I Heard the World Today

     Mornings are a very hectic time.  Sure, it's the start of a brand new day, but also, ugh, another day is starting.  There are an unlimited number of things I'd like to do in the morning, but a very finite amount of time in which to do them.  I stick to a routine and I can make it through relatively unscathed.  Somehow, someway, my routine was broken.
     I approached the Metro turn-style and stuck my hand in my pocket to get my SmarTrip card.  That's when I noticed it- I didn't have my phone/life-device.  My heart sank.  I took a step back and did one of those slow-motion semi-circle moves you see in movies.  I could picture it still sitting on my bed, right where I left it.  How, how could I let this happen?  My world started crumbling.  I had an umbrella in one hand and a coffee mug in the other and apparently in my third hand my SmarTrip card.  How had I not noticed the sounds of world before?  What had caused my absent-mindedness?
     I blamed the rain.  The rain was the problem because had I not been concentrating so much on remembering the umbrella, I would have had hand space for my life-device.  I looked behind me and then ahead again.  Do I go back?  How can I survive the day without it?  I forged on, deciding I should be brave this once.  Today I would be forced to listen to the world. 
     Without the pleasant distraction of music in my ear buds and all of the wonderful apps I use during the commute, it was the longest train ride I have ever experienced.  How do people do this?  You can hear other people talking, and the rustle of the papers, and the announcements are deafening.  Except on the morning Metro, you don't hear the people talking because people do not talk in the morning.  It's one of the weirdest phenomenons I have ever seen.  The train is packed with people, but nobody is making noise.  Apparently no two people know each other and clearly nobody wants to make new friends with the person next to them on the metro.
     I did the math (I did not do the math) and at least 85% of people on the Metro are reading something.  A lot of them are reading newspapers.  The really douchey ones read their paper folded length-wise.  I don't understand it, and I don't like it.  To me, they're trying to tell the rest of us they're better because they read the most efficient way possible whilst on the train.  It shouldn't bother me, but I look out for these people and in case I run into them later, I know to not befriend them.  Others are reading the free newspapers that are passed out all over the Metro system and will be carpeting every train in service by the end of the day.  A few read books, magazines, and kindles.  Those of us left not reading are surely being judged by the readers.  Without my ear buds in, I could hear the judgment.
     I made it through my morning commute, umbrella in one hand, coffee in the other, stomach on the ground, and a hole in my heart.  I'll make it through the rest of my day, and in the end I'm sure it'll be fine.  It hasn't killed me yet, but listening to the world has reminded me of why I generally choose not to do so.  I've scrapped my afternoon plans and will rush straight home on the seemingly longest train ride home ever. 

Playlists Are Important

     For some reason there is a negative connotation associated with that guy who makes a playlist for everything.  A mixed tape, a mixed CD, a playlist- each generation has their thing and there is always that person who thinks it's cool to make it.  I am that guy.
     I'm lucky enough to have friends who support this habit, and when I give them a CD or a playlist, they accept it with genuine enthusiasm.  Five years ago when I lived in South Carolina, I made a two disc set titled "Low Country Mix" for a friend.  She still listens to it.  I'm that good at making mixes.
     There is an art to it.  I generally subscribe to the High Fidelity rules of mix tape/CD/playlist making.  (There is also a Wiki-how page with similar rules.)  I don't just throw ten songs I like on a mix and hit go.  I think about it, I mull it over, I listen and relisten.  I'm making the mix for a reason- maybe for a person's birthday, a long car trip, or a holiday/vacation event.  I think about themes and rhythms.  And most importantly, I think about the order of the songs.
     The order is important.  The order is what takes you on the journey.  If it's correct, you hardly notice it.  The songs flow seamlessly from one to another, carrying you along from your dirt road out of town to the lights of the big city.  When it's wrong, it's jarring.  When one song fades out and then BOOM, the slamming drums of another begin, you're out of the moment.  You're thinking about the order, and probably about how stupid the person is who made the mix. 
     All of this is to bring up the worst thing that happened yesterday.  I was attempting to make a mix for my impending Presidents Day Weekend Extravaganza.  The girls are getting back together for a three day weekend of drinks, comedy, opera, chili, and more drinks.  Those are also essentially the themes for the weekend.  So I went to GrooveShark, typically a wonderful music streaming site that allows the creation and sharing of playlists.  I went after all the songs with the aforementioned themes and went to work.  It was shaping up nicely- it was about as long as the plane ride to Boston would be, so perfect.  Then, a combination of user errors, outdated web browsers, and bad luck caused the most terrible thing to happen to playlists.  I could not rearrange the order of the songs.  I almost cried.  I considered smashing the computer.  I was defeated. 
     So the next step is to just make the playlist on yee old iTunes and enjoy it whilst we sit around the fireplace eating chili and talking about Great Books. 

