Sometime over the weekend our TV went on the fritz. We’re not sure exactly what happened, but we lost our ability to change cable channels.
The TV itself turns on and off, so we believe the problem lies with one of our remote control units. Like many American households, we have more remote units than we need. The black one turns the TV on and off and controls the volume, the gray one changes the cable channels, and we don’t really know what the high-tech silver one does or, for that matter, how it got into our house. Nevertheless, we’re afraid to get rid of it for fear that it may eventually be needed to do something essential, like unlock America’s nuclear arsenal.
When the gray remote stopped working, Kish and I went through our entire array of electronic repair techniques. Unfortunately, that array consists solely of changing the batteries, then standing directly in front of the TV, pushing down on the channel-changing buttons with maximum force, and ultimately handing the remote control to the other person so they can do precisely the same thing. Those time-honored techniques didn’t work. And yesterday, when we returned from our brief trip to Pittsburgh, we clung to a forlorn hope that the remote control problem had gone away during our absence — either through miraculous self-repair or due to a visit from the remote control fairy. Those things didn’t happen, either.
Despite all of our efforts, our TV remain locked on The Golf Channel and its urgently whispered coverage of a tournament in Hawaii. It was riveting TV, but we decided to pass on the linksters and instead spend a TV-free weekend reading our books, chatting, and catching up on the news on the computer. It was nice — but today Kish goes out to get a new remote control unit so we can watch the new episode of True Detective.