I do
a lot of public speaking so I’ve spent a considerable amount of time getting
wired for sound. Over the years I’ve had my share of wrestling matches with
micro-phones. Some of the more memorable ones include:
•Microphones
that you need a Ph.D in to turn on. They hide the “on” button and the goal is
to figure out where the blessed thing is. That’s why you see public speakers
looking at the microphone like some inquisitive scientist. It tests your
observational skills.
•Microphones
that the battery stops working-- regularly. There is no warning. They just stop
working, usually when you need them to work the most. They go on, then off,
then on, then off.
•Microphones
that go around the ear and around the front of your head. They are the size of
a tooth pick and usually the cord goes down the “back” of your shirt with a
clip to the collar. They always fall off me. One turn of the head and it’s off
the ear and dangling down my back or shirt. Irritating!
•Microphones
that dangle around your neck like a noose, then you drag a cord behind you. My
kids still talk about the day I had one of those on and inadvertantly stepped
on the cord, tightening the noose around my neck, and choking me mid-sentence
while trying to soberly make a deep theological point. Not good!
•Microphones
that just clip onto your shirt like a tie clip. Very simple and my favorite!
•And
the newest one, it goes around the back of your head and clips over the front
of your ears and the microphone sticks down in front of your face sort of like
a football helmet. My latest experience with that one warranted this post.
“We
have a new kind of mic for you.” The sound guy told me. “Oh great,” I thought.
“Here we go again.”
“New kinds of mic’s never work for me,” I said, “I’d prefer to use a clip on—like a tie clip,” I responded. The fact is, I have a small head, small ears, glasses, and not a ton of hair right there to hold them in place. One turn of the head and it inevitably falls off. But he was not to be outdone. “Dude (he was from the west coast), I know what you mean. But this one’s fool proof. You’ll love it. It slips behind your head and around the front of your ears.” He was maybe thirty-one and experienced. “Why not?!” I thought. “Lets give it a try.” The week before, I’d managed to get my clip on mic—after the service had started! But I got it. This week I would not have the same luck.
“New kinds of mic’s never work for me,” I said, “I’d prefer to use a clip on—like a tie clip,” I responded. The fact is, I have a small head, small ears, glasses, and not a ton of hair right there to hold them in place. One turn of the head and it inevitably falls off. But he was not to be outdone. “Dude (he was from the west coast), I know what you mean. But this one’s fool proof. You’ll love it. It slips behind your head and around the front of your ears.” He was maybe thirty-one and experienced. “Why not?!” I thought. “Lets give it a try.” The week before, I’d managed to get my clip on mic—after the service had started! But I got it. This week I would not have the same luck.
Fifteen
minutes before the worship service I tried it on. Just getting the cord down
the back, not front, of my shirt was a five-ten minute ordeal—alone in the
bathroom. It was a wrestling match with the battery pack dangling down like a
plumb line. By that time, I was longing for my clip on, but it was not to be found.
The service was ready to start by the time I’d come from wrestling with the Mic
so there was no sound check and my spiritual life was a bit frayed but I was
cool.
Things went from not so good to just plain not good when I got up to preach. After I started speaking, the head gear (which goes behind your head and then over the front of your ears like a reverse face mask on a football helmet) was too big so it slid down the back of my head, then the cord leading to the battery pack got stuck in my shirt—that was the issue that went unresolved in the bathroom—so when I turned my head the crazy thing jacked up and pushed on my glasses, so that the actual mic itself was closer to my eyes than my mouth and my glasses were closer to my eyebrows not my eyes. I speak out of my mouth—not my eyes. During the sermon I was repeatedly pulling the thing out of my shirt—which must have looked really professional—and it would just slip back down again, feel weird, jack up my glasses, then I’d go through the whole giration again. By the third service I finally figured out how it worked and then understood why the guy in charge of sound said I’d love it. But it was a journey.
Things went from not so good to just plain not good when I got up to preach. After I started speaking, the head gear (which goes behind your head and then over the front of your ears like a reverse face mask on a football helmet) was too big so it slid down the back of my head, then the cord leading to the battery pack got stuck in my shirt—that was the issue that went unresolved in the bathroom—so when I turned my head the crazy thing jacked up and pushed on my glasses, so that the actual mic itself was closer to my eyes than my mouth and my glasses were closer to my eyebrows not my eyes. I speak out of my mouth—not my eyes. During the sermon I was repeatedly pulling the thing out of my shirt—which must have looked really professional—and it would just slip back down again, feel weird, jack up my glasses, then I’d go through the whole giration again. By the third service I finally figured out how it worked and then understood why the guy in charge of sound said I’d love it. But it was a journey.
I still
prefer a clip on!!
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