A broken record

The other day, I wanted to talk to my husband or at least try to talk with him. He said he didn’t want to talk with me if I was going to “sound like a broken record.” While his comment was shitty, and ended any plans I had to talk to him, it did give me an idea for a blog.

Does anyone under 40 know what this metaphor means anymore? Obviously, those of us of a certain age do, but, regardless of the resurgence in vinyl, I would bet many people would take this phrase as a compliment.

It’s not about being repetitive and irritating; it’s about setting a higher standard.

Which got me thinking about adages that we say in fragments but understand as whole: a bird in the hand, six of one, a stitch in time. But unless you know the whole phrase, part of the phrase makes no sense. Some phrases are no longer even phrases but just words that are supposed to make sense together: kettle black, anyone?

Or even, just letters: OTT because the origin is just too dark.

And others, like our friend broken record, have, one might say, gone the way of the Dodo in that they reference things that no longer exist: pulling yourself up by your bootstraps or a red letter day. And yet, we still use them; we still know what they mean, even when they mean things that have no meaning. What is a bootstrap?

I asked my 19-year-old daughter if she understood the meaning of “sounding like a broken record.” She got it, but struggled a bit with “the emperor has no clothes” (but she did know the definition of sycophant, thank you very much).

International variations on idioms complicate this (attempt at) conversation even more. In America if you split payment on a date you are “going Dutch.” But in Holland that same action is called “going American.” And that might be Greek to you, as it was to Shakespeare, but it’s Chinese to the Greeks.

So don’t be confusing.

Repetition creates clarity and clarity creates understanding. That broken record just wants you to hear it. But if you can’t (or won’t), that broken record will keep repeating itself until those words lose their meaning and dissolve into something else like an achievement greater than has ever been achieved.

Yes, I’ll be your broken record—surpassing, surprising, redefining. More than most. One for the books.

And then I will blog and blog and blog and blog about it.