Light My Fire

Recently there was a conundrum regarding The Audiophile's priorities. It seems there was a filet of salmon that needed to be grilled at 5:45 on a Tuesday, and there was a "five-minute" phone call to another audiophile that also needed to be made at 5:45 on the very same Tuesday. Usually this sort of mathematical story problem doesn't rear its ugly head in real life, but the already steaming kettle of broccoli was driving the train that day.

Now, I'm not looking for a show of hands, but I am suggesting that 99.7% of audiophile wives would know that salmon grilling should supersede audiophile phone calling when broccoli is part of the equation. Why? Because the odds of a "five-minute" audiophile-to-audiophile phone call are as statistically improbable as listening to "just one song."

Fortunately, even though I am not a man, I possessed sufficient testosterone to open the lid of the grill, place the salmon on the grill, and close the lid of the grill. The heart-healthy meal pulled into the station at precisely 6:00, which coincided perfectly with the culmination of The Audiophile's (5 x 3 = 15 minute) phone call.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

Songs From The Big Chair

When The Audiophile wants me to come to The Listening Room for a demo, he plays my special song. This song is by Alison Krauss, and I call it "The Bird Song" even though I doubt that is the song's God-given title.

A couple of weeks back, I heard The Bird Song wafting upstairs, and I scampered to see what needed my immediate attention. Even with my limited abilities, I could see The Audiophile had moved The Listening Chair much closer to the harem. He gestured for me to have a seat.

After the bird had flown, I sat up as straight as possible in the man-sized chair and said, "Well, everything sounded much bigger, less restrained, and more like a live concert."

The Audiophile beamed, and he may have wet himself a little. All I know is he replied, "YES, YES, YES, that is what we call 'near-field listening,' and you have a good ear." At the time, I didn't know what to say, but in hindsight what I should have said is...

And that, my dear, is audio winning.

Money For Nothing

The Audiophile and I were in the garage recently where we conscientiously deposit our shoes before entering the house. As I removed my beloved Dansko's that were purchased in 2007, I pointed to the heel of the right shoe for him to inspect where it had given way to the underbelly. He briefly glanced at the shoe, turned to me with a baffled look, and said, "It doesn't look worn out to me."

With this statement, The Audiophile clarified his decision-making processes. If the item under consideration is an amp, pre-amp, power conditioner, pair of speakers, capacitor, cable, or any other item remotely related to any of the aforementioned items, then "wear and tear" is not used in the evaluation criteria when purchasing a new one.

To my credit I did not punch The Audiophile in the gullet or call him a nincompoop. Instead, I followed his example of conspicuous consumption and ordered myself a new pair of Dansko's in Arabesque leather. When these shoes arrive I expect they will make me taller, happier and, if I'm not mistaken, much more transparent.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

Sweet Caroline

The Audiophile was in one, or maybe both, of the Carolinas last week on business. At one point he had a couple of free hours, which he conveniently put to use by visiting a fellow audiophile.

This never turns out well from my vantage point, because he tends to come home drooling and googly-eyed, and that just isn't attractive or hygienic. It seems this audio friend had engineered the walls of his listening room with some sort of noise-absorbing railway system that isolates the... yeah, I don't know what it does. What I do know is upon his return The Audiophile, when describing this masterpiece, said, "When I opened my mouth, I could perfectly hear the sound of my own saliva."

Glory, I had no idea this was desirable. However, it gives me the touchstone upon which to gauge my life experiences. Sure, being selected employee of the month was gratifying, and training up children in the way they should go is excellent and praiseworthy, but nothing compares to the magnum opus of my own saliva.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

Hail to the Chief

The Audiophile and I saddled up the SUV last weekend for a trip through two Midwestern states that are primarily known for their trance-inducing stretches of the Eisenhower Interstate System. One might think there would be little chance of locating a high-fidelity stereo establishment in the middle of the Mormon trail, and yet someone, probably Mitt Romney, put one in Omaha, Nebraska.

And speaking of the upcoming U.S. election, I would like to remind the discriminating audiophile that a vote for the incumbent is a vote for the governmental redistribution of the finest audio gear in the nation in order to provide every American family with a Bose Wave radio.

