Sweet dreams are made of these

I'd describe the object pictured at left as a sound machine, but according to Target and Sharper Image, it is in fact a "sleep soother" or a "sound soother." I bet at Hammacher Schlemmer, where lamps are called Diurnal Simulacra, it's known as an REM-Promotional Appliance.

…Shoot: I just visited hammacherschlemmer.com to ensure that the company name wasn't hyphenated (it's not -- hooray for me!), and I've already identified ninety-three products I want, like the Three-Dimensional Star Atlas, and the Strain-Reducing Wheeled-Leverage Snow Shovel, and the Giant Wooden Pirate Ship, and the useful Upside-Down Tomato Garden, and the Baby Jesus Ass-Plug.

And, to be fair, their unpretentious Sleep Sound Generator, which pretty much tells it like it is: This wondrous instrument emanates an array of relaxing... hold it, hold it; looks as though the Hammacher Schlemmer Sleep Sound Generator only features a single setting -- Gentle Whooshing Noise. Not really sold on this. If I want a Gentle Whooshing Noise at night, I'll start sleeping with an asthmatic.

However, I see that this model does boast a "high-impact plastic case." In case, for example, you use it in your car.

Well, my sound machine, which I recently borrowed from one of my sisters, can simulate six calming sonic motifs: Ocean Surf, Wind, White Noise (Catherine’s mode of choice), Jungle (subtropical, not blackboard), Stream, and Howard Dean. Ahaha; just kidding. I forget what the sixth option is. Unadventurous sleeper that I am, I restrict my usage to Ocean Surf, which makes me think of those hazy childhood days I whiled away at the shore, constructing sand castles as the sun crashed on my shoulders and my parents beat a surreptitious getaway.

A few months back, my brother Jack and I bought a sound machine for our cousin Eleanor; this implement featured a built-in recording device, so that one could venture into the wilderness, sea, traffic, etc., and capture one's own GWNs. Before presenting Eleanor with her gift, we decided to break it in, duly and dually committing to tape the most heinous screech either of us could produce. Think of a rabid cat being fed through a paper shredder. Now imagine that rabid cat was Céline Dion in a past life. Trying to speak Korean. During a hysterectomy. It was glorious -- O, 'twas glorious.

Jack carefully repackaged the item, I filled out a shipping label, and off it went. Two weeks later, Eleanor's mother rang us.

"It’s that contraption," explained Aunt Bunny, who is the sort of aunt who uses words like "contraption." She is also the sort of aunt who misuses the expression "blow my wad," but that's not really important here.

"Doesn't it work?" Jack asked.

"Oh, it works very well. Eleanor is terribly fond of it. Won't sleep without it, in fact." She sounded dismayed.

"Which setting does she prefer?" I wondered.

"The one that sounds like a rabid cat being fed through a paper shredder."

"That's just what we were going for!"

"All night long," continued Aunt Bunny, her voice swollen, "she listens to it. On a loop. Over and over. I haven't slept in thirteen days." We heard ice chatter within a sherry glass. "Thirteen days."

Jack is not one of those nephews who like to make aunts cry, so, wrapping his knuckles in telephone cord, he switched tacks. "She knows that she can listen to, like, rainforests, right? And rivers? And whispering Himalayan winds?" These, indeed, were merely three of the twelve-odd GWNs stored within the machine. The womb, I recall, was another.

"She doesn't care for rainforests, or rivers, or whispering Himalayan winds. Only that Thai-banshee scream will do. It sounds like a hyena being violently sodomized."

"Gosh, Aunt Bunn--"

"Like a tortured Flemish milk-maid."

"I’m sorry, Aunt Bun--"

"Like a furrowed field, or felled tree."

"I don’t even understand the reference, Aunt Bu--"

"Jack," Aunt Bunny wept. "Oh, Jack." Sobs guttered in her throat.

That was the last we've heard from Aunt Bunny.

There is no audiorecorder on my (Brookstone) sound machine, but it's nonetheless a suddenly indispensable part of my nightly ritual: I activate it right after brushing my teeth, just before I settle in to read. It even drowns out the sound of my own screams! Call me a very satisfied customer.