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Gadget Hell
Jan. 19th, 2010 05:58 pmMy husbear and I are a mixed marriage.
“But Joe!” you are probably thinking to yourself. “You are…um… two guys. Just how mixed can you possibly be?”
Well, you’d probably be right, except for one thing. You see, my dear Paul is all about gadgets. Whenever he reads an advertisement or sees some video featuring some new technological breakthrough, his eyes glaze over, he becomes a little bit flushed, and eventually as the primal oohing and aahing dies down, he utters a guttural, “I Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaant Thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!”
As for me, well, we’ll just say that if you dropped me off in front of a cooking pit, as long as I have a knife, a piece of steel and some flint, I’ll be fine.
Over the course of the last year, a situation developed at the Claycomb. Our back parlor TV began to show the early stages of a sad decline. Admittedly, I don’t consider myself much of a television addict. If the news is on, I will watch it. If I am having a brain-dead-on-the-couch moment, I might watch a sit-com or a moronic reality-tv episode. But for the most part, we use the TV for either the music channels or to catch up on movies via netflicks. Yet, even that was becoming a slight challenge. For anything visual, an annoying line began to streak across the picture. And as for the music channels, the television seemed to be very sensitive about any sort of competition. Whenever a phone rang, the music channels would completely lose their minds, burst into static, and have to reset. Sadly, this included every time Paul’s gadget phone would bleep to indicate that somebody had sent him a plant or a farm animal, or even considered for a moment making him their new BFF. Perhaps some of the Russian “Communication” satellites left over from the Reagan administration have something to do with it. (and for you kids in the audience, Reagan was one of our presidents).
Annoying as this was, I would have been content to just grumble about it, but not do anything until the agonizing TV death occurred naturally. But it was also driving Paul crazy. So at some point last year, I proposed an idea. “Honey,” I said to him one day. “Rather than spend all kinds of crazy money on pressies for each other that we really don’t need (and don’t have room for), how ‘bout if instead we get a new TV?” Now, I knew this would not take much convincing since it pushed the “gadgetses equals PRECIOUSSSSSSSSS!” button that my hubby wears proudly right in the center of his chest. So at that moment, just as he began to float on air, I had to reel him in a bit. “Hold on, Bucky!” I emphasized. “IF we decide to do this, it has to be able to fit into the current cabinet, AND be affordable.”
I was not really sure that he heard anything I said after I empowered him with the idea of buying a new gadget. He was too busy salivating. Only time would tell.
I don’t know if it was the day after Christmas, but Paul began the hunt. He didn’t even ask me if I wanted to go shopping with him. He had an idea of what he wanted, and I lived in fear. After several trips out into the veldt, he returned one day with the spoils of his kill. I heard terms such as “HD” and “Bose” and “Surround-sound” and a bunch of other jargon that meant absolutely nothing to me. What I noticed was simply that the screen was a bit larger, while still fitting into the existing cabinet, and that we had tiny speakers that would not take up much room. OK. So far, so good. And, apparently, he managed to score a good deal. So far, VERY good.
But then, a frightening reality sank in. There, displayed proudly like a family of seven-point buck heads, neatly taxidermied and mounted on plaques, three new remote controls glinted in the sunlight streaming through the back parlor window. Yah, three. THREE! Three big remotes with more buttons than a 14th century cotehardie. (for those of you not in the SCA, that translates roughly into “a shitload of buttons”)
WTF?!!!!
Why so many remotes?
Why so many controls?
Why so many buttons?
This would not bode well. One evening, I found myself home alone, wanting to turn on a music station. It literally took me almost a half hour to figure out how to do it. NOT a good thing. And without a doubt, I am sure that somewhere in Costa Mesa, some poor widow experienced what she believed to be a poltergeist terror as every gadget in her home turned on and off with every wrong push of one of the remote buttons. With one button, there goes the blender! With another, a ceiling fan. And with yet another, something begins to buzz and vibrate somewhere in a night-table drawer.
Since that time, I think Paul has “simplified” the system. One need only open up several of the cabinet doors, and then push a combination of buttons on TWO of the remotes to accomplish the goal of entertainment. Of course, to me, the word “simplified” hearkens back to the days of getting up out of the chair, and turning a dial. Remember the days of UHF and VHF? Remember rabbit-ears? Remember when color television was a novel idea?
Perhaps I am a simpleton. Perhaps I am naïve. But in Joe-world, some of these modern developments are just too much and unnecessary. So I have done my own simplifying. I have created a one-step system. From the comfort of the couch, I simply say, “PAUL! Change the channel to something I would like!” Magically, it then happens.
