Counting Flowers on the Wall

The Audiophile graciously invited me to The Listening Room this week for "just one album." To his credit, the session truly did involve just one album, and a good one at that. Sure, all of his albums are good, but some are definitely more gooder than others.

Midway through the album, he hit the pause button and abruptly asked me what the song meant. Meant? The song? You mean the song that the girl was singing just now?

I had no idea there was going to be a pop quiz or I would have brought my etch-a-sketch to take some notes. Had he asked me how many sound panels were in the room I would have been golden because I had just counted them from left to right and then from right to left to validate there were 16. This counting exercise led me to wonder if The Audiophile had achieved his goal of "getting the room out of the way of the music."

I tried to pay close attention to the next song in case he solicited my lyrical expertise again, but it was difficult to focus on the music because the sound panels had arrogantly challenged me to admire their equidistant placement and not-so-subtle domination of the room. So although I don't know the message being conveyed by the female vocalist of the evening, I do have a pretty good sense as to whether the room has gotten out of the way of the music.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

Electric Avenue

The Audiophile returned from his travels, and we were engaged in a perfectly pleasant conversation when I made a poor decision. I casually mentioned the power had briefly, ever so briefly, gone out the day prior to his return.

I had no idea this seemingly simple statement was akin to saying, “I gunned the engine and ran your SUV off a drawbridge,” or “I cut all your trousers off at the knees to make a patchwork quilt for the guestroom.” All I know is he and his panic-stricken face ran directly to The Listening Room to survey the damage.

Was there any damage, you must be asking yourself if you are an audiophile? No. None. See also, nada.

Was anything learned by this experience, you must be asking yourself if you are an audiophile’s wife? Yes. Not only is it important to be discrete about what you do with the electricity in your audiophile’s absence, it is also important to cheerfully support the purchase of a four-figure surge protector unless you can think of a different method of protecting the gear while not touching the gear.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

That One Bad Day - Part 2

There was an incident this week that caused The Audiophile to become ill-tempered and incapable of speaking for a short period of time. It seems he was in The Listening Room scrabbling around on all fours connecting and disconnecting the connecting things when he inadvertently knocked over one of the speakers.

Let’s take a moment here and thank The Lord God Almighty that I was more than two miles away from The Listening Room when the incident occurred.

The speaker that took the direct hit was formerly in pristine condition, but now it has a blemish that will require a furniture surgeon and divine healing to repair. Additionally, I noticed his pants had a conspicuous tear in a location that could have taken him from being a tenor to being a soprano. I don’t think it would be wise for me to ask if the two mishaps are related to one another, so I’ll just nurture the slow-motion picture I have in my mind of him sailing through the air in a valiant attempt to catch the speaker before it hit the ground at the five yard line.

Surprisingly, The Audiophile recovered from the incident fairly quickly. I don’t know if that is because he has found a ten-step program to process his audio emotions in an appropriate manner or if it is because he has decided it is time for new speakers. Either way I, by the grace of God, was more than two miles away from The Listening Room when the incident occurred.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

Hanging Wallpaper

There are a number of home-based projects that various authorities have deemed to be a true test of marriage. I don’t know if there is an official list of qualifying projects, but if so, I would like to submit the following for addition to the list: building a sound panel.

Last weekend, I thought I would be able to safely curl up with a book written by dog that enjoyed auto racing. Instead, The Audiophile politely suggested we build a sound panel. I politely suggested he purchase one from his favorite mafia-controlled website. He counter-politely-suggested that building one together with our bare hands and raw intelligence would be more fun.

May I further suggest that the dude who originally said, “Measure twice; cut once,” was pretty much a genius.  I imagine he also would have known to wear gloves when working with fiberglass panels in order to prevent microscopic shards of glass from being embedded in his knuckles.

