Dinner and a Movie. Book.

"Yes dear?", so smug, as if he knew I was calling for help.

"The VCR won't work". Of course I was calling for help.

"Allyson, we don't own a VCR, we haven't owned a VCR in more than 10 years".

It was raining, and it had been all day. The girls and I decided to make dinner and watch a movie but, and this happens from time to time, I was having a few technical issues. Like the time when they were both home sick from kindergarten and I promised them Christmas movies but couldn't even get the television to turn on. Or the time I got my phone in Spanish mode and couldn't understand the directions to get back to English.

"Right then, the movie player won't turn on. I am hitting this button, the one on the left, and nothing is happening", as I hit, repeatedly, the open/close button.

"Is it unplugged?"

I got on my knees and asked the girls to do the same, searching everywhere for the plug source. We could hear him laughing. We found nothing unplugged.

"Look at the back, the plugs going into the box, are they plugged in?", and in fact they were not.

I plugged in all cords I could see, popped in Anastasia, pushed the arrow button, and waited for the magic to happen.

"Do you have the right remote?"

Here's where things get tricky. There are something like seven remote controls for this one television and apparently if you don't use the right one nothing happens. 

"First you need to tell the main remote what you want to do. Have you done that?"

"There is a main remote? And you want me to talk to it?"

At this point we could have walked in the rain the four blocks into town, bought three tickets plus popcorn and drinks, and watched a movie while wearing soaking wet clothes, all of which would have been less painful than getting the television to work.

He sighed, "read a book Allyson".

And so we did.

 

The Isle of U-Verse

"U-Verse!"

Jack was beyond excited, the day had finally arrived: his television and computer would be able to communicate. But there is more, an all sports option, the ability to see every single sporting event available on television at one time. Picture in picture, what he once thought of as the single greatest invention yet known, was old news, this was revolutionary. No longer could cricket hideaway on some far off channel; it was if a voice from above could shout out to him in a moment of remote confusion, "Jack, someone is catching a trout on channel 834, get there now!".
Calendars were cleared, plans were made, the U-Verse Goddess would descend upon us on a Monday morning and in four short hours all would be right with the world. She arrived on schedule and set to work. Nine hours later, exhausted and sweaty, she appeared on the back stairs: U-Verse would not be ours, not today, maybe someday she promised. A highly specialized doubly trained super smart high tech person would be in our home within 48 hours, there was more work to be done. Defeated, she left.

No one appeared on Tuesday. Repeatedly I called the phone number she provided, the one that, next to the number, read "We are here to help!" only to get a busy signal. Confused, having previously thought that my mother was the only person left on earth without call waiting, I continued to hit redial. Why AT&T had only one line baffled me. There was also a website but for reasons unknown my computer was not working, no Internet available. Jack took over dialing when he came home. It was not a busy signal, we had no phone service, which in an instant explained why my computer was dark as well. We tried the television, nothing. The four hour minor surgery that was to connect us to the world beyond in a way we never thought possible had ended as a nine hour communication lobotomy.

Using his cell phone, Jack found Deborah at a Kentucky call center who was as surprised as we were to find we were left without any service. He was put on hold. Thirty minutes later she returned, there was little that could be done, someone would call us the next day. Saving the details of this four day odyssey through AT&T customer service madness, in fear of incurring high blood pressure related medical bills to compete with my cell phone charges, I relate this exchange: 45 minute holding time to talk to one person, detailed explanation offered of problem, transfer, 20 minute hold, further details needed, transfer, 40 minute hold, friendly voice asking for my phone number, and then, "let me just read through these notes here", 10 minute hold and then, "and how may I help you today?".

Pardon me, you just spent 10 minutes reading your colleague’s notes about this ridiculous situation, surely peppered with commentary about the mental instability of the woman on the other end of the line, and you and your friendly voice would like to know how you can help me today?

By Wednesday I was cranky. Unfinished essays sat on my computer, unable to go anywhere, longing to be completed, and read. My husband suggested I take the girls to the coffee shop and write there. I suggested he take the girls to the office.

On Thursday I had this conversation with another genius at AT&T:

Genius: We’ll have someone out tomorrow to restore your phone service, between 12 and 6.
Happy Customer: I will not be home between 12 and 6.
Genius: Will there be anyone home to let us in?
Happy Customer: No, I will not be here tomorrow.
Genius: Right, we’ll be there between 12 and 6.
Happy Customer: Wonderful. And this is to restore just the phone? What about the other issues?
Genius: Oh, what other issues are you having?

On Friday, the day before we left for a 10 day vacation, a self confident, and highly decorated, installer veteran appeared at my door. Not wanting to insult the woman who left me on a remote island Monday, but doing so anyway, he assured me that this was as simple as flipping a switch and that he would be out of my hair in no time. Six hours later he found the switch, restoring what we once knew, and bringing the hope of trout fishing into our living room.

