Friday, September 24, 2021


There is one artist in The Audiophile’s harem who has taken me a long time to embrace. The reason is because her self-titled debut album included a pop hit that nearly destroyed my last nerve with the frequency of airplay it received in 1979. The Audiophile knows this is a wound that just won’t heal, and he seems to derive sadistic pleasure in playing the song almost as often as KFMQ did back in the day.

To wield a counterattack, I have become very, very fond of a different song on this same album. He doesn’t know this. I’m stealthy like that. Catlike, even. So, when The Audiophile tickles his own fancy by turning up the volume on Chuck E and his amor, I quietly wait. I wait because near the end of the album there is a fabulous song that rewards those who excel in patient endurance.

I’m not sure if every audiophile’s wife has the patience of a saint, but I recently met one from the Memphis area who certainly did. She doesn’t know it yet, but we are going to start a club, and it will include a well-appointed, climate-controlled treehouse with snacks and adult beverages. And as soon as The Audiophile reads this post, there is no doubt he will take it upon himself to search for a Treehouse Sound System with the mistaken impression that he will be invited to climb the ladder, whisper the secret passcode, and take a turn in the “sweet spot” that doesn’t exist because ALL the spots in the treehouse will be sweet.


Friday, September 17, 2021

Take This Job

Tap, tap, tap. Check. Testing one... two... three... Sibilance. Sibilance. Is this thing working?

There is no reason audiophiles, or their wives, should trust me. In addition to exaggerating the truth and making up nouns, verbs and many an adjective to suit my needs, I go silent now and again for ridiculous periods of time.

Fear not, friends, The Audiophile has not perished, and our marriage is still mostly alive and well. I simply had a job that consumed all of my brain, all of my clock and part of my soul. “Had” is the operative word there, for those of you who may have missed the intentional and glorious use of the past tense.

Before I resume my regularly scheduled programming, I would like to express my heartfelt gratitude to the bean counters who flew in from Beantown and decided my frijol was ready for retirement after decades of dedicated service. Turns out, they and their abacus were absolutely right about that.


Friday, January 10, 2020

Going to the Chapel

This past week, The Audiophile and I celebrated our baker's dozen anniversary. One would think 4,745 days of wedded bliss would prevent the following situation from happening, but alas...

The Audiophile was planning a weekend trip to a stupid-cold location to do an audio project. I decided not to go along since he was going to be rolling up his sleeves, tearing into some speakers, soldering in some mystery parts, and I don't know what else.

In anticipation of my 52.5 hours of solitary refinement, I downloaded the Roon app to my phone. It seemed like a good idea to test the app prior to his departure, so I strong-armed his system and switched up the music a few times just to mess with him a little bit. Good times.

Before he left on the trip, I asked him to show me how to turn on the system so I would be able to play music while he was away. He said, and this is a direct quote, "I don't know if I want you messing with my system. It's complicated."

Fortunately, I wasn't brandishing a sufficiently lethal weapon or this would be written from a penal institution not of my choosing. Reluctantly, he took me to the rack that holds all the rectangles and pointed to one rectangular item. That item has one toggle switch. That one switch must be toggled into an upright position.

Right now, as I type, I'm playing an incredibly low-fidelity pop song from the 80's, and I sure hope The Audiophile isn't having any trouble getting through security at the airport with that soldering iron that he thinks he's going to put in the overhead bin.


Friday, July 27, 2018

Minute By Minute

Yester-month The Audiophile and I went to a local coffee shop to enjoy hot beverages, tasty pastries, and one another’s lively conversation. We were almost ready to go on our merry way when he said, “Let me make a quick call to a guy.”

If I were not a paragon of patience, I would have thrown my head back and laughed mightily toward the heavenly realms where God himself was raising a furry eyebrow over the reckless use of the term “quick” to describe an audio call. Instead, I smiled politely, found a quiet corner, and curled up with a book.

I could use this as an opportunity to report exactly how much time that quick call took, but that would probably ignite a heated debate in my house about the fourth dimension. Let’s just say that I had enough time to finish the book I was reading, enough time to ponder the longterm effects of emotional abandonment, and enough time to compose another essay laced with audio half-truths and lies.


Friday, July 20, 2018

Slow Ride

There's a small problem in our house right now. How small? Definitely smaller than a bread box assuming you have one of those for scale. If not, just think about a problem that would easily fit in the overhead bin of a paper airplane.

Here's the deal: It is Tour de France season, and that means The Audiophile is riding 50 miles during the day and watching The Tour during the night. That leads to a situation where no music is being played, no tweaking is being done, and no cursing is happening at anything other than the idiotic mountain-stage crowds that threaten to knock those polka-dotted contenders right out of their saddles.  

