Big audio dynamite
It struck me just a moment ago that, unless you have the singular joy of knowing me personally, you gentle readers have absolutely no idea what I sound like.
For the purpose of reading this post, you should imagine that my voice is exceptionally shrill, steeped in sarcasm, and tinged with notes of helium and a few shards of glass.
Got it? Okay.
Now: here's my side of the phone conversation I would be having with Trey right now, if only I could reach him.
Hey, it's me. Guess what?
No, "chickenbutt" is, as always, an incorrect answer.
Get this: Spencer mashed every button on the cable box all at the same time, and now the audio's gone!
No, I'm not exaggerating for humorous effect; there is no sound emanating from the television of any sort. Cable, DVR, DVD: all's quiet on the western front.
Which was perfect timing, really, because I'd just reached the frayed end of my daily rope and promised that each mupper could select, in birth order, an age-appropriate program of his or her choice, which would have bought me almost ninety blissful minutes of not worrying that my skull might literally implode.
Yeah, I already checked the toaster-sized television in our room: works like a charm. And to the best of my ability, I confirmed that the brain-shaped jumble of cords in the back are, for the most part, snugly connected to the cable box.
Sweetie, why are you asking me questions that you know I can't answer? All I can tell you with absolute faith is that your offspring are now rolling around on the floor, wailing that their lives have been ruined because they can't hear the Little Einsteins sing the happy rocket song.
So, to recap: pretty moving pictures, no sound.
Mmm-hmm. Yep.
So. How's Boston?
And... scene. (Optional: cue dirge.)
For the purpose of reading this post, you should imagine that my voice is exceptionally shrill, steeped in sarcasm, and tinged with notes of helium and a few shards of glass.
Got it? Okay.
Now: here's my side of the phone conversation I would be having with Trey right now, if only I could reach him.
Hey, it's me. Guess what?
No, "chickenbutt" is, as always, an incorrect answer.
Get this: Spencer mashed every button on the cable box all at the same time, and now the audio's gone!
No, I'm not exaggerating for humorous effect; there is no sound emanating from the television of any sort. Cable, DVR, DVD: all's quiet on the western front.
Which was perfect timing, really, because I'd just reached the frayed end of my daily rope and promised that each mupper could select, in birth order, an age-appropriate program of his or her choice, which would have bought me almost ninety blissful minutes of not worrying that my skull might literally implode.
Yeah, I already checked the toaster-sized television in our room: works like a charm. And to the best of my ability, I confirmed that the brain-shaped jumble of cords in the back are, for the most part, snugly connected to the cable box.
Sweetie, why are you asking me questions that you know I can't answer? All I can tell you with absolute faith is that your offspring are now rolling around on the floor, wailing that their lives have been ruined because they can't hear the Little Einsteins sing the happy rocket song.
So, to recap: pretty moving pictures, no sound.
Mmm-hmm. Yep.
So. How's Boston?
And... scene. (Optional: cue dirge.)
posted by mrsf5 at 3:33 PM
2 Comments:
Oh Sh t! Mine is out of town this week too but I have audio and have been using it to my advantage. Wanna trek to OK, I mean Frisco, and lock them all in a room together with a big screen?!
Franklin, after the day I just had, and the day YOU just had, I went and opened us up a beer.
Here's to ya.
Post a Comment
<< Home