24
Jan
09

Pressure of the Remote

Girls, females, lasses, ladies, what can I say? Guys can’t survive without them. I presume that across this country with every couple there have been some debates over what TV show to watch. The best invention for this argument was the DVR. The DVR was strictly made for this very purpose.
The DVR is a machine of great simplicity. All you have to do is find the show you want to record on the television guide and then push the small round red button. Once you see a red dot on the guide you are set. You are allowed to record up to two programs at the same time. This machine is just brilliant.
Navigating through TV land with the cable or dish remote, requires a slightly high level of thinking. In the middle of most remotes there are four arrows. There is an arrow pointing up, one pointing down, one pointing to the left, and one pointing to the right. Depending on where you are in the TV guide menu, you can push any arrow and the info beacon will move in the very same direction. Once you get to your destination in TV land push the button directly in the middle of the four arrows most famously known as the OK or Select button.
Finally the last button to talk about is the exit button. The exit button lets you get out of guide mode and into tv mode. For some reason this always confuses the remote controlled challenged. Some mistake exit as stop or exit the program, but all this simple button does is exit out of menus, nothing more nothing less.
Ok so here is the story. On more times than one occasion, Gaby (my gf) and I have both had shows that we wanted to watch which were playing at the same time. Nine times out of ten she wants to watch Greys Anatomy, House, Gossip Girls, Desperate Housewives, Girls Next Door, The Hills, The City, Private Practice, Biggest Looser, Big Love, 24, The Bachelor, and I want to watch the Lakers. Of course the Lakers trump all of these, because lest face it who really watches a Tvoed athletic event. By the time you watch your recording you know the result. Really how much fun is watching a game if you know the end product? All of those other shows that Gaby likes to watch won’t be broadcast all over the web pages she looks at or the tv shows she watches. She could go a whole month and not know what happened in the shows that she DVRd.
Anyhow being the nice boy friend that I am, I let Gaby watch her shows at half time even though I do enjoy the commentary and insight on the game as well as commercials. I also let her change the channel right before the game ends so she can quickly hit last button aka the teleport button and go to her show. The problem lies once the remote gets in her hands. Imagine the Lakers are playing the Heat. It’s Kobe versus D Wade with lets say three minutes left. We have a five-point ball game and everyone has stepped it up. With two minutes left the Lakeshow calls for a time out. I pass the remote to Gaby and she knows she has to work fast cause there is no way in hell I am missing a second in these last two minutes.
The pressure of her having to use the remote quickly and que up her show bears down upon her hands like a heard of elephants standing on a bed of nails consisting of only one nail. Her heart starts to produce Novocain and shoots it straight to her fingertips and hands. She starts frantically pushing buttons because nothing is going on. The system gets overloaded and all the button pushing is released in a single explosion of chaos across the LCD.
With a very Chris Paul like maneuver almost as cool as the other side of the pillow, I manage to steal the remote (or clicker, or channel changer, or whatever the hell you call it) out of her hands as she sits frozen in utter confusion as to what is going on. I gracefully hit the guide button like Robert Horry hit the game winner so many times against so many different teams; her channel comes on and with the speed of Usain Bolt I quickly hit last.
The game comes on while Doug Collins and Jeff Van Gundy are getting the queue that they are live. Chaos is restored. I sit back, kick my legs up, and drink my beer.

Damn it feels good to be a gangsta-

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