Control

You might remember my earlier claim that the disposable battery industry is secretly running this county.  There may be macroeconomic or geo-political explanations for the rise in gas prices, but I’m sure the Cooper-top Lobby is  behind it.  If they and their pink percussion-playing friend have their way, gas will become so expensive, drivers will opt for battery operated vehicles playing right into their fiendish hand. Another conspiracy they’ve shielded from the public--an unsavory partnership with electronic manufacturers to litter our home with a remote controls--siphoning our wallets; two double A’s at a time. 

But truth be told, I’m a willing participant in this ruse. I would estimate that I easily have 15 to 20 remote controls in my home right now and I need and love each and every one of them. They range from the obvious and fairly useful: DVD player and garage door opener, to the less necessary: ceiling fan, to the absolutely baffling: baby mobile remote. But all of my remotes, the television has, is, and will always be king.

It almost brings tears to my eyes when I think about how the technology of the remote has helped me watch sports more efficiently.   Back in the 70’s, I would sit next to the warmth of our giant faux wood encased RCA flipping back and forth trying watch two playoff games.  In between plays I would violently throw the knob in an effort to quickly traverse the desert of static between the network oases. I always wondered why there were channels of static between the networks and why the volume of the static channels was exponentially louder than the normal channels.   Now, armed with my trusty remote guiding satellites across the sky, I have the ability to watch every football game on any given Sunday.  I can stop and start the action, look up statistics, and never watch a commercial.  Sure, I’ll admit it: the remote is a great outlet for my Napoleon complex.

My house has a typical gender driven remote policy; my wife has court appointed remote visitation rights when I’m not at home.  It’s sexist and very unfair but I know genetics are to blame. Along with the inability to ask for directions, the need to hold the remote is encoded in the male DNA. To deny our desire to watch five programs at once to to deny the very thing that makes us men. Is it a coincidence that the Y-chromosome is named for a letter that looks like an old TV antenna? I think not.