Not Listening

     This listening assignment is harder than I thought it would be.  The first tough part is remembering to do it.  As I was hurrying around the house this morning trying to get ready for work, I heard the news report about the metro and something wonky going on.  And then I heard the word sex-calators.  The sex-calators were broken all throughout the Metro system.  This gave me pause and made me realize I was not actually listening to the news report.  Sex-calators aren't real things; if they were,  I have to believe that people would have serious issues with them. 
      First, I imagine a certain group of people protesting them when they were being installed.  There would be demonstrations about decency and family and other garbage like that.  Secondly, once they were installed, 1. of course they would break all the time, and 2. people would get really pissed when they broke.  And not just write a letter to Mr. Sarles pissed, but burn the whole system down kind of pissed.  Of course the destruction of the system would only further delay the repair of the sex-calators, angering them even more when they realized what they've done. 
     I spent a little bit of time imagining what a sex-calator would look like.  It's not pretty- mostly functional, because it still has to get you off out of the metro system.  Or in, I suppose- this description has nowhere to go but down.  (A potential slogan for the sex-calator!  Ride the sex-calator, when you have nowhere to go but down.) 
     So yeah, listening is important.  But sometimes, thinking about what you thought you heard is good too. 

Listening: An Exercise

     My assignment for this week is to listen.  It seems simple enough, but with most things that are doled out as assignments, there's more to it than meets the eye (or ear).  First, it means removing my ear buds- not something I enjoy doing while on public transportation.  It turns out I don't like listening to other people, but listening to other people is a great way to learn about them.
      I admit I had briefly forgotten about this assignment and didn't spend time listening at the grocery store.  That may have been self preservation.  It struck me this morning though, when I overheard a conversation that thrust me into the moment and I remembered I was supposed to be listening, because I was supposed to hear moments like this.
      I was waiting for the elevator to go to my 8th floor office.  The door opened, and there were already two men inside.  I stepped inside, along with another gentleman who was waiting.  I pressed 8.  The door started to close and I saw a woman approach.  I stuck my arm out to stop the door so she could get on.  She gave me the mildly appreciative nod and pressed 7.  4 and 6 were already lit up.  I had taken my ear buds out at this point and was wrapping them around my iPod.  Apparently someone to the right of me recognized the woman.  I ascertained from the ID card hanging from his pocket his name was Greg.  I don't remember her name now; I'll call her Julia.

Greg: Good Morning Julia.

Julia is slightly confused, and looks around the now crowded elevator.

Julia: Oh, hello.  Good morning.

She waits just a second, and then-

Julia: Congratulations.

And then Greg puts on his best Eeyore impression.

Greg: Yeah.

What?  Yeah?  She says Congratulations and you say Yeah?  And not only do you say yeah, but you say it in the most depressing manner possible.  Was she congratulating you on your failed suicide?  I say, even if you're not happy about whatever someone is congratulating you for, notice the fact that you're in an elevator with three strangers, and they now think you're a complete dick.
     By now we were at the 4th floor and someone got off the elevator.

     Greg: What are you here for?
     Julia: A meeting, what else?
     Greg: For us?
     Julia: I'll get off with you and talk to you for a moment.

Yep, weird.  The elevator stops at the 6th floor and they both get off.  Then I hear Julia say "actually, no."  The fact that I overheard her means either she wasn't concerned about me knowing this information- (so why wait to say it?), or she thought there was some sort of invisible barrier on the elevator that allows only those inside to hear what's happening inside, regardless of the position of the door. The door closed and I got to make a superfluous stop at the 7th floor- apparently where Julia's meeting was. 
      I have a few theories about this conversation, and their relationship.  I think Julia and Greg and might be the stars of my next sketch, "Congratulations on your failed suicide attempt."