We knew it was coming. Even so, we were shocked when it actually happened to us. That is, we turned on our TV set this week only to learn that the shows had all disappeared, swallowed by the broadcasting black hole known as digitization. On June 12, as everyone in America but us seemed to know, all TV broadcasting was required by federal law (and corporate lobbyist pressure) to switch from analog to digital format.
In our house, the switch created a strange but not unpleasant sensation of history moving backwards, like when the lights go out and you spend a few hours with candles and flashlights and entertain yourself by swapping stories with loved ones. Rather than progressing into the brave new future of digital broadcasting, our household was sent tumbling back into the past with the horse and buggy, manual typewriter, unicycle and smoke signal. It was a shock, true, to turn on the TV and find nothing, but it only confirmed what we already knew: there was nothing to find before the switch.
A true story: Not long ago, I made the mistake of allowing a salesman for the phone company in the front door. I compounded this blunder by allowing him a seat at the kitchen table while he explained how he could save me money by "bundling" my services in one package: cable TV, phone, cell phone, Internet.
When I told him I don't have cable television, have never had cable television and will never pay to get television cabled into my home, the salesman was genuinely perplexed. His manic patter slowed as he took this in; he then confessed that he'd never met anyone who did not have cable television. It was, to him, as though he'd met a member of a Fiji cargo cult or a collector of ornamental skulls. Undeterred, he soon got his groove back, and again—in complete defiance of my just expressed wishes—tried to sell me a "bundle" that included cable television. My wife passed through the kitchen at this point and, after eavesdropping long enough to catch the salesman's drift, she reinforced our collective will to keep cable television out of our home. At the same time, she gave me one of those looks spouses exchange at parties that say, in effect, "This person is deeply disturbing me. Please make him stop."
Taking this cue from my preternaturally perceptive wife, I more closely examined the salesman. His expensive, stylish coat and thick silver spangles of wrist and neck jewelry had temporarily blinded me. I hadn't really looked at the package around which they were wrapped. Oh, my gosh, yes, he really was a geek. Bad teeth, reddened eyes, pasty skin, unhealthy flab, low-rent hair gel, cheap cologne, big wormy lips with hardened spittle caked along the sides, and those spangling bracelets and necklaces.
What was I thinking? I showed him the door.
When we turned on the TV this week and found nothing, I thought of that salesman. And I celebrated. Hooray, hallelujah! I'm spared ever again having to look at Cokie Roberts' face! I'll never have to hear the words of Pat Robertson, Pat Buchanan, Doris Kearns Goodwin, Juan Williams, James Carville, Newt Gingrich or any of the other "experts" who have been ordained as permanent occupants of the nation's mainstream news shows and cornered the market on the commodities of "wrong" and "stupid."
This broadcasting switch has been a welcome lesson in modern entropy. If you slow down, the machinations of "progress" will pass you by. If you simply stop, accept what you have, and turn to your garden, your community and family, you will not even know what you are missing. And this, in the long run, is a good thing.
The complete absence of programming on my TV set is not one of those things I am in a hurry to fix. The sudden peace and quiet is simply too nice to believe.
