22 February 2001
Last year: "Do you want this mulled spider?"
Today I am On Display. This month's topic: Sound and noise.
I really wanted to use an adaptation of Shakespeare's quote, "Life... is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." But I couldn't really find a way of fitting it in.
I imagine a fair number of On Display members will write today, since I understand from the radio this morning that the Grammy awards (that's right, isn't it? That's what they call the music awards? I'd hate to screw that up, and I pay so very little attention to industry awards...) Where was I? Oh, yes. The music industry awards, whatever they're called, were last night. So I'm sure some of the On Display members will use the opportunity to talk about how they felt the awards should have gone. I'm probably one of about four people in the country who really couldn't care less.
I am not really a person who pays a lot of attention to audible input. I won't go so far as to say I ignore it completely, nor would I say that I would prefer to do without it. Indeed, I'm highly annoyed that my computer at work doesn't have a functioning sound card. Brief noises that draw my attention to important events, such as (ahem) the signing-on of Instant Messenger friends, or the arrival of e-mail, are useful.
But for the most part, my thought processes are visual. I have trouble understanding things if I don't see them. It's part of why I didn't get my PhD - I was swiftly reaching a point where I would be taking too many classes that had nothing at all I could visualize. I couldn't wrap my brain around concepts for which I couldn't visualize sample cases, at least.
And I can't filter sounds. It makes me poor company at parties: If I start listening to the music, I can't follow conversation. Several years of living with people who seemed incapable of functioning without some sort of noise - music or television, pick your poison - has improved my ability to switch concentration levels on the fly, and I can usually get by with only the last half of what someone says to me. But I'm still not very good.
I know it drives my friends and family bezerk: If I'm not already explicitly paying attention to someone talking, then my automatic reaction when they say something is to make them repeat it. On the other hand, they all get to show off all the song lyrics they know, which I have trouble filtering from the rest of the music. (I used to refuse to buy CDs if they didn't have lyric sheets, because despite not being able to decipher lyrics, I love to sing along. Thank goodness for the internet, eh?)
I tried to bring it up with my doctor once. "I can't hear what my husband says to me if I'm not actually looking at him," I told the nurse, when she asked me at a checkup if I had any concerns to bring up with the doctor. She only grinned at me and said, "Don't we all?"
I've since decided there's nothing that can be done about it. It's not a fault with my ears - I actually have very good hearing. My brain just doesn't process sounds very efficiently. It's not a big deal most of the time. My friends all know they have to make eye contact with me before they start speaking if they really want me to be listening to what they say; everyone - including myself - is amused by my complete lack of ability to identify songs or lyrics; and no one is offended if I find it necessary to escape from parties for a few minutes because I can only handle noise in small doses.
Actually, I found out only about two years ago that K.T. suffers from tinnitus, and that's why she can't stand to go without background music. Having recently acquired an office that shares a wall with the server room, in which something beeps constantly for hours on end, I am now even more sympathetic. I only wish I'd known back when we were roommates - understanding this might well have saved me a great deal of irritation. (I like quiet, and I very rarely had it when we were both home...)
A result of the beeping, actually, is that I've been bringing my PowerBook to work with me so I can have a variety of music to drown it out. A result of that is that I've been ripping a lot of our CDs to MP3, because there's only so many times I can listen to my favorite ten CDs, even in random order.
And before you ask, no, listening to music doesn't unduly affect my ability to concentrate on programming. For one thing, I'm looking at a screen when I'm programming, not trying to listen to it. Visual stimulus almost always overrides audible, for me. (Which is why, when I go to a restaurant that has televisions on the walls, I have to face away from the TV if I have any intention of participating in conversation.) For another thing, when I really need to concentrate, I usually either turn off the music, or switch to strictly instrumental stuff - usually classical music, so no part of me gets distracted by trying to sort out lyrics.
But because I have to listen to music pretty much all the time at work, and Matt likes to have the TV on most of the time at home, right now my idea of an ideal vacation is to check in to a little bed-and-breakfast in the mountains, and spend about a week listening to nothing more meaninful than the wind in the breeze...
Word of the Day:
caparison - ornamental covering for a horse; rich clothing
Currently Reading:
- nothing
Current Projects:
- Kris' afghan