Right Now Mark is Watching QVC

I remember when I was a little kid, my dad fixing our little round screen television by giving it a solid whack. First on the top, and if that didn't do the trick he'd smack the thing on the side. Most often the picture would flash back on, albeit with some static and distortion. Dad didn't really give a shit if that thing worked or not until football season. Then if it even blinked once at him he'd call Mr. Zack, the television repair man. Mr. Zack spent many an evening with his head deep inside the guts of our TV while my sisters, brothers, and I sat on the sofa transfixed by the sight of his ass crack peeking out of his pants. The worst was when he'd pull his head out from behind the television, and announce, "I'll have to take it back to the shop". Nothing was sadder than that empty glass screen staring back at you, knowing that the insides of that TV wouldn't be back for days.

Saturday afternoon, after fulfilling most of Mark's lengthy list of chore requests, I sat down to watch some television. All comfy in my recliner with a Dr. Pepper, and a bag of Pretzel Goldfish within a short reach, and Sasha wedged between me and the arm of the chair, I flipped on the television. With a well trained thumb, I checked the program guide. Click..., click, click, click..., nothing was happening, no program guide. Maybe something was wrong with the remote, I slapped it against my other hand. Nothing. The satellite receiver seemed to be frozen, and the television was stuck on CNN. I figured I'd just reboot the receiver/DVR, and everything would reset.

It usually takes about five minutes for my receiver/DVR to come back on after it's powered down. This reboot seemed to be taking an extraordinary amount of time. Finally after fifteen minutes it stopped. On the screen was the message 'your receiver has experienced a fatal error', followed by a phone number to call and another message to tell customer support that I had 'error 14-106'.

It took a while for it to sink in, but I eventually realized that I would have no television for the entire weekend, and probably not until Tuesday or Wednesday. No Two and a Half Men, no How I Met Your Mother, no Top Gear (BBC version only), no House Hunters International, no Turner Classic Movies, I was screwed. Then the real horror set in, I had lost all my saved shows. I literally had a years worth of shows, and movies that I had saved for those horrible Saturday evenings when nothing but crap is on.

So now I have moved into the bedroom with Mark, but Mark insists that even though I pay for the satellite service, his television is his. If any of my shows interfere with the Real Housewives, Top Chef, Ru Paul's Drag Race, or any other thing on Bravo, I can't watch them. I'm so goddamned spoiled. That old round screen television that my dad used to slap around could only get five channels, and they went off the air for eight or nine hours every day. We seemed to do just fine with that. Goddamn it.