I love it. While we're telling college stories about outing our dumbfounding skills with sodering irons, I "inherited" a hand-me-down pair of speakers senior year only to discover that the foam on the woofers was completely destroyed. So, I figure, I'll walk myself down to Radio Shack, get some replacement drivers, and have me a new pair of speakers. What more, it worked -- and not only did I soder, I screwed. Trick is, about a week later, we threw a party. Speakers worked fine for about an hour. Then one stopped and there was nothing I could do to make it go again. And I tried. Well, we lived on the fifth floor of a walkup and we had come to the practice of merely hucking our rubbish out of the window (as long as it was done, and announced, creatively -- such as "exploding Pakistani candy" or "scented, flaming art" -- screamed as loud as you could while ejecting the item, it was ok. The uninteresting stuff was actually carried down--something about honor among scofflaws? Don't ask.). So, comes the speaker.
It fit through the window, if only barely. At the time, "Speaker!" was deemed sufficient by popular vote though, in retrospect, I suppose we could have done better. I figure my track record categorically rules me out in terms of helping anyone with speaker woes.
As a postscript, I disassembled the couch with a crowbar and put that through the window (each morsel seperately announced) at the end of the year instead of carrying it out, too. And there goes my carreer in moving....
