Deaf Chamber

Relocating to the Land of Arborea included the hope of moving away from “de hood” and toward something approximating urban civilization. Not that the old hood was bad; it was relatively safe, generally quiet, somewhat green though that was quickly changing to macadam black.

But to live within walking distance of the crown surmounting the Emerald Necklace was a wonderful temptation. A forest in the city; gardens deeper than 5 feet; front yards populated with thick old trees valued for their intrinsic worth instead of seen inconveniences to sidewalk access.

What I didn’t know was this neighborhood is a test area to determine the effects of enclosing a neighborhood with deafening – and deadly – noise.

There is a zone in Arborea where seemingly the Masters of Transportation have declared a passive-aggressive war upon humanity by converging the worst of their noise machines onto one spot.

Walk the sidewalk in the morning and in orchestrated flow hear the following:

Underground sonic bombs pouring through the Earth…
Air borne jet thunder shaking buildings…
Cars and trucks speeding and shaking neighborhood side streets…
Thugs riding in their deafcars pulsating a base audible a block away….

This neighborhood is visually beautiful. Autumn showed colors in variety and quantity that would make the wildest color field painters wince. But the Masters of Transportation, the maniacs with driver licenses and the thugs are destroying Arborea by polluting it with a river of terrible noise.

Your Lips to G-d’s and Every Other Ear

In Arborea this morning, near the Fruity Line T stop G-d and everyone else within a 20 feet radius overheard a skinny middle class white boy blather to invisible ears at the other terminus of his cell phone. He had to share to all within earshot the exploits of his booty call and the challenges of an unpleasant boss.

“Maybe, possibly, definitely!” said the preppy baby face 30 something teasing his listener like a teenager sharing his naughtiness of the previous night.

“A ball buster” he called his boss.

Apparently the overage twink who sucked too sweet a mother’s milk doesn’t understand that oracular exclamations of his adventures in underpantsland or whining about his ballbusting boss are not for the outside voice. Inside voice baby, inside voice!

The questions: When did the the public space become a telephone booth? What invisible cone of silence surrounds a person letting them think, like Maxwell Smart, that their chattering is inaudible to the nearby stranger?

Cell phones are terrifically convenient. Recently locking myself out of my house,a cell phone in hand made getting help vastly easier. In an emergency having a device to request help at hand is a boon. In the extreme a cell phone could be the difference of life and death if using one got the help needed soon enough after a bad car accident. See an act of crime on the street? Whip out the cell phone and call the police.

But what of restraint? The local world is noisy enough. Walk out my door: cars flying by, school bus beeping as it backs up every morning, the roar of jets and subway and commuter trains one after another. The air is a wall of sound. Quiet is vanquished. Even in Arborea, where trees abound, where tranquil streams flow, now flows a river of noise.

Busses and trains are living rooms where riders blather and chatter ad nauseum. Public transportation is a portal to the trivia and travails of bodacious butt Bettys and droopy drawer Dashawns.

Two folks walking down the street ostensibly together. One is on the cell phone talking to someone virtually present while ignoring the bodily presence off their companion. Hello? If someone is walking with you talk that person. If you companion is not worth your attention then walk away. Treating them as though they were not present (because when you’re on the cell phone you are not present) is crude.

We are the Bubble People. We live in virtual bubbles generated by our cell phones, MP3 players, Blackberries and a host of devices separating us from each other. Our personal electronics generate a virtual force field shutting us away. The serendipitous meeting, the happy accident, the possibility of anything disappears in the face of locking ourselves in tinny worlds of endless blather.

Is this a good life?