Control Freak
Monday, May 18, 2009Electrical tape. Check.
Scotch tape. Check.
Foil. Check.
Looking at this list, one would think I was building a 6th grade science fair project. But these things were needed to maintain the remote control in the Davis household. When my brother and I were watching TV, there were two rules:
Rule #1: You could watch whatever you want if you had the remote.
Rule #2: The remote could not be seized by brute force out of the other’s hand, but only by a skillful, stealthy grab.
Have you ever seen a black ninja? Well, I was one, and I was not above deploying a smoke bomb in my brother’s face in order to catch Saturday morning cartoons. Being 5 years younger than Matthew, I had to be cunning, or else I was stuck watching Telemundo all day. Other tactics I deployed included Distract-n-Dive, Fart-n-Fool, and Hungry-Hungry-Here’s a Hamburger.
Matthew, on the other hand, had one rule: Break rule #2. Weighing about 80lbs. more than I did, his idea of stealthy was punching me in the ribs and screaming, “Yo tengo Telemundo,” over and over again while prying the remote out of my tiger grip. “That’s not fair,” I would cry. “Let GOOOO of it!” But my pseudo Puerto Rican brother never relented, and his twisting, squeezing, and wriggling usually led to it being his. Unfortunately, it also led to the remote becoming a combination of buttons, tape, foil…and that’s it. Piece by piece, the plastic shell that usually surrounds the electrical intricacies had been chipped away. Even the little springs that hold the battery had slinkyed off somewhere – probably to save themselves.
Though he always cheated and I always complained, we continued this game.
But, eventually, keeping the remote alive and working became
the game. Yes, at times, it was flimsier than soggy bread, but
as long as I was able to change channels from the “Junk Not Allowed
in the House,” before my mother walked in the living room, all was
good. To be clear, “The Junk” included:
1) A few cartoons.
2) Almost all sitcoms.
3) Every drama.
4) And any news broadcast after 6 o’clock.
But if foil loosened somewhere and I wasn’t able to turn the channel in time, I knew that led to a fifteen minute lecture. And that led to me kicking myself for watching Elaine on “Seinfeld” decide whether guys were “sponge-worthy” while I had no idea what the hell that meant at 12 yrs old. Wait. Why would Elaine be so picky about who used her sponges to clean her kitchen and bathroom? I still don’t get it.
Anyway, as an adult now, I’ve felt the need to compensate for not having a normal, working remote control as a child. Why else would I buy one that costs $100? You can stop calling me stupid now because this remote does everything except walk the dog. Forget seamlessly controlling the TV, DVD, Home Theater, and Xbox all at once, but get this - it lights up whenever you walk into the room! That alone was worth the price. But it’s not all fun and games because having a highly intelligent, plastic alien in your house can freak you out. There’s nothing quite like heading to the bathroom at 6am and out the corner of your eye, seeing your remote stare at you.
However, Kristin still fails to see why I tend to monopolize our creepy remote.
She thinks it’s because I’m a guy, but she’s wrong: it’s partly
because she’s a girl. I thought that there could be nothing worse than watching Spanish soap
operas on Telemundo, but watching “Does My Carpet Match My Drapes?”
while the NFL playoffs are on has surpassed that. And it’s not
only what she watches, but how navigates the television landscape. Instead
of keeping one show on while browsing her options at the bottom of the
screen, she goes up or down
one
channel
at
a
time.
So we spend half the night watching a split second of every show on between channels 13 and 411.
After a couple years of this, I figured it was time to teach her the Davis way of doing things. This way, I can justify snatching the remote from her like a puma. And I’ll finally be allowed to watch manly things like sweaty guys in tights smacking each other on the butt…or shows about...ahh…brick laying! Grunt! There’s no way she would be able to keep the remote from me, right? I’m athletic, I’m strong, I play flag football, so it should’ve been easy.
Should’ve.
Let me put it this way: I would rather steal a deer carcass from a mother bear with cubs – while wearing a bunny suit - than attempt to pry the remote from Kris’ paws. But when I finally do get the courage, I’ll be ready.
Band-Aids. Check.
Life insurance. Check…
