Two weeks before Christmas, the TV refused to turn on. And, yes, I consulted our in-house computer and electronics guru and, after testing all the connections – the plug, the wall outlet, the remote, the batteries, the video connections and the power strip – his official pronouncement was, “It’s dead.”
Why do appliances break at the holidays? Why does the dishwasher flood and then cease to work the day before the Thanksgiving meal you are serving for 20? Why does the guest bathroom faucet seize up just days before a house full of overnight guests? Is is karma? Is it Murphy’s law? Or is it secretly-implanted switches that the plumbers and dishwasher repairmen install? Switches only they can see. High quality ones from the CIA.
We have one TV in our house. It is exactly the way we like it: safely ensconced in its Arts & Crafts cabinet holding down the west side of the living room. When it’s not turned on, nice and solid cherry doors cover the hideousness that all TVs inherently carry in their gene pool. And the spaciousness that is provided in front of the cabinet makes for the Wii bowling alley and the Super Mario Cart race track.
So, when the TV died we had to replace it – although I spent a few days truly pondering life without and was happy for those few moments. But then I remembered that Mad Men on Netflix had made us very happy recently, much as Blues Clues on Nickelodeon had made the youngest amoung us wide-eyed 10 years ago.
I guess I really can’t complain. The old TV had been with us for 23 or 24 years. We purchased it either right after our wedding with what probably seemed like a huge pile of cash or as a gift to each other on our first anniversary. Whenever it was, the old mother had gotten larger and heavier since we moved into this house after she took up residence in said cabinet. It was a trip to carry her out of the house, with my husband and me bitching and groaning. After a long day in retail in December, the last thing you want to see in the living room is a huge hunk of petrified plastic and glass waiting to find its place in electronics heaven. (To be honest with you, I don’t know how my husband got it from the cabinet to the end table by himself. Maybe he didn’t, because we haven’t rushed to the emergency room for a hernia flare up.)
Either the “breakdown timing switch” in this old sucker – the CIA worked with Sony, RCA and Zenith on this technology in the 60s – was never flipped on, or we were lucky and Murphy was on our side this time. I go with the lucky scenario. I was even luckier because, in the last 24 years, TVs have gotten considerably lighter, and my husband was able to hunt, gather and install the flat screen replacement all by himself while I was at work. Just in time for Santa to bring us Beatle’s Rock Band.
PS…You can’t hide the ugliness of Rock Band behind beautifully designed cabinetry. But you gotta love Santa for the almost well designed, faux leather, Rock Band branded storage ottoman. But I digress.
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