On the other hand, a vote for Mr. Romney is a vote to keep your superior-sounding system that falls in the top 1% of all systems in the country and to have an economic shot at the thirty-thousand-dollar-American-dream speakers we demoed in Omaha.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

The Best I've Ever Had

Last Saturday I was lured to The Listening Room to offer my opinion on the newest amp. This particular amp was one-third the cost of the previous amp, which gave it a higher WAF before he even plugged it in.

Surprisingly, The Audiophile and I agreed that the sound was significantly better than that of its pricier predecessor.  I volleyed terms like "warm, genuine, and transparent" about as if I were an appropriately clad outside hitter for team USA. At one point, The Audiophile turned to me and declared, "This album has never sounded better."

Although I should be pleased with that statement, I know what it really means. It means he will now need to swap out all the other components along with the drywall, area rugs, and door hinges to see if he can coax even more perfection from the perfectly tuned, perfectly priced, perfectly wonderful amplifier, because "leaving well enough alone" would strip The Audiophile of his title and perhaps even his manhood.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

Night Fever

The Audiophile suffers from a form of stereo insomnia. It comes over him when he is buying and selling equipment and seems to be exasperated by the site that I lovingly refer to as Audiothong.

Audiothong, from what I can tell, entices people to place advertisements on their site for a nominal fee. What they don't tell you is you will feel the need to revisit the site every twelve or thirteen minutes to make sure your ad hasn't stopped breathing, gotten tangled in its blanket, or lost its binky.

It is best not to make conversation with The Audiophile when he is buying and selling because although he appears to be making partial eye contact, I've learned he is actually calculating shipping charges and imagining himself packing and unpacking gear with confetti coming down from the ceiling and dancing girls doing the can-can at a safe distance from the components.

Sometimes, especially after midnight, when I can hear him pecking away at the keyboard I think about creating my own Audiothong account. I would buy all the stuff he lists, I would pay his full asking price, I would accept his proposed arrangements for shipping, I would gladly use Paypal, and I would complete all transactions prior to 9:00 p.m. so both of us could enjoy a good night's sleep.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

Till Death Do Us Part

The Audiophile has been crisscrossing the country again to provide abundantly for the family. This leaves me and my electronic sister wives to fend for ourselves.

I prefer to think of myself as the younger more fertile wife in the harem, but I'm afraid that is simply not the case. The object of The Audiophile's deepest desires these days is The Amp. The one he is building with his bare hands, that is. The one for whom upgraded parts arrive on a regular basis leaving the rest of us wives to sooth our sagging positions with extra chocolate rations and BBC dramas.

The Amp, in my opinion, is more of a Stepford wife than a sister wife. This means I should probably refer to her as The Audiophile's Wife since, if I understand the Stepford concept correctly, she will ultimately be called by my name and will assume the writing of this column in my stead.

That said, if at some point in the future the tone of this column loses its convivial irreverence and becomes uncomfortably submissive, please contact the authorities and suggest they have a look-see in the "empty" original boxes in our storage room.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

Like A Surgeon

A while back The Audiophile took apart his speakers. I thought we were not supposed to touch the speakers, but apparently it is perfectly acceptable to rip out their insides and dump them in a box.

Furthermore, it is permissible, although I'm not convinced it is beneficial, to fire up the power drill and bore holes into the back of the speakers. If I understand this barbaric procedure correctly, the idea is to relocate the speaker guts into a pair of custom-made, Jatoba boxes in order to, say it aloud with me: Improve the sound quality.

I'm sure this will lead to a listening event in which I will need to convincingly say I detect a HUGE improvement in the sound quality, but until then I'm investigating how I might outboard my bladder for a more comfortable experience during the high-impact portion of my aerobics class.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

Pandora's Box

The Audiophile was away on official business last week, which put me in charge of many things outside the scope of my formal education. At the top of the list, of course, was the acceptance of corrugated parcels.

The winner of this week's box competition was an item from the Pacific Northwest, which had the most impressive display of postal stamps I've ever seen in my life. I tried to count all the stamps, but when the tally staggered into the thirties, I realized there was no chance for statistical accuracy and retreated to the kitchen for a tasty snack.

Oddly, The Audiophile seemed far more interested in the contents of the box upon his return. I tried to instigate a lively conversation about the stamps, but the tiny American flags were simply no match for the explosive looking thing in the box. And now that I think about it, if the Federal Bureau of Investigation ever interrogates me about suspicious deliveries to our address, I'm going to be more than a little chagrined.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.