Day 10 of 17
▰ The commonality of squealing tires as car drivers in all manner of settings assert themselves.
▰ The myriad new squeaks and burbles and vibrations from an entirely new phone, after the previous one was no longer eligible for software upgrades and had not only lost much of its tactile quality, but had begun to really fail for conversations.
▰ Main Street so barren at night, so quiet, that multiple crosswalk sounds can be heard from several directions at the same time.
▰ Passing by a hospital where your high school choir once sang, and hearing in your head some of the crusty old repertoire.
THe bank is for
sale. Long ago I broUght rolls
of dimes iN;
book. The Greek place has New proprietors;
the avGolomeno soup is
remarkable, besT ever.
And fOr my after-supper
walk, the iNsects seem louder,
though it could be my ears.
Sound travel journal
▰ Ceiling fan whir + dishwasher racket + domestic HVAC drone = the lofi DJ Krush jam I didn’t know I’ve been looking for.
▰ It’s strange enough to be in the house you grew up in after this long, not just pandemic long, but life long. It’s stranger still for the old home to have, per chance, the same make of dishwasher you have in your current home. Thus, when the beep at the end of the cycle goes off, you have, briefly, no idea where you are.
▰ When a call comes, at least four lines ring out on two different floors, and the place is full, almost brazenly, with the once ubiquitous noise of the house phone. The last refuges of the landline are abundant with it.
▰ The one seemingly obvious thing this house alarm doesn’t do is tell you, upon entering, whether or not it is on (or, as the militaristic lingo goes: armed). A simple pair of opposed tones would more than suffice.
▰ It’s been a very long day, starting work in native New York time and ending in gone-native California time, all while you’ve been sitting still. You go for a walk in a suburban dark that swallows up much of the street lamps’ efforts. Waiting for the signal to change in your favor at an intersection, you glance up at a residence that predates the American Revolution. There is one light on, on the top floor. Through the partially closed shades you can see a violent single player shooter raging. The oncoming cars still have the right of way. The room briefly goes dark, and then the screen illuminates again. Even from a distance, you can tell some sort of character-review stage has been called up. There is no sound. The window is shut. The room goes dark again, and then the violence proceeds. And you continue your walk further into the night.
From the past week
I do this manually each Saturday, collating most of the tweets I made the past week at twitter.com/disquiet, which I think of as my public notebook. Some tweets pop up in expanded form or otherwise on Disquiet.com sooner. It’s personally informative to revisit the previous week of thinking out loud.
▰ At SFO, about to board a plane for the first time since March 2020. I’d track the travel-related sounds, but I’ve got some solid noise-cancelling headphones on, and I think I’m gonna stay inside my cozy sensory bubble. That’s a sonic story unto itself. Headed to NY to see family.
▰ Outside the JFK terminal, car after car pulls up, its driver speaking on a phone while looking to the curb. Each of us, traveling solo, knows a car with someone speaking behind glass will arrive for us. When it does, we nod goodbye to each other, having never actually said hello.
▰ What I learned when I returned from my weekend Twitter break is you can put work into expressing your thoughts and observations as tweets. Or you can just list a bunch of numbers, and then nearly 200 people will click the heart button, and many will reply and chat. So be it.
▰ I have a great Grendel sketch. I was at Comic-Con and Artists Alley was pretty packed, but Matt Wagner’s table had no one at it except him. He was just sitting there. I walked over and told him how much I liked his work and asked if he’d draw a sketch. Wagner said yes and for some reason he assumed I wanted him to draw Batman. I told him no, I wanted Grendel. He was somewhat surprised, happily so, and drew it for me. I love the picture, even though the memory always makes me a little sad.
WheneveR I visit my
fAmily I listen for which
olD song from the area
I'll hear that best encapsulates
the lOcale, the culture