Little Boxes

In an unexpected turn of events, The Audiophile proclaimed he is content with his current system. At least that's what I think he said. I could be wrong or delusional or having one of those really long dreams that will culminate with me screaming like a quadriplegic mime. All I know is what happened next seems to confirm his theoretical satisfaction.

If you are an audiophile you may want to sit down for this next bit because it may cause heart palpitations, excessive sweating, mood swings, severe headaches, temporary blindness, or the baffling inability to win at rock-paper-scissors for the rest of your life. Here goes: The Audiophile. Got rid. Of some of his original boxes.

The disposal of these boxes happened very quickly and without much dialog. I spoke softly and tried not to make direct eye contact during the process in order to convey that I was a non-aggressive participant in the destruction of the corrugated family.

After it was over, The Audiophile said it was the right thing to do. He said it was time. He said the boxes would have wanted it that way. Then he went to The Listening Room, calmly shut the door, turned off the lights, and curled up on The Listening Sofa with several female artists who are well known for their sympathetic vocals and minimal distortion.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

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.

Games People Play

The Audiophile is out of town which means two things: 1) I no longer hear Van Morrison approximating various animal, mineral, and vegetable noises in the background; and 2) I can run any household appliance I want without upsetting the acoustical zen symbiosis of our home.

This leads me to what I call the appliance concerto. Say you start the bread maker to fashion some pizza dough, and you also throw in a load of laundry because you are super-human. Once in a while, when the cosmic symphonies align themselves, the dough and the clothes culminate their cycles at precisely the same time. This results in a cacophonous medley of ringer-dingers that only a non-audiophile can fully appreciate.

I've had the pleasure of an appliance duet several times this year, but with The Audiophile away for the weekend, I'm hoping to fire up enough pinging and dinging devices to have a three-part harmonious experience that will rank right beneath marrying an audiophile and spawning more audiophiles.

Clearly, this sort of business is only embarked upon by deranged people who need medication and shock therapy. I propose this is what happens when one is led to believe that making a piece of toast will get dirt on the electricity and diminish the fidelity of the stereo. So, when The Audiophile returns and asks me what I did in his absence, I'll probably just say, "Oh, I went shoe shopping and got a mani-pedi," because that is a lot safer than telling him what I did to the electricity.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

The Man

The Audiophile has a thing for Van Morrison, and it is not a small thing. In fact, if Amazon.com peddled Van Morrison bed sheets and footie pajamas, they would be in our possession, and I would be asked to wear the footie pajamas even in the summer when footie pajamas are generally retired to the back of the closet with the penguins and snow mobiles.

Recently, The Audiophile went on a binge and read all the unauthorized biographies on Van. Then he listened to all of his CDs. Well, not all of his CDs, because although he owns all of Van’s CDs, it would take a short sabbatical and possible hip replacement to actually listen to them all.

To add a visual element to the marathon, The Audiophile queued up a concert video from the 1980s. In this video Van was wearing a mustard-colored shirt and pants that were so tight the audience was provided with sufficient anatomical information to enjoy both Van and his condiments.

On the final day of the binge, I took a light lunch to The Listening Room to keep The Audiophile alive, and he said, “Listen, listen, listen. Can you hear it? Can you hear the momentum of the music?”  Um, I don’t know if I "heard the momentum" or not, but I can definitely add that to the collection of recommended phrases for audio wives to use in securing audio favor with their audio husbands.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

Endangered Species

There is a rumor circulating that suggests not all audiophiles are men. Since I have never seen a female audiophile with either my naked eye or my properly attired eye, I cannot yet confirm this truth.

The Audiophile has, on occasion, nonchalantly mentioned a she-phile who roams one of the forums on which he tithes his time. Naturally I assume he, and all the other audiophiles, plan to marry her as soon as their current wives die of mostly natural causes.

To illustrate the rarity of the she-phile, I thought I would select a member of the animal kingdom to be the poster child for this nearly extinct audio species. The animal finalists were the red wolf, the oxymoronic dwarf water buffalo, and the northern hairy-nosed wombat.

For charitable reasons, the red wolf won the contest. After all, she is the slender cousin of the common gray wolf and probably does not struggle with water-buffalo weight gain or nosey-haired hygiene complications. 

