The Listening Room

A long time ago God created Adam because He needed someone to handle the arduous task of naming everything on earth. Adam named all the animals and plants and then he named the various rooms in the garden. I'm not quoting scripture here, but I think he probably named the bathroom, the bedroom, and the living room before Eve interrupted him in the food room and challenged him to use a little creativity.

We can assume Adam eventually found a room in the garden for which Eve had no immediate plans, and he marked off this territory with police tape and named it The Listening Room. Undoubtedly Eve was confused by this room when she realized that Adam had no capacity to hear a word she said when she tried to visit with him while he was in the room "listening." Nevertheless, being the loving and supportive wife that she was, Eve gladly obliged Adam in his quest to create his own private Idaho within the Garden of Eden.

The Listening Room that occupies our personal residence does not likely resemble Adam's original room at all. The ficus trees are fake and probably emit toxic potpourri into the environment, and there is a lot of stuff that requires electricity which Adam did not have until he met and named Thomas Edison.

In my opinion our listening room serves its purpose very well. It provides a place to tenderly unpack all the audio-related boxes that are delivered to our home. It creates a gallery for us to display our vast collection of acoustic panels. And, most importantly, it allows The Audiophile to experience heaven on earth.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

Bread Boxes

A package arrived today addressed to The Audiophile. I don't open these packages because, well, they are not addressed to me and I don't want to violate any Federal laws that could end with me tapping out dit-dit-dit-dah-dah-dah-dit-dit-dit on the bars of my ill-appointed jail cell.

I won't know what is in this particular package for a few days because The Audiophile is out of town working at his paying job. This paying job affords him the ability to not only support his wife's every want and need but to also order audio accoutrements that come in packages which are happily delivered to our front door by the kindly people who drive truck for a wide variety of delivery companies.

I'm not a betting man, mainly because I'm not a man, but I'm wagering this box contains a doohickey that goes inside of one of the thingamabobs that lives semi-permanently in The Listening Room. More on The Listening Room and its semi-permanent furnishings another time.

As it relates to the package du jour, there are three pieces of good news as far as I am concerned: First, this package is not heavy so I will not be asked to help wrangle it into the house. Second, this package is not bigger than a bread box so I will not be asked to help shoehorn it down the stairs. Third, this package looks to be in pristine condition so I will not be in trouble for failing to gut punch the kindly delivery person who lovingly placed it on our doorstep.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

The Other Woman

Last Friday was big - huge even. The Audiophile and I were face-to-face with The Other Woman. I have to admit, she's everything a guy could hope for: beautiful, talented, confident, demure. "Voice of an angel" the Audiophile and his audiophile friends like to say with nods of solemn affirmation.

If you are the wife of an audiophile, you are already saying to yourself, "Ah, yes, I know to whom she refers. The one. The only. Alison Krauss."

Our seats were near the front of the Meadowbrook Pavilion in Gilford, New Hampshire. They were close enough for me to confirm her perfection. She does not have a single unwanted hair growing from her chin nor does she have a faint scar in the middle of her forehead from scratching at a chickenpox when she was in kindergarten.

The Audiophile salivated more than usual. Heck, I salivated more than usual myself. We probably should have worn lobster bibs as a precautionary measure.

Prior to the show I telepathically willed her (and Union Station, of course) to do "Ghost In This House" and "When You Say Nothing At All." To my delight, Alison was tuned in to my telepathic channel.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

It's Not That Heavy

You've heard it before. "HONEY, I NEED YOUR HELP WITH A BOX. IT'S NOT THAT HEAVY."

In The Audiophile's defense, this is true. These boxes are not as heavy as a piano or an igloo yet they are always much heavier than bread or toasted bread.

The idea of a blog from the wife's perspective began yesterday at 6:20 in the morning when I thought I could devote myself to drying my hair and applying some age-defying cosmetics. Instead I dutifully went to the source of the voice shouting lies to me from the basement.

The box, no, the "double-box" in question contained a subwoofer. My bare toes instinctively retracted.

Upon the command, "One... two... three... LIFT," I lifted. This time, however, I did not lift the box straight into my neck like I did with the last dainty, double-boxed subwoofer that was hauled from the basement. This time I lifted like the UPS professional I've become using my femurs and not my sciatic. Using my arms and not my face. Sure, there were the customary terse words exchanged halfway up the stairs and some lingering confusion about which side of the box was heavier, but we got the thing loaded into the back of the SUV without rupturing anything.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.