“Check the back of the TV where the wires lead into the TiVo.”
“I DID that.”
“So you’re sure they’re leading to the right –”
“YES I’m sure they’re leading to the right outputs! What am I, STUPID?”
“It’s not that you’re stupid, it’s that the TiVo obviously can’t send information to the –”
“Look, it said to connect the yellow-and-whites from the TV to the TiVo, and that’s what I did! I connected them! It is connected! To the TV! And to itself! Yellow, yellow, white, white, what else am I supposed to do?”
“Maybe they aren’t pushed in all the way.”
“‘Aren’t pushed in all the’ — of COURSE they’re pushed IN all the way!”
“Okay, but as I tried to say before, the TiVo is trying to transmit the information to your TV, and it’s not –”
“I under-STAND that, THANK you, and I can SEE that it’s NOT WORKING, but I can TELL you that it IS NOT the OUTPUTS, okay? GOD!”
“Look, I’m just trying to help.”
“So — okay. What.”
“Okay. Put down the phone and look behind the TV –”
“I already TOLD YOU –”
“Just — look back there.”
“But it’s already –”
“Just — take a look back there. Tell me what you see.”
“Fine, fine, FINE.”

[Stomp stomp stomp.]

[Creeeeeak.]

“Ohhhhh THAT is just GREAT.”

[Thwick! Creeeeeak. Squip squip squip.]

“DAMMIT.”

[Thonk. Squop.]

[Stomp stomp stomp.]

“Hello? Hello? So how did the connectors –”
“Okay so I put the yellow in the white and the white in the yellow by mistake it’s really hard to see back there that lamp isn’t that bright anyone else would have made the same mistake it’s fixed now thanks.”
“Wait, you put the wrong –”
“Yeah I said it’s fixed now THANKS BYE.”
[Click.]
“Hello? Hel…okay then.”

To say that I ran into a few problems getting my new TiVo hooked up (thanks again, Santa!) is roughly equivalent to observing that the Titanic ran into a few problems on its maiden voyage. In the case of the Titanic, of course, the “few problems” involved running straight into an iceberg, sinking, drowning thousands, and becoming the subject of a treacly film years later. In the case of the S.S. Once Again The Instruction Manual Lies On Top Of Sarah’s Brain Like An Oil Slick Instead Of Penetrating The Musty Dark Of Her Thought Processes, the “problems” went something like: it wouldn’t work; it still wouldn’t work; it wouldn’t work some more; it worked, except not so much; it thought about working and then decided against it; Sarah climbed into the TiVo box with the cats, assumed the fetal position, and sobbed weakly.

“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s me again.”
“Who is this?”
“Look, I’m sorry I was snappish earlier –”
“‘Snappish’?”
“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry I was rude earlier –”
“‘Rude’?”
“Fine, fine. I’m sorry I screamed extremely loudly in your ear earlier. Okay?”
“Both ears.”
“I’m sorry I screamed extremely loudly in BOTH of your ears earlier.”
“And accused me of ‘siding with that infernal machine.'”
“Okay. I am also sorry that I accused you of siding with that infernal machine.”
“And said that it was all my fault and that I broke the TiVo and that you hated me.”
“I am sorry that I said it was all your fault and you broke the TiVo and I don’t hate you and I am very sorry.”
“Your apology is accepted.”
“Here’s the thing, though. It’s still not working.”
“Okay. Look at the front of the TiVo. Do you see a red light?”
“No, okay? NO! Oh, great, IT’S DEFECTIVE.”
“Well, maybe it’s defective, but –”
“Oh, wonderful, that’s REALLY WONDERFUL. Do you hear that, cats? THE TIVO IS ALREADY BROKEN.”

I just can’t get things to work at first — at least, not anything appliance-ish or computer-y or, really, anything that requires electricity. A book? I can operate a book. I can operate a flush toilet. (Well, usually.) But if it has wires and an instruction manual longer than “1. Plug in. 2. Turn on.”? No. My brain does not work that way. My hallmates from sophomore year will remember the sad tale of the alarm clock my grandmother had bought me for Christmas. I plugged in said alarm clock, managed to set the time with much cursing and poking at the clock with a pencil, and prepared to test the alarm. I had neglected, however, to adjust the volume on the clock, and when the test alarm sounded, a wave of deafeningly loud Jesus Jones knocked me nearly off my feet, and I swiped at the snooze bar, only to click the little tab over from “alarm” to “radio,” and I snooze-barred frantically to no avail, then began screaming for help and maniacally Khrushcheving the clock with a Doc Marten in a vain attempt to silence the earsplitting chorus of “RIIIIGHT HERE RIIIIIIIIIGHT NOW,” and I had just yanked the clock out of the wall entirely and opened a window out of which to heave it when Supersize ran in from next door, grabbed it out of my hand, took me by the shoulders, and said in her most soothing voice, “You had it on the radio setting.” “WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU. OH MY GOD. I’M DEAF. SHIT! I’M DEAF!” “And an idiot.” “WHAT?” “Oh, nothing.” “WHAT?” “I SAID, ‘NOTHING’!”

