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I heard it through a high fidelity recording of the grapevine

I’ve never felt more alive and aware.

How did I achieve this enlightened state? Was it reached after hours of yoga poses?

With hot stones taped to my chakra points?

While high on peyote?

Not exactly. Though someone should try that and let me know how it goes.*

Yesterday my Zoom H4n digital recorder arrived.

Wait. Let me rewind.

(Pun intended. Except it’s all digital, so is it really rewinding when there’s no physical tape? Meditate on that heaviness, my flock…)

A while ago, I stumbled across ASMR. Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response.

Really wanna know? Go to YouTube and search ‘ASMR’. Then watch some of the videos while wearing headphones.

The short version (because there are a lot of videos out there) is that hearing certain sounds is supposed to trigger involuntary ‘tingly’ sensations in your head and spine that feel pretty good.

The operative word here is ‘supposed’.

I appear to suffer from a form of what the ASMR community refers to as immunity.

As in doesn’t work. No tingles. Well, once, when I was half asleep, and something inadvertently went bang in the background of the recording I was listening to.

Then, I had tingles.

For the half second it took before I woke up.

So I’ve clocked twenty, maybe thirty hours total on a quest for an ASMR. And gotten maybe half a second of one.

Story of my life.

Dammit.

But never one to accept lemons from life, I found a citrus lining in all this.

I became obsessed with sound quality.

OK, becoming obsessed doesn’t exactly sound like a trade up. Just bear with me. It gets better.

Besides, it could have been an obsession with Justin Bieber. That would definitely be more lemon than lining.

I researched the community and the artists who had the best sounding (but still non-tingly) recordings.

As a result, I bought a Zoom H4n recorder. They’re all the rage with the ASMRers.

And I have to admit, it’s pretty cool.

But all this is my long, meandering way of getting to the point of this posting.

As of yesterday, I have never felt more alive and aware. Why?

Because my Zoom H4n arrived.

And I started using it.

Being a grandiose idea sorta guy, I hit upon the brilliant scheme of recording my evening walk with the family, well, for lack of a better term, we’ll say dog.

Sure, dog. That works.

So I recorded the walk. And then listened to it.

I’d share the recording here, but I doubt you’d find the sounds of my…dog…relieving himself on a tree all that entertaining.

Plus at the end I may have walked through a spider web stretched across my front lawn, hypothetically belonging to a spider I might have seen during the day so I knew it was HUGE and so I might have screamed in a piercing, unmanly fashion.

No one would want to hear that.

If it existed.

Which it doesn’t, as far as I’m concerned.

The surprise came when I closed my eyes and listened.

And heard the skitter of sure, why not, my dog’s claws on cement. And crickets. And a neighbor’s water fountain. And cars whizzing by.

Standard stuff. And frankly, if I hadn’t heard them, I’d have been bitterly disappointed in my new purchase.

But I also heard sounds I hadn’t noticed on the walk itself.

A barely audible family discussion in one house I passed. Another neighbor with a water fountain. The lonely wail of the heretofore thought extinct Red-legged Tinamou.

Sounds that made me sit up, open my eyes, and say, “Hello, where did you come from?”

This really annoyed the Missus, since I was in bed at the time and she’d been asleep.

So tonight I walked again, and recorded again. But this time I found myself more mindful, more aware, and I picked out those sounds I had filtered out last night.

I felt a little bit more alive and a whole lot more aware.

Unlike that time with the peyote. I woke up from that with a migraine, a tramp stamp, and half a cat in my mouth.

Can not recommend. I’m still coughing up hair balls.

But all this New Age-y fulfillment will make me feel a lot better next month when the credit card bill arrives.

* NOTE: Ian M. Dudley is not a medical doctor, certified yoga instructor, licensed massage therapist, or psychedelic drug connoisseur. Attempt at your own risk.
 
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Posted by on 11 September 2014 in Life

 

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Nose Hair, Evolution, and String Theory: The Three Legs of Reality’s Stool

Yesterday, I had to replace my dead CRT television with a new flat screen.

Messed up TV image

The CRT's mode of failure inadvertently tapped into the military transmissions of a cartoon intent on taking over the world.

This naturally led me to thinking about nose hair.

The old TV was heavy and awkward and old, possibly like me, but I won’t confirm that for sure, even if my wife is making me run with her three times a week to improve our health.

When I dropped the TV, and it made that strange sproingy, hissy sound, well, it reminded me of all the odd noises my body has started to make lately over the course of a normal day.

Which made me start to think about nose hair.

You know how when you’re young, your nose hair is all neat and black and not trying to creep out of your nose and repel members of the opposite sex?

Yeah, I remember those days. Sigh.

Fortunately, I managed to get married before the nose hair went crazy.

(You get ear hair too when you’re older, though I’m not there…yet!)

It’s also a cruel irony that as men develop this … excess … nose (and ear) hair, they tend to develop a … deficit … of head hair at the same time.

I started to wonder why on earth men get crazy nose hair (and ear hair (and who-knows-what-else hair I have in store for me)) as they get older. Then I figured it out.

Immunity.

As we get older, our immune systems start getting weaker, more susceptible to things. Well, things we aren’t already immune to (like scathing irony). To compensate, our body tries to make it harder for germs and such to get in our bodies. The approach is two-fold.

Physical protection: the hair in our noses (and ears) gets thick and unruly to filter out any of the larger nasties bouncing about in the air. A ‘None Shall Pass’ approach that only a deftly handled sword could penetrate.

Social un-networking (or decoupling): these rats’ nests hanging out of our noses (and ears) make us physically repulsive, so polite people shy away from us and less polite people run screaming in the opposite direction.  An excellent barrier to contracting STDs, among other things.

This nose hair immune system ‘shield’ is a rather brilliant design, stunning in its simplicity and effectiveness. Therefore, evolution is real. Q.E.D.

Wow. I just proved evolution is fact. I have ensured my place in history.

(And on a few hate lists too, no doubt.)

I would think women have the same issues with nose (and ear) hair, though if they do, they’ve certainly circled their wagons and ensured I never hear anything about extraneous hair issues affecting the fairer sex.

I think this is terribly unfair. Men have to get these awful, noisy nose (and ear) hair clippers as they get older, or wrestle with these tiny, impotent little scissors, and have to primp and pull and pick while standing at awkward angles in front of a mirror.

But women? Nothing! They just gracefully fade into old age.

It is so not fair.

Oh sure, I’ve heard the rumblings. The physicists positing that nose (and ear) hair plays a critical role in String Theory (and therefore men, being the only carriers of nose (and ear) hair, play a critical role in String Theory). I don’t care if it’s true (and the evidence is quite convincing thus far).

It’s still unsightly.

It’s still ghastly.

It still causes my children to retreat from me, wailing and screaming, if I approach before my morning ‘shave’.

Therefore, I demand justice! I demand the doctors and pharmacists of the world start looking for a cure for excessive male nose (and ear) hair. I demand governments put aside vast amounts of research monies to fund this search! There must be a cure! If Hair Club for Men can give me (er, I mean, men in general, ahem) a full head of hair, there must be a way to give men a neat and trim nasal passage!

Only then will I be able to breathe easy.

On a slightly related note, I’ve also discovered that you cannot snort Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (hardback or paperback). Not directly, mind you (nose hair, remember?), but through a third-party. I have pictorial evidence of this, but thus far have been utterly unable to obtain the necessary releases to post the picture. But I assure you, it cannot be done!

(At least, if the book is intact).

 
2 Comments

Posted by on 1 September 2011 in Conspiracies Out To Get Me, Life

 

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