I've got it in my head that I need a new TV. In the off-chance that someone comes over and watches something on my little TV, they usually comment on one thing.
My speakers buzz like nothing else.
I've gotten used to it. I don't even notice it anymore. Every once in a while there's a pitch that really sets it off. Otherwise, it's a nonissue. Except when other people watch my TV, then it's a conversation starter. But come on, we're watching a movie, don't try to start a conversation, even if it is about the TV itself. Actually, I am generally a talker during movies and such. Unless it's one of those movies where everyone is trying their best to talk in some goofy accent (e.g. the Blood Diamond preview. Oh Leonardo, You're not foreign. You don't even sound foreign) and I'm trying my best to decipher the muddy dialogue. Christmastime a few years ago found us watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer at a friend's house. We were all familiar with it, so we more or less talked through it. I'm particularly found of making quips at the TV (e.g. Mystery Science Theater 3000) so I was in my element. A very good friend of mine (the owner of many awesome quirks and idiosyncrasies) got up near the end citing undone homework as the reason for him leaving. One of the girls, ever the empath, asked if our talking was the real reason.
His response? "No . . . but you were." Translation: "No . . . well, yes."
His tone was impeccable. Agitated yet gracious. Irked but accepting. Classic Knepper.
My little Magnavox TV set shouldn't feel bad. True, it buzzes. But it's old. Not "get up and turn the knob to change the channel" old but old enough. I think I got it for Christmas or my birthday when I was nine or ten. Its sitting there in my mind, right next to the bed. My childhood self flips it on for a few minutes and changes the channels. I stop on CBS and hear myself say in my own, young, lilting voice:
"Wow, I'm up really late. Really late. Letterman's giving his monologue."
I'm not sure what bed it was sitting next to at the time, but at one point it was a waterbed. In retrospect I have to wonder . . . why? Why waterbeds? Nothing good comes from sleeping on a waterbed. Little to no back support, thundering sloshing noises with every move, and the ever-threatening possibility of replicating that scene in Edward Scissorhands. Either way, my parents gave me their old waterbed when they wised up and bought themselves a real bed. The waterbed was a queen, I think. As a kid, queen-sized beds are huge. I was a big kid, but I remember laying down and trying my hardest to stretch my legs and arms as far as possible to reach the edges. We traded that bad boy in and got me a twin-sized bed.
In college, people complained about how small the beds were in the dorm rooms. I always just shook my head; I've been sleeping in a small bed most of my life. A bed just big enough to roll from one side to another. That's all. I got into a strange habit of squeezing myself into the crack between the wall and the side of my bed ( I think this started, though, when I had the waterbed. I would squeeze in between the bed bladder and the wooden bed frame [I'm surprised I never killed myself this way] ). Every once in a while, I'll sit sleeping up. This is mostly when I eat late at night and get heartburn.
I now have a queen-sized bed (technically it's a "full," I think). I can more or less reach the edges now. It's funny though. I'm not married or anything so I only use one side of the bed. I try to utilize the other side as much as possible, but it's a futile effort. I keep my two blankets (a really thin one and a thicker comforter) over there for when it gets cool enough over night to need it. I keep my other pillow there to put against the wall if I sit up and sleep for a bit. If I had a stuffed animal or a real dog (or a wife) they'd probably be there, but I don't, so they're not (okay, not really on the stuffed animal part).
So my point is this: I need a new TV and a wife.
Thank you!
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