The Alarm Clock
The alarm clock.
The a l a r m clock.
Alarm. [Note its strange,
paganish spelling.]
ALARM!!
How has such a subversive device sneaked this easily into our collective
consumer consciousness? Alarm + Clock??! Why not Fear Mug? Death Desk? Destroy Hat? It shocks that we have not as a society risen to
push righteously against such a poisonous object.
The concept of alarm goes back of course to our deepest primal roots. “Alarm!”
didn't then mean a daybreak blare or a peevish comment about the world –
today’s casual "I'm alarmed there are no spring lettuces yet in the
market." No, Alarm! then meant "HOLY SHIT!!!!" Alarm! was Crogmagnon
man racing round the cave yowling "Run! Run!! There is a pack of
wildebeests in here!! Grab your crap and the babies and let's get the fuck out of
here!!"
"Alarm!" clock. Okay. But why never: "Hello!" clock? Nope.
"Welcome!" clock?, "...pssssst" clock?,"
"Top o' the Mornin' To Ya!" clock? Nada. No, this clock is hell bent
on Alarm! Alarming you!
Not only do we actually accept the Alarm! clock into our homes -- into our very bedrooms --
we voluntarily use its functionality to schedule pre-planned, forthcoming
Alarm! Late in the evening, in our comfortable, fuzzy pajamas, teeth freshly brushed
and sleepy cocoa in our stomachs, we walk to this device and decide: "Hmmm, at
what moment early tomorrow do I want Alarm!?" "When precisely
do I want to be pulled by my hair out of gentle dreamland by the terrifying
sound of a truck backing up on me?" I've even heard tale of Alarm! clocks
that allow the separate setting of Alarm! for one's self and for one's
partner! So that hours later one can lurch forward to pre-set terror only
to realize "Ha! That's HIS Alarm! Let him deal with it! I'm sitting pretty
for 38 minutes."
I hate being awakened. Hate it. Always have. The only way I've made it as far as I
have is that my father, ex-military, took a Louis-Gossett Jr.-like pleasure in
shouting me out of bed each morning until I graduated high school. To me,
being awakened is like going from a blissful summer’s daydream to a
bloodsoaked dual bus crash in one second. In my fleeting grasp of what's
happening, I see a far too bright light shimmering above. Nooooooo! I'm so much
happier down where I am, swimming in the dark with the weird fish, the friendly
dreams and the grateful anemone.
I have a friend who has exactly the opposite condition as I: she can't stay
asleep and rises each day by 4:00a.m. She's the one standing outside her office
at 6:00a.m., waiting for the security guard to show up and let her in.
I try to explain that she and I are opposite sides of the same bent
coin, but she sniffs in disapproval. And, let's face it: morning people are the
"popular crowd" in regular society. Marcia Brady was surely an early
riser. Me, I live in fear of the words "breakfast meeting." I can
barely organize the noticeable coordination of my two irises until around
11:00a.m., and don't reach my (brief) peak until the far side of 4:00. I
feel persecuted and unacceptable in our modern world. Is it me alone
that suffers from this malady? Surely there are others who would, at that
alarm-clock moment, literally sell their grandmother for another hour in bed??
Surely? Anyone??
I have slept through college finals, plane reservations, business meetings and
countless other obligations because I could not or would not wake up. Once, in
college, I was traveling with a large group of students and we were staying at
an alumnus’ house overnight. Space was scarce, so I was bedded down in a
hidden coat closet on the third floor. In the morning I heard the honking of
our bus and commotion up and down the hall, dozens of students shouting:
"Where's Woody??" But I just couldn't give up that lovely blissworld
I felt in my sleeping bag. The smoothness of the surfaces, the backwards
summersaults of my dreams. I hid blissfully until finally discovered by some
dolt.
I have employed many weapons in my fight with the enemy. I try going to sleep early. I set the dreaded Alarm! an hour early so I can go back to sleep for a while. I have friends call me. I have situated the itself clock far across the room from the bed, in the hopes that during my staggering trip to turn it off, some part of me will remember why it is that I wanted to arise in the first place.
The word "Snooze" has actually been worn off my alarm clock from repeated savaging. I envision myself like the hand of a metronome, swinging from a dead sleep, my feet never actually leaving the bed, to hit the button in a fast arc then back to the bed, scarcely to be detected or heard.
My latest offensive play has been to employ a "Sound Device" instead of the hated Alarm! clock. This machine replaces the jarring garbage-truck beep or blaring radio with one of four soothing "Nature" sounds: Thunder, Waves, Rain or "Tropical Forest." The jury is out (though only around the corner getting bagels), but already I suspect this to be yet another failure.
"Thunder" sounds like I am in a submarine hearing multiple missiles exploding far above. Stay asleep. "Waves" - good in concept, but the recording used must have been bought on the cheap: the crash of the waves is relentless, coming less than a second apart. It's like some kind of apocalyptical tsunami is arriving just now this morning. Stay asleep. "Rain" -- need I say more? Stay asleep.
"Tropical Forest" may be our best chance. I gradually become aware of cicadas and some sort of shrieking jungle bird nearby. Talk about Alarm!? What the fuck are they doing in my bedroom??? This has effectively awoken me twice this week, if only to look around, just to grasp relief, then collapse again into the pillows. But a good try nonetheless.
I guess, like anything hard fought and won, there is only one way to succeed in this most NY of Marathons: One must NEED to get up. Period. There must be an urgent reason that, at 8:30, one is in the shower because one HAD FRIKKIN BETTER BE, or one’s ass will be slapped into next week. Then maybe an Alarm! Clock is truly appropriate. Perhaps this is our modern world's pack of wildebeests. After all, Alarm! clocks don’t usually come with an “Oh Fuck It All!” button.
Woody Firm, March 19, 2008