Who Has The Controller?

Posted on February 9, 2015 by Christine Vanderberg

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The TV Controller, by virtue of its very name, has evolved from a harmless remote device into an insidious weapon for the domination and control over other family members.

No matter how lowly your position at work, taking possession of the controller at home will automatically make you The Boss. Feel the strength run up your arm as you power on the TV from your seat across the room. Adjust the volume to your liking and begin cruising for what you like to watch.

As you flick through the channels, ignoring everyone’s moans and groans at your choice of programming, you will surely find yourself thinking: It’s great to be king! But beware, and hold fast, because others around you are scheming and plotting to usurp your power and take control at the first opportune moment.

As any great ruler knows, you can never let your guard down. Think of the controller as a weapon. Once you are in possession of it, keep it close on your person. Would you leave a dirk, a sword or a gun lying idle on the couch if you left a room full of captive enemies for a moment? Don’t trust the members of your own family, especially young children.

Leaving the controller behind, while you shuffle off to the kitchen to make a bowl of ice cream, is bound to end your reign over the TV for the night. You may think you are coming back to finish that soothing PBS Nature program on migrating birds, only to find that your son is now sitting in your seat licking a lollypop, his sticky hands wrapped around the controller, eyes ablaze from the sugar rush, squealing through an episode of SpongeBob SquarePants. Best to turn around and finish your ice cream alone in the kitchen because your migrating birds have gone south for the night.

As adults, we draw battle lines between recliners over who gets the controller. My mother has tried several times, between the intake and exhaling breaths of my father’s snoring, to slip the controller out from under my dad’s heavy paw. He always awoke just as she was changing the channel, growling, “What are you doing? Put that channel back; I was watching that!”

“How were you watching it? With your eyes closed?”

“I was just resting my eyes. I’m listening to it; put it back! – And give me the controller.”

Our old TV set had one controller, which was simple to operate. Now we have an HD TV, which came with its own controller. There is a Verizon controller for the set top box, a controller for the receiver/sound system and another for the Blu-Ray player. With four controllers to operate, watching a movie requires at least two quick-witted, nimble-fingered people with a systematic Featured imagestrategy.

First, we line up all four controllers on the table between our recliners. One by one, we go down the line: turn on the TV first, turn on the receiver for sound, turn on the Blu-Ray player with controller number three. If nothing shows up but snow, check controller number four to be sure we are set on HDMI/DVI. Go back to controller number two and switch the source to BD (for Blue-Ray Disc). Where’s the movie? I thought you had it. Find the movie, open the tray and insert the disc.

If I leave this concentrated effort up to my husband, alone, I can take advantage of the time it takes to launch the movie and make a bowl of old-fashioned popcorn – from the kernels – or fold a batch of laundry. Then, we push back our recliners, and my husband calls out, Are we ready? and I answer Ready! -like we’re blasting off into space.

I lose my patience when he has the controller and he forgets we’re watching a program that’s taped. I’m constantly yelling, “Fast forward through these commercials!” When I try to grab the controller out of his hands, he fumbles and presses random buttons, and we end up sitting in front of a blank screen with him looking down at the controller, asking it, “What did I do?”

When my son is home watching a movie with us, I sigh with relief and give him all the controllers. He grew up playing video games and, with lightning fingers and that sixth sense the younger generation has with electronic devices, he can navigate all those tiny buttons in the dark. When I ask him to pause a movie for a bathroom break, he immediately stops the movie and restarts it exactly where we left off.

When my son isn’t around I make sure I’ve gone to the bathroom and have all the snacks ready before we kick back the recliners and shout Ready! Ringing telephones and bathroom breaks are a real challenge. When the phone rings, I reach for the light switch first, so my husband doesn’t answer the controller instead of the telephone. Then we both start grabbing controllers, trying to find the one that will mute the sound on the TV so we can pick up the phone to answer it.

