At  ten o'clock last night, the clock where I was chimed the hour.  It's a lusty time piece, one I’d find annoying if I had to live with it, but I was only visiting.  At ten o'clock last night, a clock where you were may have done the same, although for your sake, I hope not quite as loudly.

Perhaps the clock where you were didn't chime at all.  Maybe it's a cuckoo clock or maybe, like the one my friend Gene has in his kitchen, your clock announced the time in flat, synthesized tones:  "It is now 10 p.m ."

At seven this morning the alarm clock beside my bed rang.  Of course I didn't get up then, but the clock made noise all the same.  At seven this morning, unless you have to be somewhere much earlier, an alarm may have gone off next to your bed.  Maybe your alarm is a radio, easing you into your day with Mozart instead of rude noises.  It doesn't matter.  The common denominator here is sound.

Now, how many hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions, of alarm clocks and radios do you suppose went off at seven o'clock this morning?  And how many other clocks are chiming, buzzing, ringing, cuckooing or otherwise marking the hour, on the hour, every hour, every day?

Chances are that the clock where I was last night and the clock where you were did not chime the hour in precise unison.  One may have started chiming a little sooner or taken a bit longer to complete its ten chimes.  But unless one of the clocks was really off the mark, at least some of the ten chimes from the clock where I was had to have overlapped with some of the ten chimes from the clock where you were.

If you live in Chicago , the clock where you were chimed only nine times to my ten or, if you live in Denver , eight.  Still some of our chimes were striking at the same time.  They had to be.

Throughout the day, not only do clocks ring, buzz, chime, cuckoo and talk on the hour... watches beep, school bells release eighth-graders from history class and automated carillons broadcast hymn tunes from the towers of Methodist churches, one time-zone after another around the globe.

This incredible hourly cacophony must have a damaging effect on wildlife, the successive waves of atmospheric compression inhibiting the reproduction of egrets or something.  Or maybe it harms humans.  We already know that people who live beneath the flight paths near major airports have higher blood pressure than people who live in quieter areas.  (It’s true.)

And what sort of seismic effect do you think all this vibration might have on the earth itself?  The wonder isn't that California has earthquakes and mudslides but that the rest of us don't.  For all we know, we are just one wristwatch beep from global chaos, unless we act now to reduce the hourly sound load on the planet.

You can help.  In the interest of the greater good, I’ve decided to stop setting my alarm clock.  You should, too.  Sure, it's a sacrifice, but in the face of impending ecological disaster, I think we all have to do our part.

If your boss doesn’t understand, well, just pass along this column . . .