Real Versus Virtual
Created | Updated Apr 3, 2011
Everyday life is inspirational.
I lie. No, it isn't.
But I promised Bel a column, so you'll have to live with what I've got.
At least until my muse comes back from Alpha Centauri.
The Real and the Virtual
I finally broke down and bought a new TV the other day. It's all my dog Ariel's fault, of course.
It's amazing, this new TV. For one thing, it's the same shape as my computer monitor – just a little bigger. I said 'a little': I'm too cheap to spring for the 32-inch wonders. 24 inches1 is large enough for me. And I don't care a pin about the difference between plasma, LED, LCD, or LSD…aw, heck, now I've got that song from Hair running through my head…
Anyway. The TV cost $249, at least, that's what the sign said. I knew in my little Scotch heart that when the sign says $249, I'd be lucky to get out at about $400, by the time the friendly salesman had chatted me into a service warranty and a $20 bottle of cleaning fluid. I overestimated by $2. 'Nuff said.
The reason the old set had been sitting there for two months, broken, without being replaced, was that there's never anything on TV, anyway. A hundred channels, and the best you can hope for is that only three of them are showing Law and Order reruns at any time, and that only one is running Titanic2. The problem with surfing is that you invariably stop to stare in horrified fascination at the Guy Channel's special on 100 Ghastly (But Amusing) Ways to Die until the Sensible Partner grabs the remote from your lifeless fingers…the image of that gory blender is seared into my memory…
Anyway. I can remember, oh unbelieving youth, when a TV set was a piece of furniture. In a wooden cabinet. With a tiny screen. That took about five minutes to 'warm up'. During which you sat and stared at the white dot in the centre, waiting for it to blossom into the Indian, given that it was 6 a.m., and even the weather wasn't on yet…it was called a Test Pattern, kids, and in the US, it had an Indian in a headdress on it. I attribute my zen-like meditation capabilities to a childhood spent waiting for a vacuum tube to warm up while thinking about the Emergency Broadcast System and wondering when the Russians would hit the button…now I've got a picture of Eisenhower stuck behind my optic nerve…
Anyway. The only reason we finally went for the set was that the electronics store was down the way from the pet emporium, it was within walking distance, and the weather was up to an indecently balmy 25 degrees3. Oh, and because of Ariel the Wonder Shih Tzu.
I was sort of surprised when the cheerful, competent, and above all brave young lady told me she'd need to keep the hairy little monster for a full two hours, but I shouldn't have been. Ariel's 12, you see, and though he's the sweetest fella in the world, he's stubborn. Ever since those perfidious people at the vet's knocked him out (a cardinal sin to dogs) and fiddled with his jaw (try explaining that this was necessary, I dare you), he doesn't want people to touch his face.
His face. His hairy face. The one with the matted hair on, because it's spring and he's shedding his winter coat, and we can't get the comb in there without risking massive operator injury. Ariel may have crooked teeth, but he's got a jaw on him like an alligator, just shorter. We hoped the pet groomers had a miracle cure involving scissors and clippers rather than total anaesthesia. The aforementioned competent and brave groomer laughed at him, mocked his threatening growls, and danced out of the way while we watched, anxiously, visions of personal-injury lawsuits in our heads. After awhile, we stopped worrying and just enjoyed the show – our groomer was a pro. She wasn't sanguine about the facial hair, but the rest of the canine mop was looking good and Ariel was loving the attention, so we wandered off to find us a TV, window-shop, and sit over a coke in the Superbullseye while Elektra chatted to her friends there.
Back at the pet emporium, Ariel looked amazing, and the groomer was triumphant. 'I tricked him while he was in the bath,' she explained. 'He was wet and not up to too much resistance.' She presented us with a shorn, fluffy, and unrepentant Shih Tzu, and I presented her with a generous tip by way of combat pay. Back home with dog, sundries, and new TV. The cats didn't really miss us – they wouldn't deign to miss us – but they came around to see if we'd remembered the important stuff, like cat food…
Anyway. The TV was easy to unpack, and the foreign instructions only required half an hour of reading at arm's length4 to find out how to remove a DVD from the built-in player. Note to technical writers: Stop burying the lead like that. After that, it took about 20 minutes to ascertain that, as suspected, buying a new set doesn't mean there's anything on TV you want to watch…three channels with L & O, one with Titanic, some basketball, golf, yawn…but the DVD player works. After several episodes, I think the theme from Medium is stuck on auto-run in my head…
Anyway. Come evening, I looked reflectively at the new set, still dark…and turned back to my computer, to see what caught my eye on Netflix. 'Hey, Elektra,' I ventured. 'There's an intriguing documentary on Slavoj Zizek, it's called The Reality of the Virtual…' I ducked.
'Not on your life! I'm sick of all this 'cerebral' stuff. I want entertainment! I want fun! I want something to laugh at!'
We settled on Escape from New York. I laughed. A lot. Amazing effects, for a pre-CGI film.
Anyway. I suspect Professor Zizek would agree: We have come a long way in our pursuit of perfection in the virtual. Our TVs are technological marvels undreamt-of in any previous incarnation of reality. We have amazing devices at our fingertips. I'm typing on one now. But we will still see nothing on that screen quite as amazing as the people next to us, clever, chatty, surprising.
I think I'll put down the remote and go back to watching the wildlife. Maybe they'll do an instant replay of that three-squirrel pile-up we saw a while ago…
Anyway, it beats the Guy Channel.