Ahh… simplicity. It is truly golden.
“But Joe!” you are probably thinking to yourself. “You are…um… two guys. Just how mixed can you possibly be?”
Well, you’d probably be right, except for one thing. You see, my dear Paul is all about gadgets. Whenever he reads an advertisement or sees some video featuring some new technological breakthrough, his eyes glaze over, he becomes a little bit flushed, and eventually as the primal oohing and aahing dies down, he utters a guttural, “I Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaant Thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!”
As for me, well, we’ll just say that if you dropped me off in front of a cooking pit, as long as I have a knife, a piece of steel and some flint, I’ll be fine.
Over the course of the last year, a situation developed at the Claycomb. Our back parlor TV began to show the early stages of a sad decline. Admittedly, I don’t consider myself much of a television addict. If the news is on, I will watch it. If I am having a brain-dead-on-the-couch moment, I might watch a sit-com or a moronic reality-tv episode. But for the most part, we use the TV for either the music channels or to catch up on movies via netflicks. Yet, even that was becoming a slight challenge. For anything visual, an annoying line began to streak across the picture. And as for the music channels, the television seemed to be very sensitive about any sort of competition. Whenever a phone rang, the music channels would completely lose their minds, burst into static, and have to reset. Sadly, this included every time Paul’s gadget phone would bleep to indicate that somebody had sent him a plant or a farm animal, or even considered for a moment making him their new BFF. Perhaps some of the Russian “Communication” satellites left over from the Reagan administration have something to do with it. (and for you kids in the audience, Reagan was one of our presidents).
Annoying as this was, I would have been content to just grumble about it, but not do anything until the agonizing TV death occurred naturally. But it was also driving Paul crazy. So at some point last year, I proposed an idea. “Honey,” I said to him one day. “Rather than spend all kinds of crazy money on pressies for each other that we really don’t need (and don’t have room for), how ‘bout if instead we get a new TV?” Now, I knew this would not take much convincing since it pushed the “gadgetses equals PRECIOUSSSSSSSSS!” button that my hubby wears proudly right in the center of his chest. So at that moment, just as he began to float on air, I had to reel him in a bit. “Hold on, Bucky!” I emphasized. “IF we decide to do this, it has to be able to fit into the current cabinet, AND be affordable.”
I was not really sure that he heard anything I said after I empowered him with the idea of buying a new gadget. He was too busy salivating. Only time would tell.
I don’t know if it was the day after Christmas, but Paul began the hunt. He didn’t even ask me if I wanted to go shopping with him. He had an idea of what he wanted, and I lived in fear. After several trips out into the veldt, he returned one day with the spoils of his kill. I heard terms such as “HD” and “Bose” and “Surround-sound” and a bunch of other jargon that meant absolutely nothing to me. What I noticed was simply that the screen was a bit larger, while still fitting into the existing cabinet, and that we had tiny speakers that would not take up much room. OK. So far, so good. And, apparently, he managed to score a good deal. So far, VERY good.
But then, a frightening reality sank in. There, displayed proudly like a family of seven-point buck heads, neatly taxidermied and mounted on plaques, three new remote controls glinted in the sunlight streaming through the back parlor window. Yah, three. THREE! Three big remotes with more buttons than a 14th century cotehardie. (for those of you not in the SCA, that translates roughly into “a shitload of buttons”)
WTF?!!!!
Why so many remotes?
Why so many controls?
Why so many buttons?
This would not bode well. One evening, I found myself home alone, wanting to turn on a music station. It literally took me almost a half hour to figure out how to do it. NOT a good thing. And without a doubt, I am sure that somewhere in Costa Mesa, some poor widow experienced what she believed to be a poltergeist terror as every gadget in her home turned on and off with every wrong push of one of the remote buttons. With one button, there goes the blender! With another, a ceiling fan. And with yet another, something begins to buzz and vibrate somewhere in a night-table drawer.
Since that time, I think Paul has “simplified” the system. One need only open up several of the cabinet doors, and then push a combination of buttons on TWO of the remotes to accomplish the goal of entertainment. Of course, to me, the word “simplified” hearkens back to the days of getting up out of the chair, and turning a dial. Remember the days of UHF and VHF? Remember rabbit-ears? Remember when color television was a novel idea?
Perhaps I am a simpleton. Perhaps I am naïve. But in Joe-world, some of these modern developments are just too much and unnecessary. So I have done my own simplifying. I have created a one-step system. From the comfort of the couch, I simply say, “PAUL! Change the channel to something I would like!” Magically, it then happens.
Ahh… simplicity. It is truly golden.
