Days Like This

It is well documented that The Audiophile has a one-sided bromance going with Van Morrison. He wants to vacation in Ireland where he fancies running into Van in some off-the-beaten-path pub that caters to aging musicians and their stalkers. For these reasons, I was not surprised this week to pull in the garage and hear Van gargling quite loudly from inside the house before I even shut off the engine.

It is also well documented that I have my own dainty system for my own listening pleasure on my own floor of the house, so you can imagine my shock and appall when I realized The Audiophile had queued up Van on MY system and was playing it loud enough to blow the topsoil off the garden we don't have.

I found The Audiophile downstairs, clad in his ever-so-sexy lighted magnifier glasses, working feverishly on some part of his own disassembled system. I don't know what was broken, and I'm not an expert in these matters, but I'm guessing maybe it had something to do with a blown subwoofer.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

If I Had A Million Dollars

The Audiophile has an interesting method of measuring the cost of something. If, for example, the SUV needs a couple thousand dollars' worth of repairs, he'll say, "I could have bought a pre-amp with that." Similarly, if he needs some dental work done, that might be the equivalent of, "I could have upgraded my interconnects with that."

I do not have my own method of measuring the cost of things. It doesn't occur to me to think, "Gosh, instead of going for groceries this week, I could buy an entire litter of puppies." Or, "Hmmm, if we didn't pay the utilities, I could add rhinestone belt loops to all of my pants."

On the upside, I suppose if I die first, and The Audiophile finds himself stranded on the side of the road with a broken-down SUV and rotten teeth, at least he will have a killer system waiting to console him if he ever makes it back to the house.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

T.B. Sheets

The Audiophile's flirtation with death continues, but that did not deter him from hauling a crate from the basement to the SUV. One minute he was shivering under a pile of blankets with vowel sounds as his only means of communication, and the next he was heaving his end of the crate up the stairs without regard to his spleen or mine.

This crate was particularly heavy. So heavy, in fact, that it caused me to think 666 evil thoughts as we inched it up the stairs and out the door. That I only verbalized four of these thoughts is a God-blessed miracle. If you have ever wondered who invented particleboard, the answer is: Satan, SATAN, I tell you.

The Audiophile and his dread disease then left for a few days on a business trip, which was excellent timing because it took me 48 hours to take the remaining 662 evil thoughts captive. All I know is the next time I say, "For better or for worse," I'm reading the small print in the contract so I know what the "worse" piece of that equation will entail.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

Healing Has Begun

The Audiophile came home ill this week with a variety of symptoms including chills, headache, and general difficulty speaking above 25 dB. My only remedy for this and all other injuries is liquids and plenty of them. I made hot tea and homemade chicken noodle soup to which he sighed deeply and uttered a barely audible, "thank you."

Given my desire to stay above the weather, I tucked him in that night and tiptoed to the guestroom for my sleeping pleasure. I was a few pages into a book when I detected him having a healthy, animated conversation. I assumed he was delirious with fever, but then I distinctly heard him say, "You could always sell your pre-amp and get the Dude."

In summary, when an audiophile is on his death bed, the road to recovery is best charted, not by the administration of liquids, but through what is commonly known as audio banter. Now I know.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.