Dang Those Decibels of Death!

I think my ears have finally stopped ringing.... which is a good thing because Tinitis is not one of those fun things that you'll regale with fondness in your yearly Christmas newsletter to the folks back home, nor recount as an achievement worthy of accolades and a story on A Current Affair..... no, it's just very annoying, and feels much like having a miniature Hunchback of Notre Dame ringing his bells inside your head while your lie with your head under a pillow in 10m of water... so how did I come to have the Bells of St Clements peeling inside my head?

Dancing! Yes dancing! Well more specifically, spending three hours bopping away in a very small club on Oxford St, Sydney, just under a metre away from very large speakers, pumping out very loud remixes... in hindsight not the smartest thing to do, but at the time, eager to dance the early morning away, and hot men all around me, it seemed the very epitome of sense and sensibility..... I was out celebrating a friend's birthday and Palms, my favourite club on the now seedy strip, was jammin' and slammin' and.... nope, that's my dance-themed street language all tapped out!..... and Smirnoff Ice in hand, it was very easy to dirty dance and boogie and not notice the volume was deafening.....

...... until I stepped outside and oddly everyone was whispering, and the cars were gliding by silent as a mechanical lamb belching out noxious emissions (trust me such a thing exists... I am fairly certain the North Koreans have one hidden away somewhere), and my friends were speaking with this weird echoey lilt..... fairly certain that a silence bomb had not gone off, and that my friends were as Caucasian (and non-accented) as they moment we entered the club, I had to conclude that the boomin' beats had temporarily laid waste to my oh-so-tender 42 year old ears..... yes the ears that had once withstood decibels that would shred a monkey (I have never tried this but have it on good authority, such a thing is possible), now caved after a mere 3 hours in a crowded club about the size of a shoebox..... hmm, in retrospect, as I said, probably not the smartest move, but more fun that sticking the aforementioned shredded monkey back together with paper clips and super glue..... and that, my friends, makes it all worthwhile, especially now the Hunchback has stopped his blessed ringing, and my synapses have returned to their silent furiously-whirring selves.....

PARTY ON!!! Very, very quietly please....shhhhhh....