With one controller out of the way, that leaves three to decipher. This is where the real challenge is, because, by now, we’ve already dropped one or two controllers and the batteries are rolling across the floor so we can’t pause the movie because televisions today don’t have buttons or knobs that you can manually turn in case your controller slides under the recliner during a telephone call.

In the best-case scenario, my husband finds the right controller and presses the Pause button, so we only have to rewind about 10 minutes of the movie. In the worst-case scenario, he accidentally presses the Stop button and we have to restart the movie from the beginning. A lot of cursing usually accompanies the worst-case scenario. And I get to fold another basket of laundry.

Sometimes I think back to the 1960’s when my entire family of five sat together in one room, with a black and white TV and no controller. There were only seven channels back then, but at least we got some exercise, getting up and down to switch programs.

Don’t get me wrong; I don’t want to go back to the past. Once you’ve felt the commanding power of being in charge of the controller, it’s hard to give it up. But the balance of power is a delicate dance and knowing when to grab the controller and when to give it up can be tricky. After all, you wouldn’t want to end up like Sméagol from Lord of The Rings, a solitary creature, with nothing to cling to but his Precious.

Would you want the fate of a controller hog – all alone in the TV room, with no family around you, gripping the controller in one hand and eating M&M peanuts and popcorn with your other hand, watching your favorite shows all by yourself, with no interruptions and the volume cranked up as loud as you want?

I don’t know about you, but I think I’m already there.

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Sexy Money

Posted on February 2, 2015 by Christine Vanderberg

It can be tough to age gracefully in a nation that is obsessed with youth. You want respect when you grow old? Retire to a remote mountaintop in China where old people are still treated with reverence.

Of course, you won’t have wireless reception or indoor plumbing, but the views will be spectacular and people will address you as “venerable elder.” That’s more respect than you’ll get back home in the U.S. – even with your AARP membership card on Senior Wednesdays. That is, unless you are lucky enough to have the one thing that trumps youth. And that’s money.

With enough money you can make yourself appear thirty years younger. With a face-lift, a tummy tuck, lip enhancements, breast implants, padding for your derriere and any other physical improvements your little heart desires, you might even fool yourself into believing that “eighty is the new fifty.” And with the plethora of pharmaceuticals available you can also regulate your heartbeat, control cholesterol levels, alleviate arthritis pain, improve your memory and enhance sexual performance.

Without money you’re doomed to wrinkle and sag like the rest of us. Your arthritic joints will creak and crack every time it rains. One night you’ll squeeze Preparation H on your toothbrush because you can’t remember where you left your eyeglasses. Forget about enhanced sexual performance. If you’re lucky enough to stay awake past the 6:00 PM news, the only thing you’ll be taking to bed is a good book.

The super rich don’t even have to be bothered with facelifts and tummy tucks to keep their youthful appearance as they age. They can skip all that surgical nonsense. They know that just having all that money makes them look sexy.

Hugh Hefner, the creator of Playboy magazine, and a playboy himself, has a net worth of $43 million. He married for the third time in 2012 when he was 86. Either his 26-year-old bunny-bride thought his wrinkles were sexy, or she’s found some other asset in the old man that’s even more attractive than youth and good looks. She will probably confirm that size has nothing to do with virility, unless you’re talking about the size of a man’s wallet. Then, I think we can all agree that bigger is always better.

Yes, money trumps youth in the game of life. When you’re young, you’re too stupid to know how good you have it. All you do is complain about all the things you don’t have and the one thing you want the most: money. When you’re old, you complain about the one thing you want the most and can never get back: your youth. But if you are old and rich, good for you! You are the privileged few who can buy back the years and say: “eighty is the new fifty.”

The rest of us will go on renewing our library cards.

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Hallmark Christmas Movies in January?

Posted on January 26, 2015 by Christine Vanderberg

Looking for something to watch on TV, one evening, I scrolled through the movies I had saved on my set-top box recorder. At the bottom of the list were two Hallmark Christmas movies: A Bride for Christmas and Eloise at Christmastime.

