Friday, December 30, 2011

"High-Def Television" Killed the Radio Star

Last Christmas, our furnace broke down, and we felt that it was necessary to replace it right away. This Christmas, our TV broke down, and we felt that it was necessary to replace it right away. What kind of world do we live in when a furnace and a television hold equal sway in our livelihood?

In my defense, I thought we could go TV-less for a while. I imagined a utopia of orange and violet butterflies fluttering around my head, soft grocery store music in the background, where I spent my time reading, writing, and playing Quiddler and Boggle with my husband.

But Dan, the husband with whom I had envisioned spirited rounds of Phase 10, practically rejoiced when the TV bit the dust. He has wanted a new television for a long time now. But our old school 25-inch model was suiting us just fine, a television not being a necessity anyway. Plus the technological industry makes its money through the use of conflict minerals and unfair labor practices (just an example of the guilt-ridden editorializing I would throw Dan's way whenever he talked about wanting a newer, better TV).

For the past few months, our television had been rattling every time we turned it on.

"It's just cold. It needs to warm up - like a car," I would say.

Then it started humming in the middle of our television programs.

"It still works," I would say, cranking up the volume to its maximum level.

The day after Christmas, Dan called me into the living room.

"I think we need a new TV," he said.

I blinked my eyes to make sure I wasn't seeing double. The images were superimposed on top of one other, creating a rather colorful, psychedelic effect.

"Are you sure your video game's not 3-D?" I asked.

"It's giving me a headache," Dan said.

"Maybe we had better think about getting a new TV," I finally relented.

"Yes!" Dan exclaimed as though this was a century-long desire being realized at last.

So Dan set to researching high-definition televisions - "I'm an engineer. You know I have to weigh all my options" - which gave me an entire TV-free evening to read my dystopian novel about an impersonal, relationship-starved society created by technological advances.

He scrolled through web pages filled with tech-geek knowledge that looked as though it was written in a different language. He pulled out his tape measure and examined our entertainment center and current television. Then he compared the various lengths of the several HDTVs that had caught his eye on the tech-geek-o-sphere.

He returned to the sofa and sat down wearily.

"This research is overwhelming."

"I can help you if you want," I offered, half-hoping he would not take me up on it.

"If I need your input, I'll ask for it," he said. Then he quickly recovered with, "I mean, most of what overwhelms me won't make a difference to you. You'll just say 'That doesn't matter.'"

"True."

That evening, an enthusiastic Dan looked up from his laptop and cried, "I think I found one!"

Apparently ready for my "input," he made me watch a video review of the HDTV in question, most of which I didn't understand. One of the package deals included a Blu-ray player, while another included "Smart TV Apps" - "Like a smart phone on your TV," Dan explained. This particular HDTV came with about 152 remote controls. One of the controllers, the "Magic Motion Remote," worked like a Wii remote but with a much cooler name. And it came with 3-D glasses. This cutting edge technology was demonstrated by the reviewer who proceeded to place a pair over his own glasses and stare at the HDTV screen in front of him.

"Don't laugh at the nerd!" Dan admonished as I started to giggle.

He ordered the TV online, and, since it was in stock, the store e-mailed him later that day. The television was ready to be picked up.

"You didn't even have to talk to a sales person."

"I know. That's awesome," Dan said.

Dan, too excited to wait until I finished my post-Christmas ritual of writing thank you notes, took off for the store by himself, lugging our old TV out the door. A while later, he burst back into the living room.

"I'm here with our new Christmas present! I hope a 47-inch monitor isn't too big."

As I mentioned earlier, this TV included 3-D glasses. But the store was running a special, an additional six free pairs of 3-D glasses with the purchase of an HDTV. Dan couldn't resist. (We now own eight pairs of 3-D glasses.)

"I don't even like 3-D. It gives me seizures," I said, cranky due either to a sense of guilt caused by greedy consumerism or because I was getting hungry.

"Do you just come up with silly stuff to say so you can put it in your blog?"

He started to babble about a new cable for the Wii called a component video cable, with red, blue, and green components, three jacks for video, and two for audio. He told me that he bought an HDMI cable instead of S-Video cable, only one little plug for all of our video and audio needs . . .

"Pretty cool, huh?" he said when he came up for breath. "It does Ethernet too."

"Okay, I officially don't understand a single thing you just said," I admitted.

The other morning, I walked into our living room and found Dan using the TouchPad while the television played in background.

"Is this how it's going to be now? The new TV looks so good that we have to have it on 24/7 even though no one's watching? Or do you just really like Kelly Rippa?"

Dan reached for one of the 152 remote controls.

"The newness will wear off soon," he assured me.

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Saturday, December 24, 2011

A Sweet Story Just in Time for Christmas

As I sat in my hotel room, a clear view of the Sun Valley Resort and Village below me, my husband snowboarding at River Run providing me a with much-needed writer's retreat, I fully intended to write a sappy, sentimental treatise on the reality of Santa Claus, not unlike "Yes, Mrs. Duggan, There is a Santa Claus" which I wrote about two years ago.

But then I got hungry and ventured into the village in search of lunch. Anyone who knows me knows that it is virtually impossible for me to be inspirational on an empty stomach.

