Ode To My Television

Ah, what a gorgeous day. Flowers raise their frilly yellow heads in Central Park. Birds chatter enthusiastically outside the window. People are walking along with blissful grins as the sun shines down on them. What better way to spend a glorious day like this than indoors with the shades drawn and television on.

            I love my television. Some people I know accuse it of being an ugly piece of furniture, but I am here to say they are dead wrong. The television has line, form, shape and style. There are times when I enter my living room and am nearly struck dumb by its radiant beauty. There is nothing in the world equal to the sound your set makes when you press the Power On button and it springs to life. The colors congeal and brighten slowly before your eyes- like a flower blossoming. It defines a space with its majestic power. Why, a room without a television is like a child without lips.

            My mother used to delight in telling the story of the time, when I was three in Staten Island, I scaled my crib and braved 57 perilous stairs leading downstairs to turn on the television. When she found me, I was sitting crosslegged in front of it squealing with delight at the test pattern, as happy as a new Studebaker. I see this story less as a charming anecdote than as the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

            Through the years I’ve had many different and unique relationships with several brands and models. There was that zesty Zenith in Nebraska. That sadsack black and white Motorola in Denver. That saucy Sanyo in Stafford Springs. A piece of my heart was lost on that rueful RCA on Cape Cod. During a rare reflective moment, it’s not the idiot I lived with for a year in Connecticut that I remember, but that perky Panasonic that sat over in the corner to brighten my life.

            A television is better than a lover anyway. It’s never in a bad mood. It never lies or cheats on you. It doesn’t have relatives, or boring work-related problems to dump on you. It’s incapable of jealousy or rage. And if it gets sick you either get it fixed or dump it on the curb and get a new model. So maybe it won’t blow you- a small price to pay for the countless hours of pleasure it gives you.

            Not to mention that we are living in a golden age of television- with all the capabilities of streaming and the brilliance of the shows and series themselves you are seeing quality that is heads above anything you could see at your local movie theater.

            True, sometimes I am guilty of cruising other TVs. I wander the aisles of Best Buy checking out the newest models. “Look at that High Definition!” “Check out the 4K detail.” “Listen to the quality of that Soundbar.” “Ooohhhhhhh, 70 inches….” I wander about making comparisons and imagine a different set in every room, each one tuned in to a different channel, all humming along to fill the air with their separate personalities. But I always come back home to my Sony “Bravia” with a renewed passion after one of these outings. I throw my arms around my set, and as the static electricity from the screen crackles through my hair, I am filled with a deep inner peace.

            Sometimes for fun, I dress up my television. I sew different pieces of fabric or some old shirts together and make outfits for it, or place a hat jauntily to one side of its gleaming head for that “sporty” look.

            When people talk about the “greats” of history they usually point out Martin Luther King or Gandhi or Jonas Salk as examples. For me it’s Philo Farnsworth, who is often credited as pioneering the technology that made television possible. His vision has enriched the lives of generations and has sent educational and life-saving transmissions across the globe. Current events are now seen as they happen. The deaths and lives and wars of nations are pulsating out of that screen into your home to keep you informed and illuminated. It gives you history, not to mention Golden Girls and Gilligan’s Island. Why, Philo Farnsworth is right up there with Leo Sternbach, the inventor of Valium, another patron saint of mine.

            So the next time you pass that dust-catching flat screen in the room, treat it with the respect it deserves. Cross yourself. Give it a loving caress. French kiss it. For after a harrowing day in this heartbreaking city, just trying to make it home without getting killed, it will be there for you, ready to spring to life and offer up countless channels of escape and entertainment.

            God bless cable and the cathode ray.