“When you come right down to it, how many people speak the same language even when they are speaking the same language?”

- Russell Hoban

I don't even know where to begin today.

The problem isn't writer's block, which is usually the case, but more like writer's annoyance.

You see, Honey and I were out at the park feeding the ducks (yes, I know it's illegal, but if I get busted I'll just plead insanity and I'm sure I'll be let go, after all, who feeds the ducks waffles?) when this little boy starts yelling and making a fuss.

Maybe he wanted some waffles too, I have no idea, but then his mother comes over to him and says, I kid you not: “Use your inside voice or I'll have to put you in time out.”

Now, granted, I'm not a parent, or a hostage negotiator for that matter, so maybe you just have to go with your gut to talk someone down, but this just struck me as the weirdest thing you could say to a child.

What exactly is an “inside voice?” The thing is, the kid was outside, so not only was he probably confused; so was I.

At this point, it dawned on me that we have so many words and phrases that, I either don't understand, or that just plain annoy me. So this week I'm going to take a moment to “vent.”

“Get in touch with your inner self.”

A friend of mine, who is into all that new-age jive, actually said that to me once. All I could think about was that the last time I got in touch with my “inner” self, I was picking my nose.

“I like my coffee like I like my women.”

Any man that finishes that sentence needs to raise his standards, because first of all, it takes money for a cup of de-caf.

Now, I don't know about you but if I can get a date for a $1.50 then I've definitely walked into the wrong coffee shop.

“Surfing the net” and “channel surfing.”

How does sitting still in a chair pressing a button become synonymous with an activity that happens at a beach? Unless you're watching “Baywatch,” then maybe I could understand.

“Don't sweat the small stuff.”

You know what? It's the small stuff that bugs me most. True story: Eighth grade, I broke my shoulder riding a motorcycle. OK, it wasn't a motorcycle, it was my brother's moped, but I didn't yell or shed a single tear; nothing.

Yesterday; I get a paper cut and you'd think I was dying. And I made sure everybody knew my pain. Face it, broken bones can't compete with boo-boos.

I'm trying to be open to change and I realize that our language is always evolving, but I wish there was a bit more thought put into the phrases we use, or perhaps, I'm just not thinking “outside the box.”

Auburn native Bradley Molloy's column appears here,

each Sunday, in The Citizen.

He can be reached at lovonian@hotmail.com