Film, FINALLY, at 11

On one recent Sunday, I didn’t get out of my pajamas until 5 p.m., spending the entire day on the sofa with Bonnie, the dogs, the TV remote and a staggering assortment of junk food.

Sadly, immediately following Face the Nation, the television offerings turned into a wasteland. Between Pet Stars ("Let’s welcome Hoagie the ping-pong playing pooch!") and Shear Genius (Hairdressers, rev your blow dryers!) Sunday viewing is not fit for (wo)man nor beast.

Sometimes it’s not fit for man and beast—like the game show where contestants drop a ferret down their pants to clock how long they can keep the thing from crawling out their cuffs. You should see the screaming and clutching of clothing. By the ferret. Hey, big boy, is that a ferret in your pocket or are you glad to…. I could not possibly have made this show up.

In the midst of this ferret commotion my TV crashed. My 17-year old TV.
The screen erupted into squiggles and an ear-splitting static attack. I put down the cheese doodles, unfolded myself from the sofa, the dogs and my mate, marched over to the set and gave it a whack. Everything returned to normal, or as normal as it can be when you are watching a man with a ferret squirming in his trousers.

The TV melted down again three times later in the day and by then I needed Head-On, apply directly to the forehead.

The inevitable conversation ensued. Do we see about fixing the TV or do we buy a big honkin’ flat screen TV?

For a few minutes, Bonnie and I pretended there were two sides to the argument.

Alrighty, then. The next day we went to buy a television set. We needed a diploma in quantum electronics. Question One: LCD or Plasma? After a 50 minute lecture I still couldn’t tell them apart, except that plasma would bleed my wallet dry. We chose LCD.

Next we had a choice of a set with 1029 interlaced pixels or 720 progressive pixels (I always lean toward the progressive), different aspect ratios, viewing angle specs and something called a bit rate. I bit my lip and stared at the clerk like he had sprouted antennae.

"I want one with a black border," I said, hoping Bonnie could figure out the rest.

In the darkened display theatre we watched seven screens showing copulating moths while Bonnie listened to the salesperson drone on about color temperatures and video dithering. Or, in the vernacular, has something to do with us dithering around at Sony trying to keep our heads from exploding.

(Head-On, apply directly to the forehead).

I awoke from my tech coma to ask, "Do we just take one of these home and plug it in like a regular TV?"

"Just like a regular TV," said the adolescent clerk.

For the finale we had to deal with the size question. Did we size queens want a 32-inch or 40-inch flat screen LCD? Standing in the 8,000 square foot store, we were pretty certain the puny 32-inch was way too small.

Our first clue should have been the trouble the Sony kids had getting the box into the car. Second, was the compulsory gymnastics routine we executed getting the appliance in the front door. But we dragged it in, perched it where old reliable Mr. 27-inch (don’t go there) once stood and screamed.

TV, where you taking that living room? Let’s just say it looked like the Multiplex big screen landed in the confines, and I mean confines, of my little teeny house. Aesthetically speaking, it was the TV that ate the room.

Recognizing my decorating dilemma Bonnie sensibly said, "Well, let’s sit down and watch something and then decide."

Righteeo. The thing had a gazillion inputs and outputs and peepholes and plug-ins. I wanted to stick the little Sony clerk into one of them. I’d never seen so many cables. An hour later Bonnie had enabled picture and sound simultaneously and we sat down to watch Anderson Cooper because by this time it was very late.

God, you could see each strand of his gorgeous silver hair and determine what color Max Factor foundation he’d used on his baby face. I should have been listening to news about the Iowa Caucus and all I could think about was whether Anderson should have had that lower front tooth capped. His mother could afford it.

Omigod, political reporter Candy Crowley had an enormous high definition zit on her chin. Next, on Law and Order they were checking the blood spatter patterns in my entire living room.
I LOVED the big screen picture. But how could I have a TV bigger than my cocktail table?

Did we go back for the measly 32-inch screen? No. For once in my life I chose function over form. Seeing a Dodge Durango commercial with wide-screen mountains, streams and sky, there was no contest. So what if my living room looks like an I-Max.

Now I can’t wait for Sunday to see those giant ferrets in humongous trousers. Head-On, apply directly to the MasterCard.