Yellow Ledbetter

Sometimes The Audiophile talks with his voice on a phone to people—mostly audiophile people. This is my cue to curl up with a good book and a cup of tea tea tea, which I like to say in triplicate because of how much joy it sparks in my life life life.

Last week, The Audiophile had a victim on speakerphone, and I say “victim” because that automatically makes that person fair game for me to quote even if I do not have a forged permission slip from their mother or mine. This audiophile to whom he was speaking said, “Oh my gosh, IT will totally get the grunge out of your system.”

Reh-heh-heelly? I don’t know what IT is, but I find IT interesting that The Audiophile has managed to purchase, position, reposition, replace, reconfigure, and rearrange a system over the course of his life life life but still manages to have unwanted grunge in it.

Furthermore, on behalf of Soundgarden, Nirvana, STP, Pearl Jam and, specifically, Eddie Vedder Vedder Vedder, I say let’s leave IT alone and see if we can’t come to a mutual understanding of the benefits of grunge when it comes to this fancy-pants system of ours.

TAW

Careful With That Axe, Eugene

Following an independent survey of one audiophile, I am here to report the most common warning put forth by every audiophile is: Do not touch the drivers.

Imagine my confusion when I left the house with a pleasant farewell that went something like, “Love you—buh bye,” only to return a couple of hours later to find The Audiophile knee-deep in a crime scene. All four of the Fyne Young Cannibal drivers had been ripped out of the cabinets and strewn about the place like an M. Night Shyamalan psycho-audio thriller.

I thought about screaming or calling for emergency backup or checking to see if M. Night was still on the premises so I could personally confirm whether he is as easy on the eyes as M. Gardot. 

None of the aforementioned was necessary because…

The Audiophile turned in my direction…

And asked me to…

Wait for it…

TOUCH THE DRIVERS

During this plot-twist of a lifetime, I placed several of my most important fingers on the very very edge of each driver while The Audiophile put some screws in the screw holes to rectify the Humpty Dumpty situation. 

So basically, I’ve been promoted. This hasn’t come with a pay raise, and I’m still not allowed to touch the drivers whenever I want, but if you patiently wait for all the credits to roll on our feature film, you’ll see The Audiophile’s Wife listed as the key grip right before the catering company, which, ironically, also happens to be The Audiophile’s Wife.

TAW

Put A Ring On It

Sometimes, to relax before falling asleep at an hour I used to deem ridiculously early, The Audiophile and I will watch a bit of edutainment via the YouTubes. One of the newer channels in our arsenal is The Audiophiliac so I can see his haute couture.

Trust me when I say the guy has a serious shirt collection that undoubtedly keeps all the single ladies tuned in on a regular basis. Recently, The Audiophiliac made reference to his zippidy-do-dah shirt and informed his viewers that Mrs. Audiophiliac had made it. Hard. Stop.

There is a MRS. Audiophiliac? AND SHE MAKES SHIRTS?

I went to The Googler and pecked in “The Audiophiliac’s Wife.” Boom, there she was, on her very own episode being introduced to the world wide web like some sort of rock star or opera diva. Whatever the case, she is gracious, smart, ridiculously talented AND she’s clearly an audiophile who demurely pretends not to be an audiophile—and to that I am sending her my slyest of smiles and a virtual high five.

TAW

The Story

Once upon a time last week, The Audiophile went away for a few hours. In his absence, I was granted legal permission to listen to music all by myself. As soon as I heard the garage door close with a nice bassy thunk, I queued up one of my favorite artists. She has been described as a living legend and is backed by twin brothers who regularly dress alike because it’s still mighty mighty cute.

This was my first solo date with the Fyne Young Cannibals, and I didn’t want to come across as overeager. Thankfully, the remote control broke the ice with a wink and a nod in my direction. I casually walked over like it was no big thing, and timidly tapped the up arrow on the volume one time. The FYCs responded with courteous applause, so I clicked the up arrow a few more times—okay, quite a few more times—and… they… sounded… AWESOME.

Fear not, I kept an eye out for smoke because I have been pedantically informed that “burning in new gear” has nothing to do with starting stuff on fire. And I kept a partial ear tuned to the frequency of the garage door so I could dial things down before The Audiophile walked in and found his system encouraging me, nay, daring me to shred my acoustic air guitar and sing, that’s right, SING along with the music.

TAW

P.S. You are awesome; I am awesome. Click here to join me in drinking decent wine. (You and I will both enjoy $50 off.)

Thank You For The Music

The Audiophile choses the music that plays in our humble abode, not just because he is the alpha human, but because he has excellent taste. My taste has its lows and its Apple-Bottom-Jeans-Boots-With-The-Fur lows, although you are guaranteed to enjoy a dance party weekend if I’m the one dropping the beats.

This brought me to wondering if audiophiles even like to dance or if it’s only about sitting perfectly still, in the same spot, using their increasingly furry ears, to pick up on the canine differences in Sound A verses Sound B. So, I Googled “Do audiophiles like to dance?”

I learned “A reasonably good number of audiophiles are attracted to EDM.” I ran this bit of sci-fi past The Audiophile, and his subsequent rant included frantic hand gestures and a phrase that alluded to a bull and its droppings.

