As much help as these were and as much as I appreciated their in depth analysis of establishing a bullet proof grand entrance technique, I felt more research had to be done.
The most helpful site of all was perhaps palmbeachjewelery.com that told me I could make a spectacular entrance with a simulated tanzanite ring (for those of you unfamiliar with a tanzanite ring, it’s an absolutely gorgeous ring that will make the finger wearing it the envy of other surrounding fingers) this 5-carat oval-cut masterpiece of simulated tanzanite is surrounded by .84 carat T.W. of cubic zirconia baguettes. 14k gold electroplates and comes in the sizes of 5-10. I felt this ruled out the entire male heterosexual race and all broke people ... I considered writing to this site and putting them to shame for their poor use of false advertising and blatant discrimination.
None of these were satisfying! I needed answers!!!!
That night I sat down to watch the news. Coincidentally a man had, on the princes 21st birthday - which had an out of africa theme, broken into Buckingham palace, come bounding down the red carpet dressed as Osama Bin Laden and paraded around promoting his new comedy act. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t conceive of what I had just seen. And most amazing of all he got away scot free! I sat there thinking about it. I was thinking for hours before I realised, unknowingly I had just accepted that this was one of the grandest entrances i myself had ever witnessed. That didn’t impress me. I found it sad. Surely there must have been better ones out there. I was tired, so I crawled off and went to bed.
Soon I was dreaming, entering the realms of my subconscious. In the midst of my deep thought I stumbled upon a fact. I realised that everyone, no matter how dull, boring or timid, makes a grand entrance at one point in their life. One that with no amount of preparation, money or time will ever be out-entranced. A grand entrance so grand in fact it will be eternally scorched into the minds of anyone privileged enough to witness this feat of gusto. But the thing that surprised me most was the fact that one makes this grand entrance at a point in their life where they do not have the brain capacity to determine an appropriate entry, the start.
Who can after all argue the effectiveness of hibernating for none other than 9 months before before appearing head first, wrapped in amniotic fluids, pushing and squeezing through a woman's birth canal, shooting out the last few centimetres, veritably bungee jumping to the ground by a cord constructed of flesh welded to it’s stomach, before bursting in to a fit of screaming rage and confusion. I know I can’t.
Birth was the answer. You have but one chance to relish your grand entrance and all it’s splendour, yet, you have no say in the matter. Perhaps this is why mothers give birth in helicopters flying over the atlantic ocean, or while skydiving? One Chance! Surely this could not be the case I thought. On readmission to the World-Wide-Web I was introduced to “re-birthing therapy”, a method of psychiatry which involves a person being wrapped in blankets and sheets while being forced to re-enact the birth process. Therapy aye? I wasn’t convinced; perhaps it’s merely an excuse to make the whole GRANDEST entry of all time all over again! You know the kind, “Oh. It’s a boy.”
After my rather depressing revelation that I was doomed to ever find a grand enough entrance to justify my entering the speeches, I set about settling for a grand exit. Surely it could be as effective if properly pulled off.
The web was a no-go, it had burnt me out. All it did was send me in circle delaying my progress in resolving my problem. I turned to literature and film.
I opened some books and watched some films. Now, Shakespeare appeared to have mastered the art of grand exits as it seems in almost every play he wrote someone appeared to die. Macbeth, Romeo, Othello. In fact Shakespeare seemed to enjoy this process so thoroughly he’d milk it for all it was worth! in Romeo and Juliet ... Juliet appears to be dead, a grand exit in itself. But no! Then Romeo must go and double the grand action and kill himself. Did Shakespeare think this as being suffice? Of course not. But how could he improve the situation? His main characters were already dead! Why, bring one back to life! Infact, one was never dead! Juliet was, was ... in a coma! Ah ha! So, after waking up, Juliet does none other than proceed to poison herself! But to drag it out even further Shakespeare then decided the bottle would be empty, prolonging the exiteering! THEN in an act of complete extacular genius, with a knife, she kill’s herself, obviously. But, one cannot help but wonder whether if there is room for a sequel?
Speaking of sequels. And threequels ... the Terminator was onto something good when he coined the phrase “I’ll be baaahhck”, because it not only leaves the lasting impression he is in fact going and he wants everyone to know about it, but also leaves opportunity for him to come “baaahhck” and dazzle the crowd with a grand entrance.
But probably one fo the most famous exits, and certainly my favourite was Oscar Wilde as lay on his death bed. And with his final gaping breath, muttered sweetly, "The wallpaper is killing me. One of us has to go." 40 odd years later this is remembered, a feat certainly worth attaining. Or at least attempting to attain.
With those three examples I concluded the majority of the exiting was done through death. This was bad. Could this mean the only true way to prevail in one’s exiting was to cark it? It then hit me. To do my speech with an effective entrance and exit I would have to speak for approximately 76 years! I slumped back in my computer chair. It was hopeless. What was I going to do for the speeches? How was I going to end it?! With a topic of this relevance, surely the audience would be expecting somewhat of a grand exit at the very least.
I thumbed through an Oscar Wilde book looking for something. Anything, anything at all. And then, with a final glimmer of hope, I settled on exiting as most writers do. As most novels finish...
The End.
