Nobody Knows the Trouble I Can't Watch

Editor's note: Below is what I wrote earlier this week, before the ice storm that has hit a large portion of the country forced hundreds of thousands of people in Louisville (and certainly many other cities) to lose power. Our local news is reporting that the electric company won't have power fully restored to the area for at least a week. I know the inconveniences of losing power for that long, but only in early September. Not late January.

I hesitated with this week's posting because given these latest developments, writing about my "problem" seemed a little out of touch, slightly self-centered and a tad insensitive. But I had written it before storm conditions made a huge impact on people, and the message is very tounge-in-cheek, so I thought maybe it could provide some levity. With that said, I do hope conditions improve quickly for those without power and life can return to normal for everyone.

Usually I reserve this space for light-hearted topics, but I’m going through something that I feel I should share in hopes that it will bring me understanding and offer you, the reader, some perspective. My TV is busted.

I’ve asked myself over and over, “How is this fair?” and “What have I done to deserve this?” especially considering the thing is only three years old, but I’m slowly coming to grips with the reality. I lost her on Monday and it’s time to move on.

Fortunately my daughter was born last Friday, so that joyful news has served as a nice distraction. But it’s hard to truly grasp my feelings when an event so wonderful is followed by one so tragic. To make matters worse, a snow storm came through on the day it went out, making it too dangerous to venture out to buy a new one. The city is asking everyone to stay off the roads unless you have an emergency. But come to think of it, if a broken television doesn’t constitute an emergency, I don’t know what does.

Let’s face it, watching your TV completely give out is like holding a friend in your arms while he dies. Only in this instance, it’s also like having to share your living room with your dead friend’s body for two days afterwards.

I’m not the only one who’s been hurt by this; the whole family is suffering. During those times when my two-year-old son’s “playful energy” and “good-natured restlessness” are a little too much to take, my wife and I like to pop in a Baby Einstein DVD. And he likes them even more than we do. But living with a two year old and not being able to watch television is like spending the night in the woods without food and water – there are ways to survive, but you’re really going to wish you had brought along food and water.

The poor kid is still struggling to accept the loss. He’s spent the better part of two days exhibiting OCD behavior by fruitlessly pushing the power button on and off and muttering, “TV broken.”

Sadly, when I think about it, there is so little on TV that I like to watch anymore. I never would have guessed that losing her would be this hard. With all the reality shows and spinoffs of original shows that we never watched in the first place (I’m looking at you, CSI and Law & Order), most of what we tune in for are the few sitcoms left and reruns of extinct sitcoms. And yet, the silence is deafening.

I guess what I miss is the satisfaction of holding the remote in my hand and zipping through the channels as my fine motor skills morph into gelatinous goo. I miss turning it on and seeing promos for future shows that block out half the action of the show I'm trying to watch. I miss cable news and sports channels taking the phrase "sensory overload" to a new plateau by running scrolling tickers, side-panel previews and roundtable discussions, and I miss hearing Jon Stewart make fun of them. And even though I don't watch them, I miss knowing that if I wanted to, I could tune into a number of talk shows in which people excel far more at yelling than they do at composing a rational thought (now I'm looking at you, Bill O'Reilly). It’s true what they say – you never really appreciate something until it’s gone.

Ah well, she had a good run. I think I hear a plow truck outside my window now. If I can survive the night, the roads should be passable by sun up. Then we’ll welcome an even newer member to our family.