In summary, since this blog is not titled The Cyclophile's Wife, I have nothing to report this week unless you care to hear about sweaty cycling shorts and head panties being peeled off and flung directly into the washing machine.


Friday, July 13, 2018

Careless Whisper

Tuesday evening The Audiophile took me to an establishment commonly known as a hole-in-the-wall to hear a lineup of songwriters. It was open-mic night, so I wasn't expecting a lot, but when you live within parasailing distance of Music City, you never know.

I settled in to meditate on the acoustic goodness of a decently talented Millennial with a darling little man bun, when The Audiophile caught my wandering eye. He smiled knowingly, leaned in my direction, brought his lips to my ear, and whispered, "Those are original Bose 901's suspended from the ceiling."

He had not Googled this. He had not consulted an audiophile field guide. He does not have crib notes written on the palm of his hand. He simply had this morsel of knowledge stored in one of his brain folds where most people slot information about where they put the keys to their car or the nature of the items that are allowed in the recycling bin.

The last thing I have to say about this, and I think I speak for all the audio wives out there, is I was under the impression "Bose" was on The Audiophile Banned-Word list. Apparently. Not.


Friday, July 6, 2018

Head Games

Last weekend I happened upon The Audiophile enjoying a song by a female vocalist. That, of course, is not noteworthy.

But get this, he was listening to it on his iPad. I'll give you a moment to process that, catch your breath, and decide whether you can continue to view this blog as a reliable source of high-fidelity intel.

I crimped my eyelids into slits and took a good look at him. He appeared to still be the person I walked down the aisle with and said, "I do" to, but how was I to know for sure? I thought about casually plucking 10 to 20 pieces of his hair to run a DNA test, but he and Fuzzy Wuzzy have no hair, which is a sensitive subject for both of them.

Then it hit me. He had not turned on his system for a couple of days, which meant he was probably one-click away from queueing up the slasher music from the shower scene in Psycho.

Normal wives would have asked their audiophiles about the circumstances leading to this bone-chilling, irrational behavior, but The Audiophile's wife is not normal. She quietly backs away from the scene of the crime, slinks up the stairs to her iMac and tap, tap, taps her concerns straight into the worldly wide web.


Friday, June 29, 2018

Let's Go Crazy

Sometimes The Audiophile tries to guide the direction of this blog by talking extra loudly to someone about something silly like using copper shielding in a cable of some sort.

I could not care less about copper shielding, but I Googled it anyway. Holy buckets. Don't do that unless you want to test your tolerance for the boring and mundane.

Also, here's a PSA: If you ever Google anything related to high-fidelity audio, the subsequent ads that will clutter your browser for the rest of your life will include things you will never buy and can only hope your audiophile will never buy.

Case in point, the fine folks at a company I will not name seem to think I just might be interested in a cable that costs more than my first house. Apparently my browsing history has led them to believe I am A) an audiophile, or B) completely unbalanced.

I guess the only way to run that A/B test is to order the cable and see if The Audiophile A) applauds me, or B) has me committed to a mental institution.


Friday, June 22, 2018

Walking on Sunshine

A small, blue box arrived from Denmark this week thanks to the worldwide postal people. I don't know how many planes, trains, and automobiles were required to get the item from point A to point B, but I can assure you that point B was ecstatic with the timely delivery.

The box contained a new USB something something, that can apparently be "blown out" if one makes a wee little mistake doing something that I'm not allowed to talk about in order to protect the reputation of The Someone who made the mistake.

The important thing is The Audiophile is back in business, and by "business" I mean sitting in the sweet spot swaying to the music, which is the highest denomination of currency I know of to keep his sanity in check.

Is it a coincidence that this box came from the land of "hygge" where the happiest people on the planet spend ridiculous amounts of time curled up by the fire, in hand-knitted socks, drinking mulled wine? I don't think so.


Friday, June 15, 2018

So Quiet in Here

First things first: The Audiophile's stereo is still broken.

Second things second: The Turcom TS-450 ain't cuttin' it.

I believe the requisite part to fix the broken stereo is on its way from somewhere, maybe Denmark. I'm told it will cost less than a tonsillectomy. I assume it will arrive in the near future and hopefully before a certain someone develops Tourette syndrome or something far worse.

Now that I think about it, that certain someone has been remarkably calm about the situation. So calm, in fact, that I should probably look around the house to see if he has filled an entire ream of paper with "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."

Perhaps by next week, I'll be able to write a love story about the joyful reunion between a man and his music. If not that, I'll likely have some material for Stephen King to work into his next psychological audio thriller should he care to reach out to me for my subject matter expertise.