Friday, November 9, 2012


Maybe it's all those Cyndi Lauper concerts I went to back in the 80s, but I can't hear anymore. Neither can anybody I hang out with. It's a constant stream of Whats?, Huhs? and doing the smile-and-nods as we secretly try to piece together the charades audio version of auto-correct. What'd he say? ...sounds like? ...starts with a B? Beiber! Justin Beiber!! Sometimes I miss stuff because it's too embarrassing to ask for a repeat. My main conversationalist, Shawn, has got it even worse than me. Lots more concerts back in the day, head-phoned XBox, iPods, shooting things out in the desert and years of playing war games with the US Navy, and we've got issues. The other day we were side-by-side toothbrushing and I asked him about the buzzing lightbulb above one of the sinks. I was really trying to get him to reach up there and take it out. He said, "What buzzing?" "That buzzing," I answered, pointing up. He shook his head. I stopped talking and waited a couple of seconds. "That! Hear that?"  "No," shaking head some more, "it must be a frequency I can't hear."

"Ha! I bet you wish everything I said came out in that frequency! Right?"



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