I've just had a wonderfully cathartic rant.
You know the kind I mean... the kind that purge a sour belly and goose the old glands back to life.
I'd been watching an item on the news, when, suddenly, a bright bolt of lightning broke through the fiscal overcast of the last few days and struck me right in my frontal lobe. And I began to sound off - about our minority government, about political parties and my sure-fire plan for their destruction... and so on and so on.
And it felt good!
And it felt good!
A good rant can sweep out your head. Just don't let it set up shop there, because that will turn you into a cartoon - like Duckman, that highly agitated, highly animated patron saint of the rant.
I realize not everyone will have met this crazy cartoon canard (drawn by Everett Peck and matched perfectly to the voice of Jason Alexander). Some of Duckman's wilder rants have gotten the series a door-in-the-face reception from "family" networks.
And that's really a shame, since ranting is - at its core - a family sport.
In ours, the best practitioner was one particular uncle on my Dad's side. (Uncles are almost invariably good ranters, but science has yet to come up with a reason why.)
In the case of this uncle, you only had to mention the word "government" and he was off! The problem was: he may have looked like Lincoln. but he didn't sound like him.
He was far more prone to personal attacks and swearing than old Abe. And he was nowhere near as eloquent or as funny.
Still, even as a child, I appreciated the great enthusiasm with which he launched into his little tirades. And although his listeners knew what they were hearing was not an interactive broadcast, they put up with it well enough. I suspect some secretly enjoyed the performance.
The family knew the poor fellow's usual audience was a herd of dairy cows. And let's face it: it's too easy for those critters to ignore you or to fail to appreciate what a fellow has to say - even when he's got them by the udder.
Knowing that your rant has been heard counts for a lot. After all, a rant is an impromptu performance, an explosion of opinions where the only real threat is to the person holding them.
I'll never forget the look of satisfaction on that uncle's face when he'd finished his show. "Better out than in," they say. And you could see that was true just by looking at him.
Rants are the safety valves of our pressurized lives. And although we seem to spend most of our waking hours repressing expressions of aggravation, frustration and outrage (and a good thing, too), there are those moments, whether public or private, when the truth simply has to be let out - even if it chooses to take an awkward route.
I can't help but wonder how many people might have been saved from "going postal" if they'd only had someone to listen to their rants.
In short, the occasional-but-robust rant is good for you - body and soul. Some of us consider it an under-appreciated art form: a fast-paced blend of philosophy and opinion and emotion.
Some might call ranting "rap without the music".
But don't get me started on rap!
