Earbobs

I have given birth, which means hearing the first precious sounds of life uttered by a beautiful son who would go on to sweetly call me, "Mommy." I have sat in a arena while Barbra Streisand sang "The Way We Were". When the actor who voiced Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer passed away a few weeks ago, there was a moment of devastation because some warm audiological nostalgic was lost. I've heard Prince perform Purple Rain. Live. In the dark. By the way--the closest I’ve been to God. I have witnessed Brian Setzer play a gorgeous 1957 Gretsch-White Falcon. There were tears. Handsome men have whispered sweet somethings into my ear. And I’ve been told that I am loved. Having drank roughly a million beers, I treasure each dulcet “fah-link” of the opened bottled cap.  I've performed in comedic productions and had people laugh in the right places at the things I have said. I was fortunate enough to have parents with profoundly good taste in music, therefore, The Beatles are like air to me, like breathing. I have presented my spoken word and poetic efforts to crowds of people and received the compliment of genuine applause. I have been told by people I respect that I am a good writer. Upon meeting my absolute hero Elvis Costello backstage at the Chicago Theater, he asked me (rather lasciviously) in his darling accent where I had gotten such beautiful blue eyes. So, all in all my ears have had a pretty swell go of things.

But I am here to firmly state that there is no sweeter sound, no more gorgeous audible emission in the entire universe than that warm, snowy static followed by the melodic tone that precedes any original television series aired on HBO. It's the audible equivalent of macaroni & cheese.