Raw hands and bare intelligence aside, we managed to complete the project in under four hours, and the upholstery job looks almost professional. Best of all, we did this without raising our voices above 79 dB or jousting each other with the 1x2's.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

Pete and Repeat

Sometimes when The Audiophile is testing something, like my capacity for patient understanding, he will play the same song over and over, and then over and over and over. This always makes me think about Jack Nicholson in The Shining when his wide-eyed wife discovers he has used an entire ream of paper to repeatedly type, "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."

Stephen King, from my minimal understanding of his work, is a master at taking something seemingly innocuous and turning it into a terrifying best seller. I'm thinking about feeding him some material to see if he might like to capitalize on the nocturnal habits of The Audiophile all bleary-eyed and delirious over the psychotic quest to eliminate sibilance from the who-knows-what.

I can't help but wonder if I'll go to The Listening Room someday and find The Audiophile loonier than a tune over the sheer repetition of Holly Cole eloquently singing "Everyday Will Be Like a Holiday." The thought of it might tempt some audio wives into carrying a baseball bat as a precautionary measure, but I take comfort in falsely believing I could navigate my carcass up the stairs just a little faster than The Audiophile if it came down to the survival of the fittest.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

The Art of Listening

Part of my goal in writing this blog is to pass along helpful information to other audio wives even if my expertise is nonexistent and controversial. As discussed previously, being invited to The Listening Room for a round of "How Does It Sound" can be intimidating. Here is a list of etiquette tips I've gathered from questions submitted by fictional readers, like you, to help navigate the experience with eloquence and grace:

• Can I lie down on The Listening Sofa?  No.
• Can I select the music?  Not if you're me.
• Can I text a friend?  No.
• Can I sing along?  Only if you are naked or Diana Krall.
• Can I clap between songs?  You're kidding, right?
• Can I ask non-audio questions? No.
• Can I bring a beverage?  Only if it is a quiet beverage.
• Can I bring a salty-crunchy snack?  Good golly, no.

To ensure the listening experience is successful, ask the following question when the audiophile has paused the music and appears relaxed and comfortable:  How would you describe the sound stage today, dear? 

You do not have to understand the response, but it is advisable to thoughtfully nod your head as if you do. Additionally, this is an appropriate time to take a few sips of your quiet beverage without blurring the detail of the music or causing an apocalyptic event.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

In Love

Here’s the problem. The Audiophile has been doing more selling than buying lately, and he’s got himself into a pickle whereby he can’t perform his audiophile duties in The Listening Room because there are too many missing components. Consequently, he has taken to using my system for his listening pleasure.

This is fine, and I mean fine in the lowercase sense of the word as opposed to FINE which has a completely different meaning, but it does present some challenges. Take Tuesday evening, for example.

The Audiophile is aware that his taste in music and mine do not always align, primarily because I have no taste in music. For this reason, I concede the selections to him with a few clearly communicated exceptions. I hesitate to malign specific artists, but let’s just say I did not care about Chuck E being in love in 1979, and I still do not care about Chuck E being in love in 2012.

Since The Audiophile decided, out of ten hundred billion choices, to queue up Chuck E’s bride and to set the volume at a level that would ensure I would flee the scene of the crime; I opted to seclude myself in my office. The beautiful thing about this period of solitary confinement was it provided me with an opportunity to passively and aggressively re-clarify IN WRITING my feelings about certain songs.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

Walks Like a Woman

Once in a while, when The Audiophile is at work conducting official business, I sneak down to The Listening Room to conduct some official business of my own. I do not touch anything because I understand randomly punching at buttons can initiate a launch sequence that leads to global destruction; instead, I look at the merchandise with my eyes and not my hands.

This brings me to the new speakers. They needed to be given a name and christened as being boys or girls. At first blush, I would have said they were girls. After all, in last week's post I referred to them as being part of the harem. However, after careful meditation and thoughtful stroking of my chin, I remained confused about the precise gender of the new speakers.  

