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OKAY, (SIGH), IF YOU'RE GOING to zip your lips like that, Reader Dear, I guess it will have to be me who says more. About this little theory of mine: It's the year two thousand eleven, and I'm sure as can be, there's more talking today than at the dawning of two thousand ten.

When technological wizardry produced a proliferation of written communication, verbal gabbing slacked off, of course. It's a verifiable fact (or possibly not), phones don't ring as often [hmm...though some of them twitter and tweet and play Here Comes the Bride). But as soon as this New Year--this year of two thousand eleven--drew near, speaking picked up.

Happy two thousand eleven! folks greeted me on New Year's Day. Happy two thousand eleven!--I said it myself. And I've mentioned the date pretty often since then. I'll bet you have, too, Reader Dear.

Just think of it--all year long, the English-speaking world will be mumbling and muttering and whispering and shouting and otherwise voicing the date as two thousand eleven.Two thou-sand e-lev-en.* That's right, ONE MORE SYLLABLE to verbalize the year than ever we've had since the 1970s! Millions and millions of people in the U.S. alone, each saying the date every day...well, maybe not every day, okay; but, hey, lots of them--bankers and lawyers and some of the hoi polloi--putting the number on the day more than once each twenty-four hours.

BILLIONS of added syllables vibrating through the airways!
BILLIONS! Didn't I warn you, Reader Dear?!

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(*Yeah, sure, a few will say twenty-eleven.
I don't wish to count them! They're the
same lazy folks who put a nickname on
two thousand ten.)


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