I Love the Sound of My Own Hand Clapping, or: "Toe Pick!"

You guys remember The Cutting Edge, right?  That fabulous cheesball movie about the injured ice hockey player who gets teamed with couple skating's ice princess, only to fall in love with her and win the gold?  Oh, come on, admit it.  You know you do!

Anyway, there's a scene in that movie that I've always loved (in addition to "Toe pick!") where Kate sees a picture of Doug kneeling on the ice with his face just inches from the surface.  She asks him what he's doing and he, surprised, says, "Smelling the ice!"  Like, "Duh, who doesn't!"

Then it transpires that he, who loves skating, loves the smell of ice, while she, the talented but loveless shrew, has never ever thought of smelling the ice.  The implication is that if she doesn't love the smell of ice, then she doesn't really love the sport.

Well, I don't know anything about ice skating, but when it comes to writing, I totally love the smell of ice.

I love the smell of ball point pen ink.  And I love the way paper crinkles when you write on it.  I love the sound of pencil lead as it scratches across the page, and I love the clack clack of the typewriter.  I also, and here's where I might be insane, love the sound of myself typing.

I type really fast.  No, I mean really, really fast.  Like, Sonic the Hedgehog fast.  I'm sure I'm giving myself carpel tunnel, but I don't even care.  Sometimes I write nonesense--I mean I literally copy song lyrics--just to hear the clickclickclick.

It's not the only weird sound I love.  I also love the swoosh and scratch of a paint brush on stretched canvas, and the sflif of an envelope hitting the stack of mail at the bottom of the blue post office box.  I love the way pay phone buttons sound (and feel) when you press them (kind of a cli-thunk), and I love love love the thwap of a rubber-tipped pointer against a high-school classroom projector screen. 

But the thing about all those other sounds is that I like them just as much when someone else is making them.  In fact, with the paintbrush one, I like it more, because then I can just relax and listen, and I don't have to worry about the quality of my painting.

I can't stand the sound of other people typing though.  Just ask my beloved college roommate, who types, I am sorry to say, like a toddler wearing Fischer Price roller skates. 

Think about it.

CLUNK CLUNK CLUNK

(silence)

CLUNK CLACK CLUNK

(silence)

CLATTER CLACK CLUNKCLUNKCLUNKCLUNK

(CRASH!)

Just when I thought she was done, she'd start right back up again. 

She's a brilliant writer, but sharing a room with her was a challenge come midterms.

Most people just type so slowly that it sets my teeth on edge.  My dad?  Forget about it.  He still pecks! 

Tap.



Tap.



Tap.

My mom is the opposite.  She types even more quickly than I do, but she's always filling in little boxes in Microsoft Excell, so it's

Tap.   mouse click.   Tap.   mouse click.   Tap.   mouse click.   Tap.   mouse click.  Tap.

I really don't mean to brag, or to make fun of those less fortunate than I.  It's just that I type beautifully.  Fluidly, even.  It's an art, really. 

Tiptiptip tap tap.  Tiptippitytiptip tap.  Tap-apity-tip tap, flip tap, zip clap!  Tip-ippity-tap tip, flap tip, clip zap! 

Ta da!

"Lex, what are you doing?"

"Listening to the sound of my own fingers typing.  Like, Duh."