news.

Following domestic news from outside of the United States is a surreal experience. When I was living in Dublin, I would scan the headlines of the Irish newspapers and get a glimpse of whatever was going on. At the time, I marveled at the extensive coverage devoted to the 2006 midterm elections: for a solid week, the front pages of the Irish Times and the Irish Independent were devoted to in-depth profiles of the Senators and Representatives who were up for election; op-ed pieces discussed the seats necessary for a Democrat takeover and the ramifications of such a win on Iraq and other salient issues. Freed from the circus tactics that seem to plague the U.S. media conglomerates, the Irish media actually delivered information to its readers, and treated them as intelligent, well-informed...adults. When you turned on the news, you did not witness shouting matches from political pundits who were trying to get a word in edgewise against a bullish host; you did not hear the same obviously partisan political phrases being repeated ad nauseam; you did not see a 45-second sound bite story that was more impressive for its graphics and cut-away edits than its actual content. You were not treated as though you were an ADHD, Ritalin-deprived four year old who needed to be entertained by a constant barrage of colors and noise, because those four year olds? They are not the ones that should be setting the bar on the quality of information being provided by the media, and the news should not be just another form of entertainment. Catering to the lowest common denominator is helpful to no one and detrimental to all.

Being here in Japan, I don't have nearly as many options for getting news via Japanese sources, mainly because I don't know the language. There is one English-dubbed half-hour newscast every night at 7PM, and I definitely try to watch it, but I have a penchant for getting my news via print sources. I read the New York Times online and have a roster of blogs that I visit that link me to other news sources, as well. Obviously the presidential campaign has been taking up most of the media's time (even I have gotten sick of the "lipstick on a pig" debacle), but I have also been reading tributes and obituaries of David Foster Wallace, tracking hurricanes, following the demise of Wall Street.

I met an Israeli who has lived in Japan for the past 10 years. He said that he felt like he was fluent after 5 years, and then he put himself to the test: he tried to watch (and understand) the Japanese news. He couldn't do it. He was finally able to understand the news after he had been here eight years or so. That's a long time to go without following the news in the place you're living in.

dusk

The view from my front door at 6PM on a September evening.

sound of sand

what does sand sound like, anyway?

in an hourglass, there is a barely audible swoosh as the sand measures time's swift and silent passage, but the sound is swallowed up by the sight of the stream of particles flowing, from top to bottom, forming a heap that is ready to be flipped again all too soon.

at the beach, any sound the sand happens to make by itself is overshadowed by the crash of waves, and the crunching sound it makes as it gives way to feet and towels and bags and umbrellas and coolers and books and iPods and sunscreen tubes (why do we insist on bringing so much with us to enjoy nature?) is muffled by our yelps as it burns our sensitive soles, or ignored completely in the search for the perfect place to sun ourselves and catch the breeze off the water.

by itself, i don't really know what sand sounds like. i'm torn between thinking that sand doesn't really have a sound, and realizing that i probably never stopped long enough to actually listen to it. could i even hear it if i tried, or have i trained my ears and my brain to only listen to the sensational, to the things that insist on my attention? i wonder what i would hear if i was able to put the ocean on mute and press my ear up against the sand. i wonder what i would hear if i put myself on mute.

in a sense, that is what has happened. i could say that "i have been muted," but i prefer the agency and sense of control that comes from saying, "i have put myself on mute," even if it's not entirely true. in any case, i cannot be heard by anyone outside of myself. whether or not that is of my own doing is largely irrelevant.

i am grasping to things that remind me of my own self, of who i am, and it feels as futile as trying to hear what the sand sounds like. as i cling, i'm waiting for the moment when i let go. even as i write this, my jaw is clenching up, yet another sign that that day is far in the future.