STARK RAVIN' NOISY
I’m dumb-founded at my newly acquired tolerance for loud noise, gained in just the space of a year. I’ve always had a soft spot for silence and thoughtful reflection. These days I’m just a massive fan of any noise environment that doesn’t result in irreversible deafness.
A case in point... Today I am sitting at my desk with gritted teeth. Located directly outside City Hall are six of the biggest sub-woofers I have ever seen. All six are currently pumping out, in slightly mistimed unison, the greatest hits of Survivor for the sixtieth time today. Unfortunately, Survivor only had one great hit, that being “Eye of the Tiger”. I’m trying to persevere with a bit of statistical analysis on important topics like child malnutrition, access to government health programs and disabilities in Bacolod. Unfortunately, most of the under-privileged children in the city currently appear to be outside my window throwing Rocky-like punches in the air every time the MC cranks “risin’ up, straight to the top...” over the airwaves, again and again and again.
I could be irritated but the atmosphere’s a bit too infectious. The whole city, except for me, is waiting for Filipino ‘man of the moment’ and adopted son of Bacolod, Manny Pacquiao, to arrive. I feel like a bit of a party pooper, but I’d attract too much of a spectacle if I went out there and joined them all. I might even end up on the teevs, and I’m wearing my fat clothes today.
How times change. I used to complain when my Pyrmont “work colleagues” (you know who you are) would talk loudly and provocatively about me outside my office. These days I have to put up with maoist revolutionaries screaming “Out with America, out with all white people who look like Americans” just next to the Fountain of Justice in the courtyard.
Yesterday, there was an anti-Gloria demonstration, led by an angry Pinay who barked about corruption and accountability in Ilonggo, allegedly the happiest language in the Philippines. This lasted for four hours in Luzuriaga Street, while disenchanted locals sang various anti-Gloria jingles, made screaming references to Hitler and ignored the on-going barrage of distorted feedback from an obviously pro-Gloria loud speaker that was trying to sabotage the whole event. The overall effect was a comprehensive showcase of the most offensive noises Earth has to offer.
Some days I think no one else must be able to hear themselves, since the noise is constantly inappropriate, uncalled-for and/or off-key. Whether it originates from blaring car horns, noisy screaming children or illegal karaoke set-ups on street corners, I can quite literally write that there’s always something offensive lurking in my ear canal.
It seems that the Pinoys don’t even stop to sleep. Last Monday night I was awoken at 4 am by the Macarena pumping out of the PA system at the Provincial Lagoon, four blocks from my house. No one will ever convince me it was a Macarena emergency. This appalling start to the day was followed by an assortment of Spice Girls, Kylie and Starship songs, leaving absolutely no doubt in my mind that Bacolod City really was built on rock n’ roll. (Perhaps that explains why significant parts of it are prematurely falling down.)
By all accounts the clamor should have driven me mad by now, but strangely in the middle of each racket I always end up laughing in a very noisy way that feels a lot like crying. In fact, it’s a lot like that Henry Rollins song where he laughs in a mentally deranged way for about five minutes before swearing to remain a liar.
In any case, I’m now well-versed in making my own hullabaloo. If you can’t beat ‘em, you might as well join ‘em, and join ‘em in a deadset crazy way too says I.
A case in point... Today I am sitting at my desk with gritted teeth. Located directly outside City Hall are six of the biggest sub-woofers I have ever seen. All six are currently pumping out, in slightly mistimed unison, the greatest hits of Survivor for the sixtieth time today. Unfortunately, Survivor only had one great hit, that being “Eye of the Tiger”. I’m trying to persevere with a bit of statistical analysis on important topics like child malnutrition, access to government health programs and disabilities in Bacolod. Unfortunately, most of the under-privileged children in the city currently appear to be outside my window throwing Rocky-like punches in the air every time the MC cranks “risin’ up, straight to the top...” over the airwaves, again and again and again.
I could be irritated but the atmosphere’s a bit too infectious. The whole city, except for me, is waiting for Filipino ‘man of the moment’ and adopted son of Bacolod, Manny Pacquiao, to arrive. I feel like a bit of a party pooper, but I’d attract too much of a spectacle if I went out there and joined them all. I might even end up on the teevs, and I’m wearing my fat clothes today.
How times change. I used to complain when my Pyrmont “work colleagues” (you know who you are) would talk loudly and provocatively about me outside my office. These days I have to put up with maoist revolutionaries screaming “Out with America, out with all white people who look like Americans” just next to the Fountain of Justice in the courtyard.
Yesterday, there was an anti-Gloria demonstration, led by an angry Pinay who barked about corruption and accountability in Ilonggo, allegedly the happiest language in the Philippines. This lasted for four hours in Luzuriaga Street, while disenchanted locals sang various anti-Gloria jingles, made screaming references to Hitler and ignored the on-going barrage of distorted feedback from an obviously pro-Gloria loud speaker that was trying to sabotage the whole event. The overall effect was a comprehensive showcase of the most offensive noises Earth has to offer.
Some days I think no one else must be able to hear themselves, since the noise is constantly inappropriate, uncalled-for and/or off-key. Whether it originates from blaring car horns, noisy screaming children or illegal karaoke set-ups on street corners, I can quite literally write that there’s always something offensive lurking in my ear canal.
It seems that the Pinoys don’t even stop to sleep. Last Monday night I was awoken at 4 am by the Macarena pumping out of the PA system at the Provincial Lagoon, four blocks from my house. No one will ever convince me it was a Macarena emergency. This appalling start to the day was followed by an assortment of Spice Girls, Kylie and Starship songs, leaving absolutely no doubt in my mind that Bacolod City really was built on rock n’ roll. (Perhaps that explains why significant parts of it are prematurely falling down.)
By all accounts the clamor should have driven me mad by now, but strangely in the middle of each racket I always end up laughing in a very noisy way that feels a lot like crying. In fact, it’s a lot like that Henry Rollins song where he laughs in a mentally deranged way for about five minutes before swearing to remain a liar.
In any case, I’m now well-versed in making my own hullabaloo. If you can’t beat ‘em, you might as well join ‘em, and join ‘em in a deadset crazy way too says I.
posted by Pinoy Zilla at 2:52 AM
1 Comments:
As one of your Pyrmont colleagues, I am no longer sorry for being loud at work
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