For the past few days Justin has repeatedly declared, "We're getting cable tomorrow."
I respond that we are not. "No, we don't need cable. I don't even want to have a TV. We're better off without it. We'd watch too much Law and Order if we had cable again."
"I don't want to watch that stuff. I want to watch the games. We don't get any of the games." Also, those that we do get often are so fuzzy that it's hard to see the ball--especially if it's a baseball game. Sometimes even in basketball it was difficult to tell what was happening and whether the refs were right or not.
Then I tried to watch a video today. Thwarted in every direction--Justin has hijacked the Blockbuster queue and now all my chick-flicks at the top of the queue have been replaced with movies like Old School, Blades of Glory and The Fearless.
Subversively (and with his permission) I took one of those over to the Blockbuster across the street to rent a movie. Once I finally picked a movie about three generations of women in one family--something to help me understand family dynamics and a mother's love, if only through a fictional movie--I waited for the old man cashier to checkout the tattooed-guy's videos. Of course it took too long. Then, despite previous experience to teh contrary, he was unable to check a movie out to me because I did not have my card or picture ID. I have for the past few times we went there, but they kept saying they didn't need it, so I tossed in some laundry and just wandered over with the return-movie from the mail.
Maybe if he'd been polite I would have been calm. But there I was, facing this gray-bearded man wearing a black sports band on his right arm and a Blockbuster polo-shirt and telling him, as he turned the screen to show me he had to see my ID, "I believe you. You don't have to show me the screen. I just don't understand why all the other salespeople CAN do this for me."
"It's for your own protection. Otherwise anyone could come in here and rent a movie from you... Don't you have your ID with you?"
"No, I just live right across the street. I've always brought all that, but all I have is my keys," I held them up for proof. "OK. Fine, whatever. I'll just take that movie back and rent one later."
Then I called Justin to demand access to the Blockbuster account so I could print out our monthly free-movie coupon. I was home by the time we were pulling the conversation to a close and he said, "Where are you? I'm at home now."
"Oh, well then I'm yelling at you from the other side of the window."
Sheepishly I entered and we did our exchange of grouchiness and forgiveness, and I found The Crying Game (I've not yet seen it) waiting for me from the mail.
Then, I watched the opening credits and the TV screen turned to two giant black blocks with a thin colorful stripe cutting horizontally across the screen.
Once again, frustrated fuming.
Tragically, starting and restarting the video, washing the DVD and trying again, and then trying to just watch TV we figured out it IS the TV.
It is the TV.
The TV is dead.
I want to take it out back and bury it in the dumpster, then put something pretty and useful on the shelf place this monstrosity of a 15-year-old box fills.
Justin of course is visualizing something I would suppose involves a flat screen.
Given that we can watch videos on our laptops and listen to NPR and read the news and even watch some reruns on our laptops too, I think I have pretty good ammunition for living in a TV-free household.
He argued for surround sound and sporting events, but I said, "Surround sound? Yeah, right!" And swept my arm around the room in-manner--of-Vanna-White displaying five speakers surrounding our living room. "We've lived here for more than a year and you still haven't hooked the wires up to those speakers!"
On the upside, he gave me a pity hug for the no-TV-afternoon I am experiencing, despite my lazy desires. On my own upside, I am still feeling pretty driven to get stuff done and the distraction of the TV is dead.