THAT DAY

I check out a sociology class on nonverbal communication. Inspires me to try an evening without language. Hard, but... it starts to affect my friends! They too start talking less, touching and gesturing more...

THAT NIGHT

President Richard Nixon and I go to a government office to see if they're economizing properly. He asks the receptionist to check the seismograph in the doorway. She does: it's been picking up all our movements. Each footstep drives it wild.

Nixon doesn't like that at all! He disappears into a back room, complaining that the paper for letters and memos is much too thick, too expensive. Neither of us buys it--he's mad about that seismograph. Has it been picking up bad vibes? Something he wants to hide?

The receptionist leads me around the front room, past the baseball uniforms, football helmets, kitchen stoves, card tables, shoes, and so on--all the usual perks of a government bureaucracy. Nothing sneaky or secret, nothing to enrage Nixon...

Looking for Nixon, I open the door to the back room--and he's lying stiffly under a blanket, glaring at me in anger but even more in embarrassment, and says "Knock next time!" I close the door, having no idea who, or what, was under that blanket with him...

Except blanket denial.

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