I hate to divulge the make and model of components because manufacturers might then be tempted to send expensive gear to me for my unbiased review, and I'm not sure I can carve out the time for that. So let’s just say the biological name of these speakers rhymes with Lola, as in L.O.L.A. Lola. Lo lo lo lo Lola. And from what I’ve heard, they may walk like a woman, but they definitely talk like a man.

All I know is The Audiophile is one of the world’s most passionate guys, and I think he has fallen for the Lolas. Hopefully he also likes Ray Davies because I’ve taken to singing an improvised version of his song regularly. Very regularly.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

The Honeymoon

It happened again. The Audiophile left on one of his covert business trips and returned home with a new pair of speakers in the back of the SUV.

Being nearly as sharp as most tacks in the tool shed, I was not surprised by the arrival of the new speakers because the half-naked skeletons and the body scanners that had formerly occupied the role of mewing melodious music into air had been gone for several hours – maybe even several days – leaving the remaining collection of rectangular components lonely, voiceless, and on the verge of clinical depression.

According to custom, I helped The Audiophile unshackle the crates from the vehicle, responded accordingly to his outstanding navigational commands, and earned an A+ for maneuvering my end of the bargain down the stairs like a man. Even though I am not a man.

The icing on the stereophonic cake came about two hours after The Audiophile had introduced his new brides into the harem and taken them for a leisurely stroll. He beckoned me to The Listening Boudoir and imparted the following verdict: They. Sound. Great.

Now begins my sporting desire to do everything subliminally possible to nurture the afterglow of his purchase. My personal goal in this independent competition is to stretch the ownership of this particular pair of great-sounding speakers to, oh, let's say the 4th of July for the fun of it.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

Conspiracy Theories

My distrust of subwoofers has been well documented in previous posts, but I may have to add "enormous speaker crates" to the list of the maligned.

Currently The Audiophile has two sets of speakers doing the Cotton-Eyed Joe in The Listening Room. So far; so good. However, the set that is generally referred to as the "body scanners" arrived in crates that could easily hold a dead body or I suppose a live body, but I prefer not to think on that so, redact.

The crates had been living peaceably in our garage, minding their own business, or so I thought, until the day The Audiophile determined they should be moved inside to the storage room. This seemed like a fine idea to me since one of our able-bodied sons had been recruited to assist with the transportation detail.

The problem arose when the lid, JUST the lid, from one of the crates launched itself at The Audiophile's biggest of toes. I don't know if the lid was in telepathic cahoots with the subwoofer or if this was the work of a lone gunman, but the near-death experience certainly gives one pause. The good news is, The Audiophile did not need surgery, stitches, or an amputation. And thank goodness for that because a prosthetic toe would have totally horsed up the acoustics in The Listening Room.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

That One Bad Day

A few years ago, The Audiophile and I were entertaining a convivial couple with our witty banter and good looks. When that had run its course, The Audiophile segued to Plan B and ushered us to The Listening Room with a moderate amount of fanfare about our senses being on the verge of pleasures unknown.

He played a couple of songs at normal listening levels to assess whether we could handle the pent-up testosterone of the subwoofer, and then he slowly began to up the volume until he had perfectly synchronized our bobbing heads. Shortly after this, things went awry. It was the aroma that first got our attention. Something was burning, like hair or poultry feathers or forty-five dead cows.

The Audiophile threw himself at the subwoofer to presumably reestablish his position of dominance and then quickly turned his attention to one of the other rectangular things on the forbidden side of the room. After fussing with a couple of screws, he lifted the case on the innocent bystander and unleashed a belch of putrid white smoke that gave three of the four of us permission to run for our lives.

The Audiophile courageously stayed behind to assess the damage and whimper a little, but eventually he joined us outside where God was faithfully making new air. He solemnly reported that the sub had bucked loose from one of its connectors causing a short that had fried the more emotionally vulnerable component.