The next morning we left for Michigan, to the idyllic and tranquil life not bounded by telephones and computers. Where, rather than watch it on television, you can saunter down to the shore any morning and watch people actually fish. Thank goodness we were able to get away.

My Bachelor

"Oh come on, look at this, this is not right".

Looking up I was horrified to see what had happened, Jack and his remote control finger flick habit had stumbled onto the Bachelorette. You look away for just one moment and worlds collide.

"Fiction. Not possible, where did they find all these guys so eager to be married?".

Agreed, in Jack's world there were no shortage of guys happily spending their days in a blissful bachelorhood stupor. Happy hours, drunken barbecues at Don's, last minute trips to New Orleans, his two day per weekend golf habit, combined with the two soon to be divorced dudes bunking on his couch, all compelling reasons to not find yourself as a contestant on the Bachelorette. That each one of his former bachelor loving friends is now married with kids, including my bachelor, was not given consideration.

He was now engaged in true train wreck form, paralyzed from the waist up, unable to move away from the disaster unfolding before him. Oh please, let him doze off, please let him miss this, "Scrapbook is not a verb!", yelled the man unable to properly use a glue stick, "this guy made a scrapbook?".

Jack on the Bachelorette? On principle he would have not offered his jacket to the chilly bride hopeful, refusing to dance the same dance as all the others, and would have suggested, quite likely, that she find something suitable to cover up with, while thinking that either she, or the wardrobe people were not bright enough to remember to pack a sweater. There would be no scrapbook, nor ramblings on love or soul mates, and certainly not a poem. He would not mention his family, or his never ending love for his mother, he would not hypothesize as to the perfect wife nor speculate as to the number of children he hoped would someday bear his name. He would not expound upon his dreamy childhood and the amazing bond that has kept his parents together for forty years. He would not reveal the origin of his tragic nickname, if he had one. In short, he would be a terrible candidate, not at all considered genuine husband material when evaluated on these terms and in the end, sent packing, sans rose.

Worked out well for me, and I always bring my own cardigan.

The Final Boom

As one loathe to admit that I watch television, preferring rather to complain about the truly horrid programming now available, I am not taking the loss of Law & Order well. We've been together for twenty years, this quick and hasty departure is leaving me lonely.

Twenty years ago things looked a bit different; recently out of college and living on my own, Law & Order was the thing I came home to on Wednesday nights. The phone would ring after the final boom, my father eager to discuss the crime, the twists, the prosecution. When the phone stopped ringing, now almost eight years ago, Law & Order remained constant, but a sad reminder that my dad was no longer available on the other end of the line.

Law & Order has always been my sick day companion, the thing I like most when relegated to the sofa, box of tissues nearby, kerchoo. It's my rainy day treat, my exhausted at the end of the day respite and my old shoe. Logan, Lenny, Ed, L.T., and Lupo, I have loved them all.

Boom boom.

For the Love of A Pig, or Two

My policy on television has been revised. As much as I hate to admit this, I find that there are actually decent things for Mary and Kate to watch, several of their favorite book characters having recently been made into television programs.

George and Martha, delightful hippos, are best friends who allow Mary and Kate to consider loyalty, respect, silliness and honesty, and George is voiced by Nathan Lane. Who could say no to Nathan Lane?

Olivia is the swine equivalent to Eloise, one of my favorite childhood books. She is precocious, charming and has a picture of Eleanor Roosevelt hanging on her bedroom wall. Olivia is a dreamer who dreams of taking her place on the Supreme Court, and she accessorizes, what a snappy pig.


Also pigs, Toot and Puddle are best friends who live together in Woodcock Pocket. Toot and Puddle, like Mary and Kate, are similar yet different. Toot loves to travel, Puddle prefers to stay home. Toot shows Mary and Kate Africa and Ireland and Greece, Puddle teaches them it's alright to miss someone you love very much.


To be certain, I have not completely lost my mind. They are all recorded so I can speed through the horrible commercials aimed at children mid program. Every fast food outlet has paid for air time as well as all princess themed toys and movies. Being keenly observant, they miss nothing, and we are now realizing the after effects of the no television policy, they are mesmerized by anything on the telly. No matter where they are or what they are doing, if there is a television on, anywhere, they stop and stare. One day last week I found them both motionless on the sofa, staring at CNN.

And so it begins, the hard and fast rules breaking away; soon enough we will all eat with our hands, talk with our mouths full and discuss bodily functions at the dinner table. Someone is sure to ask to leave the table before we have all finished our meals! Our civil life, as we know it, is over and the future is certain to be tainted with ill manners, horrid behavior and vulgarities I dare to even consider.

What we must sacrifice, for the love a pig.