In summary, The Audiophile does not dance, does not like EDM, and will not play your favorite music if you stop by because he is THE Audiophile in this house, which is sort of like being THE President of the United States or THE Queen of England neither of whom I’ve ever seen busting much of a move.

TAW

Why So Serious

Remember back in October when I mentioned I had ordered The Audiophile a subscription to Stereopile? Guess what? His first issue arrived this week after roughly three months—or precisely 94 days.

What makes this interesting is I contacted them by electronic means on several occasions with gentle requests and humorous nudges to get them to… enter his name and address into their database?

Anyway, in one of those nudges, I suggested they might like to provide him with an extended subscription since he had grown a ZZ Top beard during the wait. I even mentioned, quite casually, of course, that I was The Audiophile’s Wife and provided them with a link to this blog.

In a matter of hours, Stereopile responded. I eagerly opened their communication expecting some sort of affirmation that I had made them chuckle—perhaps a laughing-smiley-faced emoji or an invitation to be a regular columnist. Instead, I was matter-of-factly informed that we had paid for a one-year subscription and could expect to receive exactly 12 issues. Snap, snap, snap. That means we now have eleven more humorless issues of Stereopile to look forward to before... 

I compose an electronic message as it relates to the terms of our renewal.  😂

TAW

Slip Slidin' Away

Here’s a question: Why, WHY, aren’t the feet that speakers come with good enough feet? Are they even called feet? Maybe they are footers, I really don’t know, all I do know is there is always a need for my assistance to tip and hold the speakers while far superior replacement footer feet are attached to the undercarriage.

The Fyne Young Cannibals were no exception. I was doing something perfectly awesome when I was summoned to fulfill my wifely duties as a tipper holder. Not to brag, but I am pretty crackerjack at the art of tipping and holding things at a 43-degree angle while The Audiophile attends to the man work down below. That said, the FYCs, being particularly huge, were at this angle when my mind began to wander down the long and winding road.  

What if I lost control of the tip and the hold and a 149-pound speaker crashed to the ground? What then, huh? Burst into tears? Beg for my life? Make a cup of tea and wait for a sheriff to arrive with the documents detailing the painfully obvious reason for our irreconcilable marriage?

The answer to these questions, and so much more, will have to wait for another day because, miraculously, I did not lose my grip even though I was, of course, using the godforsaken slippery cotton towel to keep my white-knuckled greasy grimy gopher hands from permanently etching fingerprints into the piano-gloss walnut cabinets.

TAW

P.S. I don't monetize this drivel, but click here to join me in drinking decent wine. (You and I will both enjoy $50 off.)

 

Insensitive

Back in 1994, prior to my having any idea I would one day take the highly coveted position as The Audiophile’s Wife, there was an artist by the name of Jann Arden who recorded my go-to song for special occasions such as...

…the most recent quarrel that took place on Audiothong. Now, I do not personally read the forums, but The Audiophile provides me with unsolicited updates on the audiothongery. He is particularly smitten with a gentleman who writes about how to buff tubes, or something of that nature, and is always dismayed when the Audiothong Mafia exterminates the posts for grammatical reasons. But I digress.

This week there was difference of opinion on the forum between two manufacturers of audio importance. One was a domestic seller, and the other was an importer from a country that was deemed inferior to the United States of Audiophilia. I don’t know who won this mano-a-mano showcase showdown, or if the Audiothong Cosa Nostra removed the thread with a fast yank, but based on my limited intel, I do believe some of the parties involved in the conversation may have…

Some advice to give…

On how to be…

Insensitive…

TAW

Trip Around the Sun

This week, The Audiophile’s personal odometer clicked over to a new decade of life. Apparently, this was his “diamond jubilee” birthday, which sounds a lot snazzier than the “get off my lawn” birthday or the “don’t touch the driver” birthday. Since there aren’t many songs about diamonds being a boy’s best friend, I decided to give him a road trip jubilee.

This trip was supposed to include live music—the symphony, a concert, a female solo artist performing safely behind her microphone, a dude with a five-string guitar—anything, really. Sadly, all the live musicians in the kingdom of everywhere take the week after Christmas off, and all the dead musicians are content to live off their royalties.

The closest we came to a performance was a DIY guy who had cleverly mounted a boom box to the back of his bike. He seemed to have a preference for bass-heavy beats, and there was more than a fair amount of distortion in his woofer, but at least it did not require shelling out seven figures or kidnapping a female vocalist.

TAW

Hallelujah Chorus

Dear audiophile, 

Did you remember to book an overweight, middle-aged white guy dressed in fake fur to jam himself down your chimney with an item for your wife that is not 13”x18”x6”? Of course you did. You are a renaissance man, a man with exceptional EQ, a man who appreciates a nice warm bed over the sofa—unless the sofa happens to be in a ménage à trois with a pair of high efficiency you-know-whats.

This, I understand, is presumptuous. Maybe your wife likes rectangular items. Maybe SHE is the initiator? You’ll know this if she has ever said something like, “Hey, babe, why don’t we just get that darTZeel amp for each other and call it a holiday?”

That is not exactly what I said to The Audiophile, but I must have made some vague affirmative gesture, or the Fyne Young Cannibals never would have shown up just in time to celebrate the birth of Jesus. And, now that I think about it, there are quite a few biblical references to the importance of listening, which implies the Lord God Almighty is an audiophile. Wait, that would make HIM The Audiophile. Sorry, babe.

TAW