Go go gadgets

Electronics used to be a simple thing. You needed a new TV or a new phone, you simply strapped on your Keds, zipped over to a big-box retailer, and came home and plugged it in. Easy stuff. Merchandise was reasonably priced, and installation was a two-step process that took about as long as a Justin Bieber pop hit, only by the end of it you didn’t feel like stuffing you ears with wads of pig lard.

Nowadays, it takes longer just to research the right brand than it does to pursue an advanced astrophysics degree. At some point, even the simplest appliances became the stuff of nerdy sub-culture; if you haven’t kept up with the latest technological innovations, you run the risk of populating your home with a mélange of incompatible devices that, collectively, are about as useful as an ox cart in a bowling alley. Everything needs to be synchronized, and free of bugs or pesky glitches. Considering the interconnectedness of our digital apparatuses, achieving cooperation between them carries roughly the same odds as buying a winning lottery ticket while being struck by lightning. Twice.

Blissfully unaware of how complex the market had become, I’ve passed the last few years happily with my junky ol’ TV, an old-fashioned cathode ray tube with roughly the mass and circumference of one of Saturn’s moons. Movies comprise most of what I watch on that old beast, and I’ve never been a fan of the way they look in high definition; when you go to the cinema, you’re looking at an image created by light passing through a piece of celluloid, and the resulting picture has a certain softness, and warmth, that I find attractive. Old TVs do a passable job of replicating that. New LCD and plasma units, by contrast, sterilize an image to the point where I expect the screen to start reeking of Lemon Pledge. Plus, if I had a burning desire to see Pauly Shore with any more clarity, I’d just go to his mother’s basement and visit him in person.

But at some point, having one of those clunky boxes in your living room makes it look like a historic re-creation of old-timey living you sometimes see in history musems; all that’s needed to complete the scene is a dusty gramophone and a butter churn next to a mannequin wearing bib overalls. Then there are the technological limitations. Newer TVs are capable of displaying a laptop’s screen through the magic of a simple HDMI connection, which comes in handy for an Internet-dependent cheapskate (read: me) who watches most of their television online. As easy as it is to resist the allure of gadgets – phones in particular have become obnoxious distractions – the prospect of firing up YouTube on a television tantalizes my inner geek, which sounds dirty, but isn’t. Every time I watch a streaming video of a drunk rodeo cowbow mooning a limo filled with prom-bound teenagers, I think, “Now how can I see this man’s butt cheeks on a much larger screen, and in higher fidelity?”

Well, simple. You spend hours of your free time researching prices and screen sizes, measuring various parts of your living space – and then finally snapping, streaking naked through the office with a pair of boxer shorts over your head and screaming out Al Pacino’s soliloquy from “Scent of a Woman.” And if you really want to go crazy, ask people for their opinions; the conflicting advice will create a paradox that tears apart the space-time continuum. “Don’t go with Magnavox, the contrast is terrible!” “Sony? Hey, if you like your colors dull and muddy, go for it!” Seriously, something as basic as a TV should be more... basic. When I bought my old CRT unit, I paid 20 bucks for it and had it delivered by a shirtless asthmatic driving a rusted pickup with Yosemite Sam mudflaps. The whole thing took an hour.

All this amounts to what’s known as a “first-world problem,” which has become a hot buzz phrase with the kiddies. The meaning is straightforward: In a world with no shortage of third-world problems, such as starvation and malnutrition, a first-world problem is a comparatively petty grievance uttered by privileged people in wealthy countries. In other words, I’m being a whiny schmuck. A mere hundred years ago, a guy like me would ride to work in a horse-drawn carriage, pass evenings playing solitaire by the light of a dwindling candle, and then die of scurvy in a straw bed dotted with rat droppings. We take it for granted, but something as simple as an electric lightbulb is a miracle. The crappiest television, colorless and blurry, would have brought Napoleon to his knees.

The ultimate question then becomes: Do I really need a new TV? Will the tech boost really improve my life, or should I be happy with what I have? Over the past decade or so, the overwhelming preponderance of gadgets has made it harder than ever to keep up with the Joneses, highlighting the quandary of whether we should give a rat’s patootie about the Joneses in the first place. While they’re drowning in a screen-lit ocean of malfunctioning gadgets, I’ve resorted to shocking yet satisfying measures, like soaking in sunlight and breathing oxygen.

That makes me a throwback, I know. But that comes with advantages: I’m a throwback with a tan.