• Audio Posers

    Phone PlayerIf you’re going to boast about how important music is in your life, or how passionate you are about it, please don’t let me catch you defiling it with the miserable excuse for a loudspeaker that is your mobile device.  I simply can’t help but to cringe anytime I happen upon a group of people sitting around, with that tinny upper midrange passband emanating from the scant diaphragm lodged within the body of the phone like a piece of gravel in a worn tire.

    If your deepest hunger can be sated with a single bite of a stale fruit, not only would I question the severity of your craving, but the substance of your taste as well.  Likewise, if your “passion” for music can be satisfied with such a deplorable rendition of whatever artist’s work you happen to be playing, then not only do I challenge everything that you have to say in favor of your respect for the composition, but your qualifications as a discerning listener as well.

    I realize that this is bound to ruffle some feathers, but if the shoe fits, wear it. You don’t amass reverence as a passionate music enthusiast by posing as one, meanwhile embracing the most pedestrian of listening habits.  I see many distinguished audiophiles catch undue flack on account of the imposters who undermine the pastime, and rob the art of its significance.  I’m not happy about that.

  • What’s Beautiful?

    Okay… as I set out to type this, I’m not aiming for it to be a rant; more so a statement of bewilderment. Why is it that anytime someone posts a baby picture on Facebook or Instagram, it is invariably trailed by a slew of comments by people exclaiming that they can’t believe how beautiful it is and so forth?  I’ve seen more than my fair share of these, and whether I attempt to embody the author’s bias or remain objective / detached, I simply cannot tap into this “attraction” that others seem to be overflowing with.  (And yes, I realize that an “object” doesn’t have to be sexual to be beautiful; there are beautiful cars, there’s beautiful architecture, beautiful poetry, etc., but a misshapen infant in no way reminiscent of the man or a woman it is inadvertently destined to become?)

    As I think back to the rare moments when I’ve witnessed the sort of beauty that inspired disbelief, and the momentous sights or experiences that have influenced the aforesaid emotions, I’m only that much more perplexed by the notion that others can be driven to such “arousal” by a figure of what is essentially a premature, toothless human with an over-sized cranium, bloated features, a vacant expression, and a posture reminiscent of an inebriated contortionist.  Is it perhaps some form of a “breeder” impulse that I lack, or am I simply not on board some implicit fetish?