Still play­ing it by ear with the head­phones dilemma

News-Herald (Perkasie, PA) - - CHURCH NEWS - Outta Left­field

Some­times, even the sim­plest tech­nol­ogy can bam­boo­zle me.

I was for­tu­nate enough to get a turntable — we called them record play­ers back in the day — for Christ­mas from The Blonde Ac­coun­tant. It sits on a small stand — which I had to put to­gether, and we all know how com­pe­tent I am at those types of things — and takes up a small cor­ner of the liv­ing room.

That would be “her” liv­ing room. I am only a vis­i­tor in her liv­ing room and my main con­tri­bu­tion to the am­biance of that part of the house is that I take up space. Tak­ing up space I can do, but when I’m do­ing that in her liv­ing room, I need to do it in a man­ner that be­hooves the for­mal­ness of the room. That means no feet on the cof­fee ta­ble and no as­sault­ing the sofa cush­ions with gas­tric in­dis­cre­tions.

Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not one of those for­mal liv­ing rooms that we don’t use. Although we spend much of our time in the fam­ily room and kitchen, I will oc­ca­sion­ally move to the liv­ing room to get away from the hub­bub to write or now, to lis­ten to records.

Af­ter a week or so of lis­ten­ing to my mu­sic, it oc­curred to me that maybe the rest of the fam­ily did not want to lis­ten to my mu­sic. Although I don’t know why they wouldn’t, it’s mu­sic from the 1960s and 1970s and it’s only the great­est mu­sic ever made. (Beach Boys, Hall & Oates, Amer­ica, Three Dog Night, Dan Fo­gel­berg, The Ea­gles, El­ton John.)

It’s the same thought process that I use with the kids. I have no use what­so­ever for what they call their mu­sic th­ese days, and I don’t want to hear it. So I ask them to use their head­phones when they’re lis­ten­ing to that dreck and while they’re at it, to stay off my doggone lawn.

So I de­cided to get some over-the-ear head­phones, which I thought would be both the po­lite thing to do and easy enough to ac­com­plish. Well, buy­ing head­phones was easy enough; the rest of the equa­tion, not so much.

See, I failed to pay at­ten­tion to de­tail when I pur­chased the head­phones. The ca­ble that con­nects the head­phones with the stereo is about 18 inches long. The couch is four feet from the stereo. The goal was for me to be able to sit on the couch with my head­phones on and lis­ten to my records. I was only two-and-half feet short of my goal. I was not in­ter­ested in sit­ting cross-legged Rn WKH flRRU Ln IURnW RI WKH stereo be­cause, frankly, it would be prob­lem­atic to get up off the car­pet at this age with­out pulling a ham­string.

BuW LW wDV Dn HDVLOy fix­able dilemma, or so I thought. I de­cided to just go back to the Big Elec­tron­ics Store and get a longer ca­ble. So that’s what I did, I got a 6-foot ca­ble. But again I failed to pay at­ten­tion to de­tail. Once I got the longer ca­ble home, I dis­cov­ered that the ca­ble jacks were the wrong size WR fiW WKH KHDGSKRnHV. &uH vosemite Sam curs­ing a blue steak.

Tir­ing of the back-and­forth, I took the orig­i­nal ca­ble from the head­phones with me back to the store. The strat­egy was to show one of the tech peo­ple there — who know ev­ery­thing about ev­ery­thing elec­tronic — that here’s what I got and here’s what I want.

Ap­par­ently, there is at least one thing the tech peo­ple at the Big Elec­tron­ics VWRUH GRn’W NnRw: KRw , finG a blasted ca­ble long enough so that I can sit on my couch and lis­ten to my records with head­phones on.

7KH nHxW SODn RI DWWDFN was to go to the web­site of the com­pany that made the head­phones. Surely I would EH DEOH WR finG D 6-IRRW FDEOH — or even a 9-foot ca­ble, that would al­low me to lie down on the couch with the head­phones on — among the com­pany’s ac­ces­sories.

But it was an­other swing and a miss. I was able to en­gage a com­pany em­ployee on in­stant mes­sage on the wHEVLWH, wKR HxSODLnHG WR PH that the com­pany it­self didn’t sell longer ca­bles for its head­phones. It was all I could do not to type back to himW “vou gotta be bleepin’ me, pal.”

As a last re­sort, I threw the prob­lem out to my Face­book friends, who I think have pro­vided a few so­lu­tions. Ap­par­ently I need an adapter for the head­phone ca­ble, which I should be able to SuUFKDVH RnOLnH RU — JR fi­Jure — at my lo­cal Big Elec­tron­ics Store.

Of course, I’ve got some wiseguy pals — I am not us­ing their last names, but they know who they are — who of­fered other sug­ges­tionsW

Frank — “Move the couch.”

Jay — “Sounds like a re­dec­o­rat­ing day at casa Morsch.”

John — “Head­phones? vou don’t need no stinkin’ head­phones! Blast it!”

Th­ese guys are all mar­ried, so they should know it’s not my liv­ing room. But crack­ing wise is a Face­book sta­ple among my friends, and I re­sisted their ef­forts to put my be­hind in The Blonde Ac­coun­tant’s sling by mak­ing any of their sug­ges­tions to her.

The head­phones prob­lem isn’t a high pri­or­ity at the moment, so a sat­is­fac­tory so­lu­tion is still pendLnJ. BuW ,’P FRn­fiGHnW WKDW , will even­tu­ally be able to sit on my couch with my head­phones on and lis­ten to my records.

Or maybe I’ll just turn it up. Real loud. Like it was meant to be.

Mike Morsch is ex­ec­u­tive ed­i­tor of Mont­gomery Me­dia and au­thor of the book, “Danc­ing in My Un­der­wear: The Sound­track of My Life.” He can be reached by call­ing 215-542-0200, ext. 415 or by email at msquared35@ ya­ This col­umn can also be found at www.mont­

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