Now I have a new reason to eagerly anticipate our regularly scheduled visits to the audio store since, if I'm lucky, I may spot the Canis rufus in her natural habitat. I imagine she will be gracefully stalking the merchandise with a sense of purpose, as opposed to stumbling along behind her audiophile husband hoping not to accidentally break anything.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

Start Spreading the News

This weekend audiophiles are gathering in New York for a thing at the Waldorf-Astoria. Their wives, from what I can tell, will be left to their own devices to find something entertaining to do in the city since there do not appear to be official spouse outings on offer.

The event does feature some educational sessions, however, including a World-Famous Turntable Set-Up Seminar. I would secretly go to that session if I were at the show, first because of the fantastic title of the session, and second because I could use my newly acquired skills at some point in the unexpected future to blow The Audiophile’s mind.

I also noticed booth space was available starting at $500. This seems a very reasonable price for someone (aka me) to set up shop with a sign that reads: Psychiatric help 5¢. The doctor is IN.

All proceeds from my booth would go to a charitable organization for the rehabilitation of audiophiles – both those who have been emotionally wounded by unappreciative family members, as well as those who have lost one or more of their faculties trying to rig a system that only dolphins and dogs could possibly appreciate.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

The Audiophile received a delivery this week. Since he was not going to be here for the delivery, I was given the standard instructions: 1) Inspect the box; 2) Document any damage to the box; 3) Have the delivery person sign their acknowledgement of the damage to the box.

I obediently nod my head every time I am given these instructions, and then I begin the countdown of dread because in my mind there are more steps including, but not limited to: 4) Apologize to the delivery person for the damage; 5) Tell them I’m sure it is not their fault; 6) Reassure them that a touch-up pen will probably be all that is needed to repair the damage to whatever is inside the box; 7) Offer them a muffin as a goodwill gesture for insulting them with steps 2 and 3.

These Sisyphean delivery people are not stupid. I’m pretty sure they know they are the victims of a never-ending audio tragedy that will have them shoving the same boxes up the same driveways for the rest of their lives.

Fortunately, the box that came this week was the seventh wonder of the corrugated world. I was able to perform step 1 and only step 1 which left me with the distinct pleasure of wishing the deliveryman well without the need for awkward apologies or condolence muffins.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

Torn Between Two Lovers

There is an audio phenomenon that frightens me a bit. I don’t know if it involves the wrath of God or if it is a mere consequence of transacting business, but it seems as if the act of purchasing audio gear on an auction site can endanger the well-being of the audio wife.

Several times over the years, The Audiophile has sold an item, and been in a jolly good mood, only to receive a follow-up email from the buyer saying something like, “hey, yeah, im so sorry to have to tell you this, but my wife was just lifeflighted to the hospital. we are not sure if shes going to live and as you can imagine there is no way I can go through with this transaction right now.”

The first time this happened was disconcerting. The second time it happened I realized there are unforeseen planetary consequences surrounding the purchase of used gear. 

So, when The Audiophile buys something from one of these auction sites I try to be extra careful crossing the street until I know the transaction is complete because I’d hate for him to have to choose between holding my hand in the helicopter and staying behind to tidy up loose ends with minimally punctuated correspondence.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.

Original Sin

The origin of an important word occurred to me a while back when I was half listening to The Audiophile while he was on the phone. He was having an animated conversation with another audiophile about cable. Yes, cable. Always with the cable.

I could not help but wonder if Eve, when half listening to Adam, ever found herself wondering why Adam was so enchanted with some of the seemingly unimportant things in the garden. Like the dirt, perhaps, as he muttered to himself about the quality of the soil in the garden OF EDEN, for heaven's sake.

Anyway, I was thinking that Eve, being the perfect wife except for the snake incident, probably supported Adam with his endless musings on the nature of the dirt. That is until the day she overheard him saying something about spending half of their annual salary for new cables, I mean new dirt, at which point Eve probably dropped a pantload. Except since she wasn't wearing pants, it immediately became known in the garden as Eve's droppings. And, yes, there you have it, the origin of the word eavesdropping, which, as Eve quickly learned, is NOT a good idea.

And that, my friends, is audio winning.