In the end, the victim of the audio fisticuff was repaired for less than the cost of an alpaca. But more importantly, we all learned a valuable lesson: subwoofers are bullies.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

Hello Dolly

Once upon a time there were a pair of beautiful speakers in The Listening Room. Saying I loved them would probably make The Audiophile feel bad for having cold-heartedly boxed them up and sold them to some incredibly lucky human being in a far-away land. Instead I'll just say I thought very highly of these beautiful speakers. And I miss them. And I think they miss me.

It doesn't seem prudent to mention brand names so let's just say they were probably made in Denmark where fastidious Denmarkian elves rubbed their cabinets by hand until the cherrywood itself sang just as eloquently as Carol Channing or Babs Streisand. I don't know why The Audiophile decided to get rid of these beauties, but that is not my business. My business is to nod in agreement as things move in and move out of The Listening Room in order to maintain my status as The Perfect Wife, I mean, The Audiophile's Wife.

Sadly, the speakers that currently live in The Listening Room have been called "body scanners" by an astute visitor who could not help but notice their unaesthetic qualities. Maybe, to be fair, they are simply more akin to modern art than, say, impressionism.

According to The Audiophile these body scanners produce fantastic sound. He says they are more transparent with a sound stage that... that... that... I don't know what he said after this because I drifted off a little during the explanation. Anyway, sometimes if I close my eyes and remain awake while listening to the body scanners, I can almost imagine they have the impressionistic beauty of the speakers of yesteryear.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

The Listening Sofa

Furniture, in my experience, has rarely held a designated purpose. As discussed previously, rooms have designated purposes, but furniture? Not so much. Which is how we come to the exceptions to this rule: the piano bench, the sewing chair, and The Listening Sofa. As revealed by the title of this episode, today's focus will be on the latter of these three oddities.

Be not confused, the sofa itself is not listening or if it is, it is not telling. The Listening Sofa is generally found in the hinterland of The Listening Room, but it is not haphazardly placed as if The Cat in the Hat were in charge of the affair. Oh no, it is positioned a specific number of inches from The System into a magical zone which is purported to be the epicenter of The Listening Experience.

Is there anything to know about sitting on the sofa you may ask? Good golly, yes. Apparently if you are slightly off center, the chances of achieving total audio consciousness evaporate like spit on a griddle, so here is an important tip:

If you are ever invited to sit on a Listening Sofa, wait for your host to sit down first. If The Audiophile sits toward one end of the sofa, position yourself in exactly the same place on the other end for optimal aerodynamic balance. Use a ruler or a foot-long submarine sandwich as a measuring device if necessary. If, however, The Audiophile sits precisely in the middle of the sofa, assume you are supposed to sit on his lap. This will not improve The Audiophile's listening experience, but it will measure his sense of humor and/or his capacity for profanity.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

How does it sound?

Accepting an invitation to join The Audiophile in The Listening Room is mildly intimidating. I know at some point, The Audiophile will turn to me and ask, "How does it sound?" And no matter how many adjectives I have at my disposal, I simply do not have the expertise to apply any of them to this question without sounding like a dope.

That being said, I accepted such an invitation a few nights ago to listen to "an album" which was really "a compact disc." As usual there was some fuss about how I was sitting on The Listening Sofa and whether I was positioned to maximize the experience, but eventually we settled in so I could commence the listening process. Interestingly, after a very short time, I was convinced The System sounded like - pardon my use of a pedestrian adjective - crap.

After a few songs, The Audiophile turned to me and said, "How does it sound?" I squirmed uncomfortably and grimaced a little to hopefully soften the blow before I replied, "Well, I hate to say this, but I think it sounds like crap." Then I waited.

The Audiophile threw his hands into the air and responded with, "I KNOW, IT SOUNDS TERRIBLE. I put these new blah har whos, in the quirp da flanger, and it killed the bass."

Bass. I know that word, and he was right, the bass had gone hasta la bye bye and the sound was not good, but we had turned a corner. Although I had no idea what he was talking about as it related to the unfortunate circumstances of The System, I had, for the first time, recognized bad sound.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

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.