I’ve now been 40 for about two weeks. As for now all is well, and I’m still confident enough in my health to buy green bananas.
One thing I’ve learned with age is that it’s not always best to solve every problem immediately. Sure, if an agitated co-worker partially disembowels you with a stapler, you may want to get to an emergency room within 24 hours. Otherwise, sometimes problems will solve themselves if given the proper room to breathe.
For example, the television in my living room is a 1987 Zenith. Against the wishes of family, friends and clergy, I’ve refused to get rid of the TV just because it’s not the width of a credit card. The picture on the thing is clear as a bell, and I believe if the job is being done there’s no reason to make a change.
Does anyone reading this believe one of these newfangled slim TVs will last for 26 years? That’s longer than the average lifespan of the child labor now assembling the current fleet of anorexic, gutless televisions.
According to RadioMuseum.org, the phrase “clear as a bell” was originally used by the Sonora Phonograph Company as an advertising slogan for its line of radios and record players. One branch of the company eventually morphed into the Magnavox Company. Sharing is caring.
Recently my cherished TV has shown signs of wear. Every so often, for no reason, the picture will go away. This is easily remedied by turning the power knob ever so slightly to the left. Whenever a family member blacks out in the middle of the day, we don’t throw them away, do we? We adjust their medication, unplug the microwave and get on with our day.
Although I had to cram my heart with steel wool to do it, about three weeks ago I decided it was time to get a new television. Ol ’87 has been blacking out upwards of three times a week lately — most recently near the end of an episode of “Columbo,” when Peter Falk was halfway staring a suspect in the eye and explaining how it was possible for him to kill his business partner with a stick of celery.
Ol ’87 was with me for “Miami Vice” — the two good years at the beginning and the three so-so years that followed. When “Twin Peaks” came along and reinvented what a television show could be, Ol ’87 was there. I was about to become one of those lying liars who claim not to watch TV, but Ol ’87 pulled me back in with “Seinfeld,” “Arrested Development” and “30 Rock.” Ol ’87 duct taped the once crumbling umbilical cord between myself and pop culture back together.
I’d gone so far as to price new televisions. As it turns out, it’s possible to get a decent set without having to sell any of your toes to medical schools — although, if you’re interested, the dough is pretty good. Many of my friends are obsessed with televisional terminology, such as resolution, frame rate speed and high definition. As long as I can tell who is saying what to whom, I could care less.
Besides, do we really need to see a close up of Honey Boo Boo’s mama in high definition? Will being able to see the Dorito dust stuck between the mom’s jowls make the experience more enjoyable? Okay, I guess that would be pretty cool; one point for technology.
I’ve never seen the “Honey Boo Boo Hour,” or whatever the show is called, but I’m assuming the cinematography isn’t a sticking point for most viewers. I just looked up some information on the show and found out Honey Boo Boo’s family is allegedly paid $50,000 per episode. If you created 10 of me in a laboratory and rolled them in gold dust, I wouldn’t be worth $50,000. Maybe I should euthanize Ol ’87 out of respect.
Other people want me to get a smart TV or a plasma TV. First of all, no TV that’s fed the current stream of stupid shows will ever be smart, and plasma should be in a local blood bank or black market organ drop-off Igloo cooler. I want a TV with some guts in it — not some slim, tofu-eating TV that thinks meat is murder. Had you rather board a plane with big, hefty engines or an ultralight powered by two AA batteries?
While this debate of one was going on in my slightly oversized head, I got a call from a family member asking if I’d be interested in a 4-year-old TV that was perfectly fine.
“This isn’t a new thin one that can be hung on the wall,” I was told. “It’s about a foot thick and is the same weight as Delaware, but the picture is clear as a bell.”
“You had me at Delaware,” I said.
Turns out it was smart not to run out and plunk down my hard earned money on a TV I didn’t really want. Ol ’87 has led a good life, and it’s my hope that it’ll find a home in a friend’s shop, basement or erotic dungeon. There’s something cool about a TV that still has a knob on it in an era when most of the shows are full of knobs. My new TV will sadly be knob free, but at least it’ll be heavy enough to give anyone trying to steal it a hernia.
Jon Dawson’s columns appear every Tuesday and Thursday in The Free Press. Contact Jon at 252-559-1092 or jon.dawson@kinston.com. To purchase books, music or tobacco products, visit jondawson.com.