A couple weeks ago I told a man at work that I couldn't stand to listen to Tom Waits though I thought I'd like his lyrics. He made me a CD of what he called "tuneful" Tom Waits. I listened to it but was distracted while doing so. He asked again today if I'd had a chance to listen to it and did I like it. I said that meanwhile a release of Sylvia Plath reading her poetry had arrived in the mail and that it is all I've listened to. He said, "Can you hear the sound of hissing gas in the background?"