My pal Alexa sent me a link to the Museum of Endangered Sounds back in August. Alexa was my assistant for a while ("An assistant to an assistant? You can't go lower!" See this post.). She must have gotten to know me quite well over the years because she knew I would absolutely adore this virtual mini-museum of sonic delights.

The museum is operated by a chap named Brendan Chilcutt and captures the sound of old technologies and electronic equipment. It is absolutely brilliant. A few of my favorites: blowing into a Nintendo video game cartridge, the America Online sign-on page (My first screennames as a pre-teen? YooHooPunk and ZachMorrisIsHot!), and an old rotary telephone.

I wish I had thought of this first! Check it out: Museum of Endangered Sounds.

For Brian, who deals with my sickness (in whatever form it takes)...

Moist wads of toilet paper
    litter the wood-paneled floors

can't afford Kleenex

Tiny plastic pods hastily opened
    to release the so-you-can-rest medicine

new accessories to every flat surface

Skin rubbed raw by Charmin
    burning with the slow drip of dislodged congestion

Day-time means eyes smothered by tiny shards of glass
    too proud to wear the thick plastic frames reserved for the safety of home

Pain
Ache
Fever won't break

And still, the worst of it is not being able to smell you in the morning.

Yesterday afternoon was dedicated to a writing workshop hosted by Deja Earley Ruddick and Lisa Van Orman Hadley.

I have never really written, per se... all my projects come out of the editing process. I never start with a blank page (or blank Pro Tools session, to be more accurate). Instead, I start with a big chunk of sound and chop away at it until the beauty hidden within appears. As I said in the workshop, my only experience with writing, as it is most commonly understood, is sad adolescent attempts at writing lyrics (to make use of my singing voice and emo heart)... everything terrible and full of cliché.

At the end of the workshop, we were challenged to write a poem. To not worry about it being terrible or full of cliché. To just write. And then share this initial attempt with everyone present, of course. I ended up with what you see above, with a couple edits (one suggested by Deja; thank you, ma'am).

THE SUNDAY SOUND: February 3, My first foray into poetry: the audible version.
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Were any of you really enthused about The Wiseawesome Series back when I was doing it in MAY?! Seriously. MAY. And now it is February. GUYS. It is hard to accomplish something creative/funny/artistic when you don't feel at all creative/funny/artistic. I lost it somewhere, but I have recently felt the tiniest spark. I miss creating things, even if they are ridiculous. So, to get back in the game, I am finishing a series I started but never finished (starting something and not finishing it is FAR from normal for me, so I feel compelled to tie up the loose ends. The Gratitude Challenge is next!).

Because of this recent dearth of activity, my husband won't let me leave the house until I do a post. So, I am currently a prisoner in my own home. But I must admit it is one of those "for your own good" situations.

As I went through the audio of the original interview with Tommy, there was so much I wanted to share (life advice! philosophical musings! patriotism!). After much struggle, I decided to complete this series (NEARLY NINE MONTHS LATER) by highlighting the impressive non-verbal communication for which Tommy Wiseau is famous. Enjoy.

THE (Saturday) SOUND: February 2, The Wiseawesome Series, Part 5.
For those following along in an RSS reader, click through to the original post to hear today's piece.