Part of the problem stems from the fact that I never take the time to read the manual before attempting to set up my new toys. Not that it would necessarily help, because it probably wouldn’t, and I inevitably spend the bulk of my time in the (soon tearstained) Troubleshooting section anyway, but the manual often contains many helpful suggestions. Like turning the computer on, say, before calling customer service in hysterics because it doesn’t work. Or checking to make sure that the blender is off, and not set to, for example, puree, before plugging it in without the lid on and spraying the ingredients of a strawberry yogurt smoothie all over myself, the refrigerator, the kitchen counter, the kitchen cabinets, and a decidedly unamused formerly-orange-but-now-pink-and-also-very-sticky cat.

“All right, just calm down.”
“I am perfectly calm except for the fact that my BRAND-NEW TiVo is NOT WORKING!”
“Just…hold on. All right. Try changing the channel.”
“Which remote do I use?”
“The…TiVo. The remote for the TiVo.”
“Okay, okay, Mr. Techypants. Jesus.”
“So does it work?”
“NO. NO, IT DOES NOT.”
“All right. What channel is the TV on?”
“It’s on the default channel, like the instructions said.”
“Well, maybe you accidentally –”
“I did not ‘accidentally’ ANYTHING, it is ON the right CHANNEL.”
“Okay, so it’s on Line One, then.”
“OF COURSE it’s on Line — oh. Oops.”
“It’s not on Line One?”
“Okay it’s on Line One now here’s the set-up screen it’s fixed now thanks bye.”

I wish I had my brother’s knack for these things. At my brother’s house, everything is connected to everything else, effortlessly. And I mean everything. From his futon, Mr. Stupidhead can hit various buttons on his universal remote and turn on the TV, listen to music, play a videogame, iron a pair of pants, and start the coffeemaker. And he’s very generous with his gifts; he’s always coming over for lunch and tweaking my set-up. It does lead to the occasional problem, though, because I don’t really understand how any of it operates. One time, Mr. S strung my TV up through my stereo, but I didn’t know that I’d have to switch the stereo to another channel to shut off the audio, so I turned off the TV and it just. Kept. TALKING TO ME, and I had to phone up Mr. S and hiss into the phone all The Walls Have Eyes, “The TV is feeling kind of chatty — can you help me out with that?” My parents have the same issues with my brother’s attempts to “optimize” their A/V system; my dad is a big manual reader, but my brother answers to no manual, so that doesn’t help my dad much when he tries to watch a golf video and then the garage door starts opening and closing. At Christmas, my brother hooked up my dad’s new VCR and then prepared to depart the house, and as we got into my car and headed down the driveway, my mother burst out the back door with a bushel basket full of remotes and screamed, “STOP! WHICH ONE OF THESE DO WE USE TO PLAY A TAPE?” and my brother leaned out the window and said, “That one — with the play button. You’ll figure it out. Bye, Ma!” and off we went back to the city, and two hours later I get this phone call from my mother with what sounds like an air raid siren in the background.

“WHERE IS YOUR BROTHER?”
“Ma? Ma, what the hell –”
“I need to know how to set VCR Plus, WHERE IS HE?”
“I dropped him off at work, did you try to call him — wait, what do you need to set VCR Plus for? You don’t even use –”
“Oh, I’ll TELL you why I need to set VCR Plus. I NEED to set VCR PLUS because I tried to play a Jane Fonda tape in the new VCR that your DARLING LITTLE BROTHER set up and ten minutes later I smell COFFEE burning so I run into the kitchen and the Krups is going berserk so I shut it off and then the BURGLAR ALARM started going off and I tried to key the alarm code into the coffeemaker like your brother TOLD ME TOO and –”
“Why would David tell you to put the alarm code –”
“I don’t know, how would I know, I feel like Keir Dullea in 2001 and now all of a sudden there’s this weird buzzing — AAAAGGGGH!”
“Ma? Ma! What’s going on?”
“THE ELECTRIC CARVING KNIFE HEEEEEELP!”
“Ma, quick, hit play on the answering machine! HIT PLAY ON THE ANSWERING MACHINE!”
“It’s not working, IT’S NOT WORKING!”
[“BbbzzzzzzzzzZZZZZrrrrrrrrttzz!”]
“Fax something, Ma — FAX SOMETHING!”
“I can’t it’s linked up to the dryer tell your father I looooove hiiiiiii–”

So when the cops finally show up, there’s my mother on top of the refrigerator babbling to herself and pointing the garage-door opener at the microwave, a series of tiny serrated crop circles in the linoleum, and a CD browning in the toaster.

Hmm. Maybe it’s genetic. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go watch the fifteen episodes of Full House the TiVo recorded for me. Sigh.

January 28, 2002

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