Friday, October 22, 2021


A postcard arrived in the mail this week with an enticing offer to re-subscribe to the magazine I lovingly call “The Sound Pile.” The Audiophile had let his subscription lapse years ago over something egregious like a biased <gasp> review of a power cord or one of their advertisers dropping the scantily clad model straddling a subwoofer in exchange for a middle-aged woman wearing her undergarments under her garments.

Anyway, I was still at the mailbox, holding said postcard, and I had a choice: use my middle and index fingers to dramatically fling it into the recycling bin or…

…surprise The Audiophile with a renewed subscription. I decided the postcard needed the attention of my bifocals, at minimum, so I brought it inside and read this, “The entire cost of this subscription may be tax deductible if used for professional purposes.”

I’m no professional, but my purpose for the two to four weeks is to patiently wait for The Audiophile to return from the mailbox, Sound Pile in hand, just so I can see if he immediately flips to the advertising section or “reads the articles.”


Friday, October 8, 2021

Mr. Sandman

A few nights back, at about 2:00 a.m., I awoke with an epiphany. Prepare yourself by sitting down if you have any underlying health conditions because this is big. Here it is:

The Alphabet Song and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star are the same tune—EXACTLY THE SAME TUNE.

Naturally, I was awake for several hours attempting to confirm this truth in my mind without humming or moving or otherwise disturbing the acoustics of The Audiophile’s REM cycle. The following morning, I shared this nocturnal stroke of genius with him expecting a nod of admiration or maybe applause, but The Audiophile did not seem impressed in the least.

So, I decided to outsource my need for verbal confetti and walked a few doors down where a more appreciative neighbor was awaiting someone of my caliber to engage in convivial conversation. Neighbor guy was delighted, if I must say, to be invited to sing the Alphabet Song while I sang Twinkle. Our duet culminated with both songs’ final syllables synchronized as perfectly as you are imagining. Astonishing, right?

Wrong. Just now, I went to the Googles and learned someone else owns the copyright on my epiphany, and I am not a super genius. Yet.


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.