuming.
Yet here I am slinging words. The Messenger somewhat determines how I write. “Keep it short,” an editor used to say. I think the world of her; she could write extremely well, yet wasn’t elitist about it.
I look at some of my long-ago blogs, and shout “enough already!”
I also hew to a retired fellow bus-driver who tells me “you didn’t need to say that.”
“Don’t bore us; get to the chorus,” ********* says.
I’ve also noticed what I write often comes across more curt than originally perceived.
What e-mails I get are usually 25 words or less. Occasionally I get a “War-and-Peace;” what a pleasure to rummage someone else’s brain. Usually I congratulate the author with a word-count: “874 words, you win!”
“What’s the best book you ever read?” ********* asks.
“That would be ‘Moby Dick,’” I always say. “I also read ‘V’ by Thomas Pynchon, then started ‘Gravity’s Rainbow,’ but gave up. ‘Ulysses’ was beyond-the-pale.”
“Most important?” “‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.’ It gave me the confidence to try automotive bodywork, which I did successfully = a ‘quality’ job. First time I reversed my parents’ convincing me I was not only rebellious, but stupid.”
Books like that are history. More important are -1) Don “Big Daddy” Garlits in his Double-A fuel dragster burning rubber the entire quarter-mile, -2) P-51 Mustang “Old Crow” doing 500 mph power-dives and hammerhead stalls at an airshow, and -3) and restored Nickel Plate steam locomotive #765 bursting out of the tunnel atop Allegheny Mountain, throttle-to-the-roof, and whistle screaming!
So where does all that leave me with this pen?
There seem to be 10-20 constant-readers, and slinging words became a way for this retiree to pass time.
No Dr. Phil for this kid!

• Almost 12 years ago I retired from the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper. Best job I ever had — I worked there almost 10 years (almost 11 if you count my time as a post-stroke unpaid intern [I had a stroke October 26, 1993, from which I recovered fairly well]). (“Canandaigua” is a small city nearby where I live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” —It’s about 14 miles away.)
• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs. My stroke ended that — I retired on medical-disability. I recovered well enough to return to work at the Messenger newspaper.