On my way to pick up a sandwich, I took a detour into a nearby gift shop to look at earrings and ornaments. While perusing the jewelry selection, I overheard a young girl, probably around ten or eleven, ask the clerk what she could buy for four dollars. Apparently, her father had given her some money to spend at the Chocolate Foundry, and she had decided to spend the money on a Christmas gift for her father instead.

Before I continue, let me outline my past experiences with child tourists in Sun Valley. Most of the people who vacation at this resort are very wealthy and feel quite entitled to allow their children to run wild without consequence. During my stays in Sun Valley, I have had children slam into me without so much as an apology. I have heard children whining and crying over the most superficial, overpriced products known to the consumer market. One year, I sat in the Warm Springs Lodge, writing while Dan snowboarded, only to have objects thrown at me by a couple of self-absorbed teenagers.

"Did you just throw something?" a worker confronted the two girls as something whizzed past my ear.

One of the girls snorted while the other clenched her jaw defiantly, "No," they answered in unison.

I rolled my eyes and nodded at the worker who shrugged helplessly and left the two adolescents to continue their annoying game.

So, to hear this girl politely ask for help in finding a four-dollar gift for her father, money that her father thought she was spending on herself, piqued my curiosity. She settled on a small item and dug into her pocket, coming up with three dollars instead of four.

"I guess he only gave me three dollars. It's too much," the little girl said as she picked up her money and started to turn from the clerk.

I was about ready to cover the cost myself when I heard the clerk say, "Wait, I think there is a discount," she punched some numbers into her cash register. " Ah, yes. It's actually only $2.88."

The little girl paid for the gift and left the store with an innocent, "Thank you."

"That was really nice of you," I said to the clerk.

"Sometimes, you just have to give back, you know?"

"Well, it's nice to see that in action."

I left the gift shop, a gift shop situated in the middle of one of the most affluent resort towns in the Northwest, my faith in humanity partially restored this Christmas season by a young tourist and a store cashier.

I didn't even care that, as I made my way back to my hotel room, I had to step on two little rich kids who had draped themselves over the inn stairs while waiting for their parents. In fact, as I smiled at them and chuckled a little to myself, one of them actually mumbled, "Sorry."

Okay, I'll take that for now. Just don't throw anything at me, rich kids.

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It would make a terrific Christmas gift!

Saturday, December 10, 2011

The Spirit of Christmas and Caffeine

My husband takes me out on a coffee date after church every Sunday. Quite often, it's about the only way he can con me into going to church. Now some avid church-goers and super duper Christians may be offended by my ambivalence toward attending church every single Sunday. But I'll unabashedly admit that after a week of working with 650+ kids, teaching ten classes a day, putting on programs every few weeks, conducting a 60-member children's choir, performing in or rehearsing for whatever project I may have going on at the time, sometimes the last thing I want to do is spend yet another day surrounded by people. So Dan bribes me with caffeine.

Because our service ends by 9:30, our coffee date is usually early enough in the day that we spend it with church avoiders and non-church goers, so the former preacher's kid in me feels slightly and delightfully heathen-ish.

Last week, we didn't go to our regular Tully's haunt where the two baristas make our typical fare as soon as they see us walk in the door. We had to run an errand near a Starbucks, an easy feat since there is a Starbucks on every corner as the saying goes.

As we arrived at the coffee shop, Dan tried to pull into a parking spot but another car darted in front of us from the other direction. Dan may have grumbled a bit under his breath, but I was too busy daydreaming about which holiday drink I would try that day. (Come on, coffee drinkers, you know you mourn the loss of your Pumpkin Spice Lattes and Peppermint Mochas at the end of the season.)

As we entered the busy shop, Dan muttered, "Now I remember why I like Tully's better. Less people."

The gentleman standing in line ahead of us turned around.

"Did I just steal your spot out there?" he asked.

It took me a minute to register to what he was referring. He was the one who had pulled into the parking spot in front of Dan.

"No, it was fine."

"I hate it when people drive like a**holes. And then to think I just did that. I'm really sorry."

"That's okay. Just the fact that you're so conscientious about it proves that you're not an 'a**hole,'" I said.

The woman with him in line laughed, "No, he still is."

"Anyway, it's no problem," I told them. "We didn't think anything about it."

"Well, I'm really sorry," he said again.

A couple of minutes later, while Dan and I were ordering our drinks, the gentleman who called himself an "a**hole" handed the barista a gift card and said, "Would you put this toward these guys' order? Thanks!" And he hurried away before Dan and I could thank him.

I started to wonder, as I watched the man and woman speed away, if I - the reluctant church-goer - would have admitted that I was in a car that had cut someone off, much less pay the person's coffee bill, had the situation been reversed. Then I wondered - not without cynicism - whether any of those often maniacal drivers who so proudly display Christian fishes on their back bumpers would have done the same thing.

"Did you just get an anonymous donation?" a customer asked us as we waited at the counter for our coffee.

"I think we did."

"That was a nice Christmas gift," the man said.

"Yeah, it was."

Now, we could have afforded our own coffee, and a latte is probably the most superfluous and overpriced product in the world; but every once in a while it encourages my faith in humanity to be on the receiving end of a little Christmas charity.

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