a rant in b-flat minor
When giving an impromptu speech, don't do the word. It's a trap. You'll get slurped up by extruded intestine-beasties (the ones who stole the show in King Kong), and your only way out its through the Swamp of Banality. Have a point, too, maybe even two or three. Four is too many. And please, please, please don't define words we already know. "An idea is what you think about before you do something." No it isn't. Don't say "this is horrible" when you're speaking, even if it's true, and when you sit down, don't say "I want to shoot myself," which isn't true. Suicide is for depressed judges.
An oratory is a speech about something that matters. You know what I call your assemblage of perfectly mimed gestures, plastered facial expressions, choreographed steps from point to point, Peppy the Robot vocal inflections? "Performatory." If I want to see that, I'll watch television on a Sunday morning.
Don't shake my hand when you're simpering along with the rest and saying "Thank you for judging." I don't want your germs. My hands are preternaturally cold thanks to Raynaud's, so you'll get the impression that your speech has turned me into a lifeless zombie. You're right.
Don't ask for my paradigm. I don't carry a paradigm like a pocketwatch. Ask me what I like to see in a round, sure, or what my judging philosophy is. I'll gladly tell you, since it's simple: no weasely tricks, no biting, no hair pulling.
You're in the Open Division and should already know this? What?