Silencing The Static

There are days when I just can't take the noise.


“Sometimes I wish I was deaf,” I said to my brother one night. I wasn't being literal. When I'm around my brother, I tend to spout off things I don't actually believe, just so I can see in which way he might respond.


“Yeah, I know,” my brother replied, excited. He spoke with enthusiasm, as if he had been waiting for years for someone to bring up the subject. “Sometimes I even wish I was blind!”


His honesty and exuberance took be by surprise. Is this really something that people desire? To lose their basic senses? Are there people out there who feel enslaved by the echoes in their ears, the reflections in their eyes, or the tactation in their fingers? This is certainly something I had never considered before.


As the days went by, however, I finally realized what my brother meant.


I sat there, pounding away on my keyboard late at night. I'd been awake for the last twenty hours. Early that morning, I woke up to finish writing a pointless news story, staring deeply into the bright computer screen in an otherwise pitch-black room. Then I drove off to do my other job, where I ran data on a computer – again staring into the bright screen. I came home that evening to check up on the internet and watch some T.V. Again, bright screens. And now, here I was, trying my hardest to be witty with Microsoft Word but my eyes just couldn't take the stress. I slammed my laptop shut and pulled out my notepad. You're a writer, I thought to myself, so actually write something! My eyes relaxed, my thoughts opened up, and all order was restored in the world.


Sensory overload is a problem I face everyday. In the era of the iPhone, it's so easy to become constantly engaged with our electronic devices. It wasn't freedom from the senses that my brother was beckoning for, but freedom from the shackles of the things that constantly beg our attention. Sometimes I don't want to give my attention to anything. Sometimes I wish I was immune to the ringing of a phone or the ever-changing and increasingly portable flash of a screen – screens that come equipped on any and every one of the numerous electronic devices the common American has on hand at any given time.


 “Sometimes I wish I was deaf.” But not deaf to the world. Only to humanity – to both its vices and devices. But when the outer-world cries my name, I will always welcome its homely call, for who has ever lost sleep over a the rhythmic patter of a drowsy spring storm? Who has ever cursed a mountain sunset? 

Guest lecture by Kurt Hochenauer

Doc Hoc spoke to my Blogging for Journalists class recently. I had the pleasure of interviewing Hochenauer before this class for a story I worked on about the state of college tenure in Oklahoma. He seems like a decent fellow to me.

Hochenauer runs the liberal Oklahoma blog "Okie Funk." I was able to learn a lot from the short time he spoke with us.

The first thing I learned was not to be worried about "text-heavy" posts. I think this piece of advice particularly applies to my blog, which is entirely focused around my writings. Sure, my stuff may not be read by everyone -- but if they're not willing to take the time to read me now, do I really want them to read at all? Also, there's always a chance they could come back whenever they do have the time or the interest.

Another thing I learned was not to be overly concerned with traffic. For me, this blog is less about generating as many viewers as possible and more about putting my work out there for anyone who might be interested. In other words, I'm going for 'quality' views and not 'quantity' views.

Overall, I'm hoping for more guest speakers in this course as we progress toward the end of the semester. Personally, I feel the best way to learn is from someone who is a professional in something or an avid practitioner. Find out what works in the real world, and not just what makes sense on the pages of a text book.

Spilled Milk

**SERIOUSNESS DISCLAIMER**

My great-grandmother died last week. Our family had celebrated her 90th birthday only a month before. I wrote this the day we learned she had passed as a kind of therapy.

I was sitting at some sort of fancy cafe when I heard the news. I don't remember why I was there. It looked vaguely European in style. Was I in Europe? I still don't know.

“bbbbeeeeennnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn,” rolled what at the time sounded like a foghorn in the distance. I paid it no mind and continued to sip whatever was in my cup. I flipped over a page of the newspaper I was reading. Instead of words and photos, the content of the publication consisted of scribble and ink-blots, but I don't remember caring. I actually found the scribble to be quite informative.

“bbeeennnnnn,” came the roar again, only this time a little less mechanical and a little more distinct. The noise had now grabbed my full attention, but I was not alarmed, only curious.

“bbeeennn...beeennn...Ben!”

I shot up in my bed. My dream was over, and I can't say I was particularly happy about that. Though my room was dark and my vision clouded with drowsy clouds, I could make out the slender figure of my brother standing an arm's reach from my left. I could make out nothing other than his dark and shadowed silhouette. “Ben, are you awake,” I heard him ask. I don't remember if I gave an answer to this question, but if I did it was probably little more than a yawning gasp of air.