The mouth-meat involved in human birdsong is called the 'buccinator' (snort) and the orbicular oris. These muscle groups, guided by some alien and ignorant impulse from the brain, allow the mouth to form the most ridiculous of all human facial positioning, in preparation for the most foolish utterance ever conceived.
The whistle.
It is a facial-expression akin to having a straw removed quickly from your gob or what it looks like blowing into someone's ear (which today might get you punched out by your most intimate relationship). You know the face.
The sound that comes from this sphinctered oral orifice is so utterly repulsive, it's a wonder the human race has survived at all. The only other human hole capable of making such awful sounds, is, well...for another blog.
I'm not talking about a getting-your-attention, help-I'm-lost-in-the-forest, fingers-in-your-mouth whistle.
I mean the other one.
It's the self-indulgent unnecessary weird neighbour, whose shirt is off in the front-yard as soon as the snow melts. Yes, that self-obsessed jackass that no-one wants at the thanksgiving table.
There is a book entitled "A Brief History of Whistling" by John Lucas. One can only surmise that this 196-paged hardcover was titled as such because Mr. Lucas must have needed a divorce lawyer halfway through its writing. Brief history indeed. Hopefully there are thousands of copies left.
There's something about whistling and old men. A little misandry here fellas, but it's definitely a male issue. You never hear an old lady bent over in her garden whistling for no goddamned reason. Men are just ignorant, boastful, imbeciles. They whistle.
The range of sound that comes out of their sometimes hairy puckered pie-holes is impressive. Some can carry a high pitched tune, while others are just whistling idiotic, making noise, creating CO2.
I reckon there can be but two reasons for this persisting phenomenon:
JOY
Whistling is generally associated with good feelings. Whistle while you work, take your mind off the mundane etc. Positive, uplifting Disney tripe. We've been fed that if someone is in a good mood, whistling can express it no better. Can a person not share with the world (within earshot) his good news, his good mood? He can't contain himself! Guess what old man? Please don't. The world is an ugly place, ugly with you in it and far uglier with your noises. Some of us are having a bad day. A hangover is a real thing. Don't rub it in. What could you possibly be happy about anyway? The thought of your wet pursed lips would be better around a cigar or a bottle of vodka.
Maybe whistling makes you appear non-threatening to women-folk (or other men-folk for that matter) in your immediate vicinity.
Excellent.
We will see this as a sign of weakness and attack you with abandon.
ILLNESS
Whistling of course could be a tick. Involuntary even. Even Tourette's Syndrome uses words.
If you've nothing to share and you're whistling, well perhaps there is something wrong with you. Crazy folk talk to themselves at least. English jibber-jabber is my favourite means of information transportation. We have some lovely cuss-words. We invented the swear-jar. Honestly though, you may have a mental illness and we're too polite to tell you. There are professionals that can cure you of your melodic uncontrollable mouth-flute outbursts.
If you're not lobotomized soon, you may find yourself one day with a fatter lip to mouth-chirp with.
HOPE
Fret not my whistle-whistleblowers. You're not alone. Say hello to misophonia.
Just not too close or loudly, mind you.
Misophonia is diagnosed as a rage induced reaction from certain sounds. Sounds of people eating, clocks ticking, water dripping from a faucet, vacuums, all send people into a state of unbridled violent anger.
Whistling is also in this category.
The deafening sound of unnecessary vanity and self-importance should make everyone punchy, n'est pas?
Thankfully, whistling isn't catching on these days. Children learn how to do it out of developmental pride and soon toss it away like all the other plastic crap given to them during their indulgent little upbringings. Still, a whistle will pop its foolish head now and again, always at the wrong time and place, usually by old men (who are probably perverts anyway) and deserve to be internet-shamed here on a blog that none reads.
THE I-WHISTLE 2000
I'm standing at the checkout line at Walmart. Don't judge me. They price-match, so if you hate capitalism, then go back to Gorbachev's Russia, pinko.
Nasdrovia.
It's just after the rush hour, six-thirty. I've chosen a regular line, forsaking the twenty-person-deep express. There's no way they'll beat me out of here. I'm living on the edge. I am the smartest man alive.
Trapped between a handsome portly couple ahead with enough junk food to give a small town diabetes and a woman having a one-sided conversation behind, I glance left at the quick moving express, just enough to peripherally see her act out her every reply. She's wearing earbuds. She's in her mid-twenties. Talking loudly into my neck and gesticulating like she's all alone in her one-bedroom condo (where she probably cries herself to sleep in every night after a bottle of grigio), I'm unwillingly invited into her conversation.
Boy, she's starving. Yes, Mike IS an idiot. I couldn't agree MORE, this weekend was AMAZING, she drank so much and I do hope that guy calls her. And so on.
I am calm.
A ninja.
Blinking ferociously, on the inside I am screaming. "Clean up at cash two! Bring a mop. There are teeth and phone bits everywhere". On the outside, pure serenity. I was taught to compose myself as if it were 1950's England. Emotionless, conservative politesse, unless addressed directly. Pleasantries, then move along.
Admittedly, my achillian weakness is public displays of any kind. Cellphones conversations, whistling (obviously), domestic disputes in the parking lot, open-mouthed kissing, talking loudly if there are more than two people in a room.
Steve Jobs wasn't a genius. He created a monster. He's quoted as saying he would never let his kids play with his own technology. That's like Pablo Escobar not letting his kids snort coke. Excellent father, but the Oppenheimer of his trade.
Innate trust in the internet and its illusion of privacy has been our undoing. Paying for a subscription online, having a password, does not guarantee some teenager in his basement isn't going to hack into a website and divulge that you are a closet Coronation Street fan. (Frankly, that's nothing to be ashamed of.) Sent a nude pic by text once? It's going to kick around forever. At least it will remind you of your slutty youth and your once wrinkle-free bits.
The smartphone. Misnomer of the twenty-first century. There was a time when if a phone rang, it was in your home. When it did, a signal triggered a ringer (with moving parts) signifying that someone, anyone was trying to reach you. In the privacy of your domicile, you were expected to answer and have a confidential chat.
If a phone rang in your office you picked it up. It still remains a delegated place to have a phone conversation.
Today, everyone is painfully aware of when you receive a private message on your impressive portable telephonic device. Congratulations. Incessant pings let everyone know around you that someone wants to speak with you. They are sending you private texts. You are giving us privy to their top-secret delivery. Repeatedly. You won't notice our irritation because you can't take your eyes of the screen.
Ping. You respond. Ping. You respond again (sometimes with pretend typewriter clicking noises).
Ping. You laugh out loud. Then type LOL.
Ping.
Ping.
Better still, you can simply take a call and have a full-voiced conversation in the privacy of a packed elevator or subway.
Someone loves you!
At least ten people now hate you.
Ping.
I will conclude my rant with the 'selfie'. It's the perfect word. The cute diminutive of "self-portrait", it is the dumbing down of what was at one time a true art form, taken with an actual camera. Sometimes if you were really talented, with a paintbrush. If you have over 90 self-portraits you'd better be Rembrandt., otherwise you're just some guy with a smartphone who thinks you are special, or you're completely mental, or variations on this theme.
The very act of taking a selfie today is having everyone watch you, watch yourself taking a picture of yourself, sometimes in real time.
You can occasionally bring the unwilling public into your personal life - without their consent.
It can even be done in the checkout-line at Walmart.
Ping.
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