HDTV

As ya'll know, I have recently moved into a new apartment. It's been a little slow in coming together, but we're finally starting to furnish the place. We don't have a dresser or a nightstand. We don't have a table or rugs or lamps, but we do have the necessecities - a giant television and a surround sound system. Thank God. Now you know I could care less, but Sweetpotato insisted upon purchasing the world's largest television so that my once spacious livingroom could be reduced to his tiny home theater. I don't know what kind it is exactly, but there are a lot of random letters and apparantly the picture is incredible... I mean, it's nice and all, but other than seeing exactly how well my favorite soap stars are aging, it doesn't matter that much to me if I can see the faces of the fans in the background of the baseball game I'm pretending to watch. Now I knew when I signed up for this relationship that I was going to have accept football watching as my Sunday afternoon activity, but I didn't agree to spend my weekends with linebackers sitting on my lap. Nor do I need to hear the sound of clashing helmets coming from behind me...it is not cool, it creeps me out.

Last night while Sweetpotato was out bonding with the boys over brontosaurus-sized steaks, of which he brought me nary a left-over, I spent the evening alone with the monster tube for the first time. Of course the thing has about 18 remotes and I'll be damned if I can't get a single one to turn on both the sound and the picture. After fifteen minutes of random button-pushing, I finally had to give up and operate it manually. Having spent the past two weeks with Sweetpotato yelling in my ear about the fabulous picture, it was nice to actually watch a show without having him pointing out the blades of grass every 10 seconds. The male attachment to all things technological is really quite bizarre; it's like there's some sort of circuit in the male brain that operates on a television frequency...too bad it's not in Hi-Definition.