In this installment, we find out how Dave's TV misbehaved and caused him to doubt the very fabric of the known universe. As we have discovered in previous episodes, television is very important to me. I head that. "Too important." That may be, voice inside my head, but nonetheless, I find myself consumed at times by the care and maintenance of the machines that bring me such joy.
Imagine, if you will, what would happen if one of the several TVs in our house stopped working. Well, as it turns out, that wasn't exactly what happened. The near-tragedy this week was when we discovered that our remote control wasn't working in the living room. The first reaction for our more sane and relaxed readers would have been to take solace in the full functionality of the flat screen in the bedroom. Couldn't we just go in there and watch? If pressed, couldn't we move that screen out to the living room and go without in the bedroom? Sure. But for how long? And what about all those programs backing up on the living room Tivo? How can we watch those?
Well, as it turns out, all those questions remained less than vital, since I immediately set myself to fixing the problem. I wasn't going to let a stupid remote control ruin my day of programming. I tried another remote control. I switched out the batteries. I went so far as to walk the several feet across the living room rug to unplug the set and then turning the TV on with that button on the side. How many times had I lowered myself to this kind of servitude? Turning the TV on and off with the button on the side? How positively twentieth century. Next I could expect to be changing channels from this same position? Not hardly. I was suddenly reminded of the first television remote control I ever had: my younger brother. He was the one I forced to make that treacherous journey across the living room to change channels or volume, brightness or contrast. He wasn't available, so I was going to have to figure this out.
I looked in the manual. Nothing. I checked online for troubleshooting hints. I called Best Buy to check on the possibility this TV was still under warranty. No such luck. The friendly lady offered to connect me to the support people at Insignia, the people who fabricated my television in the first place. It took just this four minute phone interaction to determine that my set needed to be cleared. I did this by following the instructions Bill from Insignia gave me: unplugging the set, again, and holding the power button down for twenty seconds. How had I not lucked onto this particular set of actions is beyond me, but that's probably why I had to call the support guy. As it turns out, his process was just what the doctor, the TV doctor, ordered. Joy was restored to Mudville, and for a few more minutes, I enjoyed the simple pleasures of turning the TV on and off from across the room. You never know what you're going to miss until it's gone.