Friday, August 9, 2013


My oldest kid has a new set of sub-woofers (or subwoofers, one word, if you prefer). Getting them was part of a complex arrangement not really relevant here, although they are basically a graduation present from us.

These subwoofers – all subwoofers, I submit – are a public nuisance; a menace to society.

The subs in question are for the car. Simultaneous with getting them, the kid is learning to drive. As of this writing he should have his license in about a week.

I realize my dislike of these things is a generational matter. Part of his attraction to them – only a part, and probably small – is the fact that subwoofers drive me nuts. I have to listen and listen and listen as we drive around. I'm teaching him how to drive a stick.

Here's a generational comment: that crap he calls music is, I swear, embedded with needless bass – that bottom end of the sound spectrum. In fact most of the bass on the stuff he likes isn't even musical. You almost can't hear it. It is more a presence, a dense sonic assault, than it is music.

O the vibrations.

As Popeye used to say, I can't stands it.

Subwoofers. Jesus H. Christ. These kids today.

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