It’s been a while since I wrote about our moving adventure. That was 2022. We’re now well settled and very happy … most of the time. For most days during the summer, we have the windows closed and the central air on to keep us from the sweltering heat and the stifling humidity. But in the late spring and early fall when the air is cool and dry, we keep the windows open. And with screen doors now on both front doors and in the sunroom on the back of the house, the airflow through the house is heavenly.
But the noise isn’t.
While our street is a state road (Route 217), it isn’t all that heavily traveled. It is, however, a popular thoroughfare for chuckleheads who ignore — and seem to get away with ignoring — things like Connecticut General Statute § 14-80a., which:
Public Nuisances
We seem to be particularly plagued by three principal categories of offenders.
The first type is The Backfirer, of which we seem to have one type. While backfiring can have many causes — air/fuel mixtures that are too rich or too lean, faulty ignition timing, leaks in exhaust systems, or worn spark plugs, coils, valves, or sensors — we seem to have a proliferation of Sudden Throttle Changers. These are the morons who’ve put their pedals to the metal somewhere in the mile between Route 372, to which our street runs perpendicular and whence it originates, and our house, then abruptly jerk their feet off the pedals as they pass in front of our home. The effect is not unlike this.
The second type is The Hog Rider. These are the stunads with inferiority complexes who think the excessive noise from straight pipes or open pipes makes people think they have big … well … you know. Some of these yo-yos make feeble safety arguments for their excessive rackets — loud pipes save lives — but those usually fall short (no pun intended), especially at public urinals. And some claim loud mufflers are part of certain motorcycle subcultures, signaling individuality or rebellion. Most of those clowns have seen Easy Rider one too many times.
The final type is The Disintegrator. These are the exhibitionists who drive around with music blasting at eardrum-shattering levels, firm in their mistaken conviction that everybody wants to hear the noise they’re making. The Disintegrators fall into two distinct categories: (1) People who are too young to realize they’re going to go deaf from that shit. (2) People who are old enough to already have gone deaf from that shit but get off on the vibrations, particularly their subwoofers and especially if they suffer from the aforementioned kidney stones.
Pipe Down
In the late spring and early fall, Anne and I feel like characters in the short story, “The Machine Stops”, by E.M Forster, initially published in 1909. In it, most of the human population has lost the ability to live on the surface of the Earth. Each person lives below ground, isolated in a standard room, with all bodily and spiritual needs met by the omnipotent, global Machine. There is no silence. They all live with the unrelenting hum of the Machine.
We most enjoy the deep winter and the mid-summer; although, it does take some getting used to the sounds of silence.
Originally Published on https://www.bizcatalyst360.com/category/lifecolumns/notes-to-self/
