Meitus: Testosterone takes control when high-def comes home

Saturday, May 13, 2006

The night that magician David Blaine tried to break the underwater record in a glass tank, I was busy in the kitchen. But I had one ear cocked to the other room, where my son was watching clips of Blaine eating glass and removing dental work from people in what passes for entertainment in the world of magic.

I gotta tell you, though, that even I was riveted when Blaine tried to beat the "hold your breath" record of nine minutes, an achievement that is very, very important for world peace, the future of mankind and TV ratings. When Blaine was pulled from the tank barely breathing it wasn't pretty. One columnist described him as "weak and wrinkly," which, I'm sorry to say, made me laugh out loud.

So much for sympathy.

A few weeks ago, I wouldn't have been able to tell what Blaine looked like due to the fact that our 16-year-old television was fading fast. When people vanished on Without a Trace, we never saw them again.

Now I cannot only see them, but I can count their pores. (Or, in Blaine's case, wrinkles.) Why? Because two weeks ago we entered the techno age: We bought a flat-screen, high-def TV.

The day it arrived, we were as proud as new parents. I wanted to call everyone to come over and admire it, but I couldn't think of anyone who cared. My husband and son began playing that male-bonding game: "Who can figure out the TV gizmos first without reading the manual?"

After a few minutes of "Wait, wait, I think I have it," and "No, noooo, that's not the right button," I realized I had other stuff to do, i.e., I have a life.

This TV has an obscene amount of buttons - recording buttons (goody, now I can tape a show while watching a show); buttons with symbols (what does #?!!# mean and why can't I find it?); day and night color vision buttons (or something like that). My brain was tired just looking at the thing.

Sometime later, I came back in the room with a really stupid idea - I planned to watch a show on our new TV. I was informed that I was not allowed to touch anything without consulting the testosterone in the room first. That really cracked me up. I fixed them both with "the hairy eyeball" - a combination of the evil eye and the icy stare - and I said, "Are you saying I don't know how to press buttons on a remote control?"

Cowards, they fled the room. I settled in with the new TV and its complicated remote, found the important button - the one marked ON - and voila, we had liftoff.

I happily enjoyed backgrounds in bas-relief, blues that were blue and greens that were green. Then I made the fatal mistake. I mentioned to the boys that the faces were too pink. When I left the room, they were busily pressing buttons to right the wrong.

And where was I? Well, I decided to take up more reading. I started with the TV manual.

No matter how long you hold your breath, Marty Meitus will still be food editor. meitusm@RockyMountainNews.com or 303-892-5229