TOTALLY WIRED
Sunday nights find me not in the bosom of frivolity but at home, splayed on the sectional, shushing proximate noisemakers. Humans, animals, Alexas—be still! Fresh episodes of HBO shows are arriving, weekly brushes with a kind of divine, and they deserve an absolute, a religious silence. My sanctuary is simple. Along the walls, a sextet of smart sconces, dimmed via app to a lutescent movie-theater glow. On the credenza, an expansive television, positioned at optimal distance and viewing angle relative to its size. Finally, perched down in front, that which completes the picture, mon précieux: the sound bar. Papa Light, dearest father, you knew. You knew, when you came back from one of your divagations through Best Buy and “surprised” me with this mesh-encased yardstick of sonic enlargement, that my ears had…