Can you hear it? “The principle behind it is a biological reality that hearing experts refer to as presbycusis, or aging ear. While Miss Musorofiti is not likely to have it, most adults over 40 or 50 seem to have some symptoms, scientists say. While most human communication takes place in a frequency range between 200 and 8,000 hertz (a hertz being the scientific unit of frequency equal to one cycle per second), most adults’ ability to hear frequencies higher than that begins to deteriorate in early middle age.” (via Metafilter)
There is an MP3 attached to the article. I can hear the tone but it’s playing at a constant low volume.
The Call by Yannick Murphy: The always interesting author of Here They Come and Signed, Mata Hari returns with a novel that whips up a worldview from a rather quirky set of limitations: namely, the call logs that a veterinarian maintains as his son is unexpectedly put into a coma and an unforgiving economy denies him work. What emerges is a surprisingly optimistic, often funny, and very moving account on how one family uses acceptance and forgiveness as a way to atone for hard knocks. (
Birds of Paradise by Diana Abu-Jaber: Forget Franzen and Eugenides. If you're looking for a social novel that counts, Diana Abu-Jaber is the author you're looking for. Building from the free-form exploration of consciousness and identity in Crescent and the gripping procedural structure of Origin, Abu-Jaber's latest novel is her finest, equally fluent with gutterpunk culture and smarmy real estate men. It has been suggested by The Washington Post's Ron Charles that you will likely gain some pounds while reading this novel. This is certainly true. Abu-Jaber's description of food is so precise that it often made me want to do more cooking. But I very much admired the way in which Abu-Jaber presents all her characters as unwitting victims of rough capitalism, which permits them some dignity even as they perform terrible acts.
The Last of the Live Nude Girls by Sheila McClear: This memoir isn't so much about the decline of the Times Square peepshow, as it is about one young woman's efforts to pull herself up by by her bootstraps when presented with few economic options. Filled with self-introspective candor and a quiet dignity, McClear's story is one that might befall any of us in these volatile times. While McClear does get back on her feet, her book leads one contemplating the terrible fates of other young women now moving to New York and falling into deadlier vocations. (
It’s true.. I did an experiment when the story about the kids-only ringtone was on NPR. I happened to be in charge of entertaining two charming six-year old (restless, bored, pushy) urchins. So I played the high frequency sound– which I couldn’t hear– without telling them that anything was out of the ordinary. “TURN THAT OFF!”, they shrieked, in unison. And then the giggles started.
Jesus. I can definitely hear it. What a horrible, piercing little noise. I had to shut it off immediately.
Of course, this comes from someone frequently distracted by the slight electronic buzz made by my desktop computer at work, and sometimes (though rarely) even the odd faint hum of equipment that is *turned off* but still has electricity going through the wires. I hardly have superhero hearing, but seem to have an annoying ability to pick up the most high-pitched and unstoppable sounds of everyday life. If it’s any consolation, my hearing may be fine, but I’m definitely getting near-sighted.
I’m in the low-30s age-wise, by the way.
Thirty-eight years old, and I can still hear it. Woo-hoo! I’m in Sergeant Pepper’s Inner Groove, baby.