Ditching the remote

Since my family's return to TV-viewing in January after buying a new TV set -- after nearly 2 months of making do with no TV in the house -- the remote control has been quite busy. Of course, the Australian Open and Roger Federer's advancement to the finals had a lot to do with it. Then there are also the interesting programs on the Lifestyle Network (the cooking shows to be more precise). "Passion for Pastry" is a delight to watch, not just for the fascinating step-by-step process of creating sumptuous-looking sweets, but also for pastry chef Jacques Torres' charming enunciations (he's French). Once in a while, "Martha" has features that catch our fancy; when I remember "Everyday Italian" on time, I catch it on Sundays and even take notes.

Enough about the viewing fare at home. I just started on that because of a piece about one man's experience with being a couch potato and the inadvertent rewards of pulling the plug. This is quite an entertaining read. Excerpts:

I don’t remember how I got rid of my television but I do remember the very first day without it. I came home from work and sat on the couch with a box of crackers. The silence was tolerable; it was the noise in my head -- the jarring reality of incessant thoughts -- that I couldn’t stand. About twelve minutes of it was quite enough. I acted out what people did 100 years ago. I bolted for the street and knocked on my neighbour’s door. She was ten years my senior and incredibly welcoming. She listened to my confession with such good humour it brought me back the next day. And the next. We became great friends and drank a lot of coffee.

...

Sometimes when people learn that I don’t have a television they ask: “What do you do with all of that free time?” My response is just as automatic: “You have free time?”

In the decade of evenings without a television, I have read many books -- even written and published one -- started a family and a magazine, and begun learning Spanish. My young children are free and edifying entertainment. I don’t resent anyone because I missed my programme and I’m burning calories without going to the gym. We live in Ottawa, Canada’s capital, and in winter when my wife and I find some free time we cuddle in front of the fire. Ironically, I am once again staring at a space the size of a large television screen. But rather than shutting down, I am enlivened by our debates, our anecdotes, our analysis of the day, as our eyes move from each other to the burning embers.

Read "Unhooked from television," by Patrick Meagher