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A D V E R T I S E M E N T
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A D V E R T I S E M E N T
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TiVO is life
It was a dark and stormy night, and it sucked a big one. Last Sunday, the sky lit up like the crowd at a Phish reunion concert. The lightning was like Satan’s saber, striking Static directly in its digitalized heart and short-circuiting the satellite dish on yonder roof. The thunder was so loud as to permanently deafen Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. The rain, like Static’s tears, flowed with the power of a thousand oceans. And then, nothing. Silence. Dark screen. A haunting and depressing stillness. Static’s breath — indeed its will to live — was abated by Mother Nature’s show of authority.
There is glorious power in being able to zip through commercials, record favorite shows well in advance with little effort, and never, ever be at the mercy of some network television programmer’s whims and wishes. For the past couple of years, TiVO has been like a loved one, more dear to Static than even its own child. That’s right, little Static Jr., you’re nothing compared to TiVO. When did you ever deliver Blade Runner, a Regina Spektor live performance, Jeremiah Johnson, a documentary on wolves, a Crossroads episode featuring Steve Earle and Rosanne Cash, a DIY show explaining how to install a rain gutter, and soft porn all on a single Sunday without so much as a commercial interruption, bleeped F-bomb, or pixilated body part?
But after Sunday’s storm rolled through, TiVO lay slain, and Static was left plugging its tv directly into the wall, attaching rabbit ears on top, and watching fuzzy-faced people on network crapola shows where 20 minutes of commercials must be endured for every 40 minutes of content. Case in point: Through default, the tv on Monday night flickered with the 40th Annual CMA Awards. God, please rake these eyes with rusted barbed wire and lop these ears like van Gogh rather than subject humanity with the musty jokes of Brooks and Dunn, the soul-crushingly vapid music of Kenny Chesney, the scary plastic surgery of Dolly Parton, and the inanity that is Kelli Pickler. On a positive note, at least Toby Keith didn’t attend.
The satellite repairman won’t be coming for a couple of more days. Maybe Static can detox, take time off from the boob tube, clean the garage, organize the attic, get reacquainted with loved ones (that’s you, Static Jr.), get to bed earlier — at least for a couple of days until the glorious orgasm known as TiVO is safely returned.
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