What was I supposed to do with these? Who watches Hallmark Christmas movies in January?

The weeks before Christmas, I become a child again and I give myself permission to shut out reality. I don’t listen to the news. I sing silly songs about reindeer and Santa Claus. I eat too much, drink too much, and look forward to the annual Hallmark Christmas movies.

My business plan for December can be summed up in one sentence: I’ll take care of that after the holidays.

With cookie crumbs covering the front of my sweater and a cup of tea getting cold on the table beside me, you can find me dozing through most of those Hallmark movies. It doesn’t matter because all the plots are the same; only the scenery changes. At least no one gets killed, nothing explodes, no one curses and everyone lives happily ever after. You can’t even say that about some Disney children’s movies these days.

It now being January, though, how can I sit through a movie like Eloise at Christmastime with a clear conscience? I have people waiting for their W-2s and 1099 Misc forms.

No more good cheer, folks. When January rolls around, the holiday is over! Pack up the decorations, dump the tree at the curb and listen up: there’s no one singing, “For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow!” in January. It’s time to diet, sober up and pay those December credit card bills.

My husband tries to bring me back to reality by asking, “Do you think we can get started early this year with our taxes?”

“Don’t rush me! There’s plenty of time,” I tell him. “I still have two Hallmark Christmas movies left to watch.”

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Goin’ Out For A Smoke

Posted on January 19, 2015 by Christine Vanderberg

I want to start smoking.  From my observations, smokers have more fun. And, with all their smoking breaks at work, it just doesn’t make sense not to become a smoker. Who wouldn’t want a 15-minute break every two hours?

How many times have you heard a colleague in the office say, “I can’t take this place anymore! I’m goin’ out for a smoke!” The rest of us chumps are left behind to answer phones and deal with the issues at hand.

Outside, in the fresh air, they are laughing and puffing away. At the same time, they are getting the secondary benefits of a few moments of rich Vitamin D sunshine. No wonder they walk back into the office smiling and relaxed. Fresh air, sunshine, a 15-minute laughter break: Who wouldn’t like that every few hours? Makes you want to take up smoking!

If only it wasn’t so hazardous to your health; everything else about smoking appeals to me. I like the camaraderie that smokers share. Shunned by the general population these days, smokers have formed their own tight knit bond with other smokers.

If you want to witness the perfect egalitarian utopian society, watch a group of smokers huddled under a building’s awning on a rainy day. Age, social status, affluence – all the usual divisive factors that separate people into castes in our society – are obliterated in the few moments it takes to suck down that poisonous pleasure. Perfect strangers are instantly accepted into that elite club by humbly asking someone in the group, “Got a light?”

Even given the expense of cigarette smoking, I’ve never seen one smoker deny another when asked, “Can I bum a cig?” They happily share the goods with one another, ungrudgingly, never asking for payback. They are a generous lot, and seem happier than the rest of us who can’t experience the sensual gratification of a craving every fifteen minutes that is calorie free to boot.

Add to that, the effect of nicotine – a stimulant of pleasure centers in the brain that provide a rush of satisfaction and enjoyment. The only other activity I can think of that induces pleasure, satisfaction and enjoyment usually requires the removal of clothing first.

I truly envy smokers that they can have access to that kind of magic any time of the day – in public – and with all their clothes on. To share it with others only enhances the experience. When I see smokers laughing in their huddle against buildings, under trees and awnings, I want to run up and ask, What’s the joke?  Can’t I join in, even if I’m not a smoker?

I tried to do just that one morning, as I entered the building where I work. There were three smokers outside, talking and laughing, and instead of continuing on my way after the perfunctory, Good Morning, I paused a few moments, smiling, hoping they would include me in on the joke. Instead, they all went silent, aiming their chins high and exhaling their smoke away from me, up into the air. I wasn’t one of them. They knew it. I knew it.

So I wiped the silly smile off my face and continued on my way up the stairs and into the office to answer the ringing phones.

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