cindy's world

This is really interesting. On The Sneeze is a post dated 6-5-06 about sounds so high-pitched that only people under age 25 could hear it, so store owners were emitting that sound to keep teenagers out of their stores. And then the teenagers, realizing that adults can’t hear this sound what with natural deterioration of hearing range sensitivity and all, started using that sound as their cell phone ring tones so their phones could ring in class and the teacher wouldn’t know. On the site is a sample of 2 such sounds, the first between 15000 Hz and 17000 Hz, and the 2nd sound lower than that. The administrator of The Sneeze zine/blog welcomes people to comment on this post and talk about their experience with the sound, and there was a range of teens who were driven crazy by the “pulsating” of the first sound altho most adults just heard ambient street noise, and a lot of people (me included) could hear and hate the 2nd sound.

Here’s the comment I posted on The Sneeze about that:
“I’m 29 (30 in a few weeks). I played the 2 clips on Media Player, which has visual patterns/graphics that respond to sounds being played.
On the 1st one, I could see the design pulsating with some rhythm, but could not hear the pulses. All I heard was street noise and laughter. On the 2nd one, the high-pitched screeching was so painful that I pulled back and cringed, temporarily unable to even reach out and click the “stop” button. No way I’d go near a store emitting that noise. But now I know not to make fun of movie characters who freeze in mid-action and hold their ears when some villain plays a high-pitch noise. Haha, stupid wimps. Oh wait, I can’t do that anymore.”

There’s also a link on The Sneeze’s post that links to another guy’s site who posted a range of sounds to see where his hearing peaked out. His peaked out at 15000 Hz. Unfortunately, so did mine. 15000 Hz was painfully thin and shrill, but I heard nothing in the 16000 Hz clip. How sad that my hearing has deteriorated by half already and I’m usually careful about not cranking up my music too loud. I blame it on the street noise pouring into my car when I drive my Honda.

“See, it’s the little things,” Dwaine said over and over last night. Little things like
* hanging out at an old friend’s new house that’s designed so beautifully and so comfort-consciously that you can sprawl out on the leather sofa and not feel like it’s gross or inappropriate
* splitting a delicious pepperoni, bell pepper and olive pizza after stumbling delightedly on each other’s identical dislike for Hawaiian pizza toppings (Me: “I can deal with the ham all right, but I can’t stand the sweet and salty thing on something that’s supposed to be salty! I mean, is it a dinner, a dessert?” Dwaine: “That’s exactly how I feel! Pineapple has no business being anywhere near a pizza! I like pineapple, I can eat it as a separate dessert after dinner, but my respect for people just drop when they want a Hawaiian pizza.”)
* starting with white zinfandel, then moving on to shiraz, then some amazing Jamaican rum cream
* very engaging conversation about our past and old childhood acquaintances, our careers, our futures; psychoanalysis and ridicule of the male goal-oriented mind vs. the female emotion shifts (his life); gender roles and some politically incorrect spewage
* lots of laughing (only slightly enhanced by alcohol)
* an offer to take me to and pick me up from the airport when I fly up north in a few weeks for my bday, thereby resolving all the anxiety I had about getting there on time, not getting lost, where to park my car over the weekend and not pay an arm and a leg, etc.

Totally worth ditching jujitsu and running for.

Yeah, I suppose now that it’s June, I can start the countdown.

28 more days left to enjoy being in my 20s. *sob*

Vanessa just moved out. 🙁 After an evening of just raunchy and hilarious joking and laughing with her, her boyfriend, and their future roommate/her martial arts trainer, Vanessa and her boyfriend picked up the last of her stuff here and the three of them left. As she pulled her SUV out of my garage, she waved sadly at me and I laughed and waved back, closed the garage door after her, and came back into a house that is so incredibly silent after all the raucous between the four of us just minutes before. Those two guys have the same inappropriate humor as me, except I don’t get some of their movie references. Earlier, as we walked out of the Japanese restaurant, Vanessa and I in front, the guys behind us, I overheard the trainer say to her boyfriend, “This is the most fun I’ve had in weeks.” I think we may have scared or irritated some of the patrons in the restaurant with how much fun we were having.

I wandered upstairs and looked into the spare room and was surprised it was not nearly as empty as I’d expected it to be. And I realized it was all my stuff. She’d put everything back the way it was when she moved in, just as she’d done with her bathroom, except for a few candle additions. I’m sitting on my new recliner in the living room, and as I look around, I note the only changes that prove she’d ever lived here: the missing dining room table and chairs; a huge bunch of yellow roses, daisies, lilies, eucalyptis and bells of Ireland in a vase; an equally huge wicker gift basket wrapped so beautifully I don’t know how I’m gonna bring myself to open it, filled with so many things I love that she has learned in these past two months living with me — Hawaiian lei flower-shaped floating candles from Illuminations, a gourmet milk chocolate bar w/almonds, white chocolate bar, bottle of floral white wine, a package of scented clear tea lights, a “Private Party Kit” from Frederick’s of Hollywood (I confess I have no idea what’s in that box), an AMC movie giftcard, and a gift certificate to a fancy restaurant she’d been touting, Anaheim White House Restaurant. She said it was a date in a basket in which she’d provided everything from entertainment and dinner to after-dinner events.

