Requiescat in pace, CRT Television

I got the call on the Monday before the Super Bowl -- the CRT was dead.

It was a moment I had long prayed for, going so far as to cut the safety chords off the WII controllers in hopes that someone would fling one through the screen while playing WII Tennis or WII Bowling or WII "Oui" -- WII Oui of course being the game for Nintendo WII where you navigate your way through the brothels and bordellos (what is the difference?  Is there a difference?) of 1890s Paris and you can't say no to anything, but rather must say "oui" to everything.  Last one to die in an insane asylum from rampant, untreated syphillis wins.

I replaced it with little ceremony that very same evening with a Samsung 40" LCD 1080P 120Hz SmartTV, and I couldn't be happier.  I mean, if you thought watching Fernando Torres not score goals was great on digitial cable...wow, I mean, in HD, it just adds a new level of pain to the experience.  I can almost taste his salty Spanish tears mixing with the cold English rain.  Takes my breath away, it does.  I should have done this ages ago.

But I think my old TV deserves a few words of remembrance before it gets carted away to the junk heap.

TV:  my parents bought you for me when I was going off to college, as a gift.  That may have struck you as funny, perhaps, but my parents knew I was more likely to hit the books too hard than not enough, and I was going to need the mind liquefying elixir that only you could provide to take the edge off.  You were state of the art back then, with a flat screen that could be viewed from almost any angle with greatly reduced glare.  You weighed 70 lbs and were extremely awkward to carry.

Even so, we moved around a lot, you and I.  From Pritchard Hall to West Ambler Johnston at Virginia Tech,  then up to Red Bank NJ for an internship at Martin Ottaway (do you remember watching the 2002 World Cup together?  I do!  Good times right there.  Good times).  Out at last to Foxridge.  It seemed like no matter where we went I had to schlep you up to the top floor and you nearly threw my spine out of whack even at that young age.

But it was worth it.  We shared so many moments together.  I remember being bathed in your blue light, watching such classics as "Full Metal Jacket", "Jaws", "Forrest Gump", "Braveheart", "The Lady with the Naked Skin", "Hoosiers", "The Goonies,"...the list goes on and on.  Together, we watched our nation fight its wars, we watched our economy collapse, we watched the arc of history bend towards hope, we watched idealists taking to the streets, we watched the world convulse with violence, we watched  Burt and Ernie continue to dodge some hard truths.

And you have watched me grow as well.  You've seen me graduate college, relocate, get married, have a daughter.  You've watched relationships torn asunder and get patched back up.  You were there for me when I was experimenting with yoga, and you were there for me when I decided that that was all a bunch of liberal horseshit suitable only for middle aged women, but then you watched me give it a sort of second chance - but this time not so serious about it all, yeah?  Loosen up.

Well, this is it, old buddy.  I am sorry we did not dust you better.  And I am sorry I spent so much time reading books.  Had I known our relationship would be cut short so suddenly, I would  have spent more time glued to your luscious tubes.

Au revoir, mon ami. Au revoir.