When she was packing the last of her stuff into boxes upstairs earlier, I heard her talk to Dodo and saw my stairwell light up with her camera flash several times. After only 2 short months, I think she anticipates missing us as much as Dodo and I miss her already. *sniff*

(In an episode of “Friends” where Chandler had decided —

[Haha, Vanessa just called me from the road. She said her trainer said that I’m “really really really cool” and also, “she’s HOT!” Vanessa always makes my day.]

— to move in with Monica, and the two break the news to Joey that Chandler’s moving out and to Rachel that she has to move out so Chandler could move in, the four roommates had teary goodbyes about how “it’s the end of an era!”)

The only reason I know today is Dragon Boat Festival Day is because my mother gave me a calendar that superimposes the Chinese lunar calendar over the Western calendar, and then she’d gone on various days and drawn little pictures of what the day is. For today, she drew little Chinese “dzong zi” (sticky rice with meat and veggies wrapped and steamed in a bamboo leaf) in the square. True to form, Mr. W and I are gonna have a pork and mushroom dzong zi each for lunch today.

My mommy’s so cute. Unfortunately, her cuteness is a necessity driven by the shameful fact that I’m nearly illiterate in Chinese so she needs to illustrate instead of deferring to the preprinted holidays designated in Chinese on the calendar.

I couldn’t fall asleep last nite after I got home, so I started flipping through a catalog of random bizarre objects and t-shirts. I noticed that all the novelty stuff making fun of an aging birthday began with age 40. There are no products making fun of people turning 30. So I guess 30 really is the new 20.

The other thing that makes me feel better is what a birthday card I read recently said; there are many people turning 40 who would do anything to be you.

Guys! I just bought, as a total impulse purchase, a La-Z-Boy Airspa (R) massage recliner with heat and 10 motors! It has self-inflating and -deflating lumbar pillows, different modes of massage; it reclines and rocks; it fits me vertically and horizontally; and the fabric is oh-so-soft cream chenille! I had been playing with the idea of getting a recliner for my living room (it needs more seating) and when Vanessa moves out and takes a dining room set with her as she promised to do, I’ll have a nice space for a recliner or a loveseat that faces the living room and bigscreen TV as well as the dining area and kitchen. I meant to just look in the La-Z-Boy store to get some ideas when Mr. W and I walked by it on our way back to the car after breakfast, but then, there that chair was. Softer than anything (except Dodo, and parts of my lower abdomen), it rocks (in the colloquial and literal definitions), and it massages! I’ve always loved overstuffed furniture I could curl up in. And here’s the kicker. It was 50% off because that cream chenille fabric is being discontinued (the other models in different fabrics are still original priced at $1600), and this weekend’s sale is THE STORE PAYS SALES TAX! Woohoo! Mr. W has a truck, so I don’t even pay delivery. I was nervous about my cat perhaps taking a liking to the chair, but the salesperson said just to turn it on when the cat’s around and once Dodo sees that it vibrates, makes noise, and rocks, he won’t come near it. That’s true. Dodo hates the vacuum for the same reason. YAY!!

Does anyone else find it a bit absurd that in last night’s season 5 finale of “American Idol”, the show received just under 64 million votes for who should be America’s next reality-show-made singing star, which is a bigger voting participation than any presidential election in this country? Do we as a country care who wins a telecast singing contest more than we care who’s representing the nation to the world? (I was gonna write “running the nation” but I’m not sure that’d be an entirely accurate characterization, but I’m not gonna go there.)

I just deleted 149 spam messages and trackbacks. I thought I disabled trackbacks! 149!!! I should make a list of all the companies and hotels (yes, like 40 today from HOTELS now) that have spammed my blog and never, ever patronize them.

Children of the 80s may remember an old commercial with the jingle “I wanna be like Mike” sung in children’s voices. I can’t remember what commercial it was…milk comes to mind for some reason. Or, like, Flintstone vitamins or something. Maybe it’s for a growth ad. And I’m not even sure which Mike they’re referring to. Michael Jordan, maybe?

Anyway, my point is, ever since Mike set up the numeric verification to comment on my site, I have not had ONE spam comment! I came back from lunch and my inbox was exactly as I’d left it! YAY! Mike is neat-o!