Taming A Smart TV

Taming A Smart TV

By

Leo de Natale

Illustrations by Vince Giovannucci

Last week our twelve-year-old flat screen television suddenly went into its death throes. Jerry Seinfeld’s face had vertical rows of moving green lines. So didn’t Kramer’s, Elaine’s and George’s. It added a bit of immediate humor but then got old. Pretending you’re stoned can last only so long. My wife and I looked at each other and said “Uh oh, I think it’s time.”

Our TV was one of the “dumb” generation products. Pretty good picture but couldn’t compare with the images on the latest generation of televisions that have truly incredible fidelity and access to movie channels. Friends kept telling us about the wonders of streaming. Any movie, any time with the punch of a remote button. Ok, I’ll admit we were Luddites and from a generation with the no-new-TV-until-the- one-you-own-dies protocol.

We don’t watch a lot of television but the devil box has become an intrinsic, universal part of every day life. Jumping online to obtain useful research and information, I was catapulted into a brave new world of pixels, 4K ultra-high definition, vibrant QLED colors and other terms that are integral parts of the technology explosion. I called my 30-year-old nephew David who’s a computer jock at a software development company in Cambridge, Massachusetts. He became Moses leading us to the Promised Land.

“It all depends how sophisticated you want to be, Uncle,” he said. “The TVs come in all different sizes – 32”, 45”, 55”, 65”s and the ‘big guy’, an 85-incher!”

“Dave, your aunt and I won’t be traveling on the Starship Enterprise,” I replied. “We just want a television for our bedroom. That’s all”.

          He recommended researching brands and sizes on Amazon.  That would give us an idea of what was out there.  Then shop at the big box stores and try to find the best deal, he said.

We followed his advice and headed to the nearest Best Buy store. The available products were overwhelming. The stores divide products between home entertainment centers – huge screens, separate sound systems, integrated computer games – and home televisions. We were in the latter category. We had trouble finding a store associate for assistance. That seems to be a problem in this post-Covid world. Ever try to hunt down a Macy’s employee? Department store employees have become an endangered species.

We finally found Earl, a blue-shirted member of the Geek Squad. In another era, he’d be wearing a plastic pocket protector or a slide rule holster attached to his belt. Earl was sporting an ear device resembling Apple AirPods he used to communicate with other employees. He was tall and gangly, had a huge Adam’s Apple, slouched shoulders and unkempt mop of hair. His teeth were crooked and had a brownish/greenish hue and that reminded me of our dead television.

“So tell me Earl, what are the features we should be looking for?” I asked. ”We’re nighttime TV watchers who don’t need too many bells and whistles.”

          “Well, like, you don’t want to buy one with the 1080p HDTV, man” he replied. “That is sooo old. They’re phasing those ones out.  Like,  the 4K, it gives you 8 million pixels.  That will give maximum image resolution.”

He proceeded to numb us with techno-geek information. Our eyes starting glazing over. We were suffering from information overload. He asked us about our dying TV -It was a “32-incher”- and recommended a 45” model. He then bombarded us with jargon. He babbled on about contrast ratio, refresh rates, mini and micro LEDs and my favorite, “Quantum Dots”. Huh? When asking about a specific manufacturer he replied, “Like, it doesn’t make much difference. All TVs are made in China, man.”

Despite deciphering Millennial argot, we had sufficient information to narrow our choices. Armed with such knowledge we gleaned at Best Buy, it was on to another big box store closer to home. At BJ’s we found the exact model that would suit our needs. The difference was there were no employees in the TV/computer department. Earl would not be magically appearing. We were on our own. It was a Samsung Model 70 S, 45”, the highly desired 4K designation. Most important, it was relatively cheap and under $350. We were relieved and delighted with the new unit.

My wife and I loaded the new television- it was surprisingly lightweight- into our Subaru Forester and drove home. After disconnecting and removing the soon-to-be-trashed dead TV, we removed the Styrofoam and cardboard packing and there it was. Sleek and bigger, it was accompanied by two power and cable cords and the magic remote. There was a paucity of paperwork and to our surprise no written owner’s manual. We learned nothing purchased today has detailed paper instructions. Stick-figure drawings made the TV appear simple and easy to set up and operate. Just plug in the power cord and the cable connection wire and you’re done. Wrong.

After pressing remote buttons with no response, I had a premonition this was going to be a bit more challenging. My wife solved the first piece of the puzzle. In fine print, the assembly sheet indicated the power light should be activated. I searched to no avail. My wife finally felt a little nib of a button underneath the television’s base. She touched it and a faint red light appeared. I once again pressed the remote and voila! the screen came to life. There was a menu of options that made no sense to us.

It’s very frustrating to have technical impotency. We just continued pushing buttons to no avail. Curse words were flying.

“Godammit, nothing’s easy anymore,” I yelled. “We’re having a string of bad luck here, honey. First our PC and now this!”

We had a similarly maddening experience two months earlier when our desktop computer operating more slowly and then crapped out. After purchasing a new computer and printer at Staples we spent several hours with technical assistance. Our old computer was easy to navigate. We knew which keys to punch to complete various functions – backup, attaching documents to a task bar, accessing Word, etc. The technology had changed. Via the computer screen the printer would warn me when the ink cartridge was low.

Replacements would automatically be shipped. We now live in a world where there are smart TVs and computers and anyone over age 40 is suddenly lost in a new techno-world.

The computer had finally been tamed and were now dealing with an intimidating television. We were faced with a daunting task and the only technical help was going online to the manufacturer’s website. Searching for answers via a chat line wasn’t my idea of having fun. We needed human help but who to call, where do you go?

My wife suddenly had an epiphany. Our 30-something neighbor Brian was a local firefighter. He’d walk his doodle-cross puppy past our house. In several conversations with my wife, Brian mentioned he was reprogramming the various electronic devices – computer, television, timed house lights and thermostat control – all done through his cell phone. Now that sounded like someone who could help us. We texted him and he quickly telephoned.

“Hi Brian,” I said. “ Can you help technically challenged neighbors with our new TV?”

“No problem.  Just got home from work. I’ll be right over!” he responded.

He arrived ten minutes later. We ushered into the room and he grabbed the new remote.

“Well, part of the problem is the cable is connected to the wrong outlet,” he said. “Don’t worry, this happens a lot.  My folks had the same  problem.”

I expected him to rib me about this stuff being a generational thing but he was kind and respectful. He placed the Verizon cable into the correct outlet, pressed a few remote buttons and bing! bang! boom!, the TV came to life. The entire process occurred in about five minutes. Wow, it was that easy? I felt like a Neanderthal.

“It was easy. Glad to help,” he said.

“Please let me pay you for helping us out, Brian,” I said, handing him a $50 bill.

“No thanks, it was my pleasure to help a neighbor,” he replied.

“Well, I tell you what,” I said. “Why don’t you and your fiancée come over this weekend for steaks that are grilled over charcoal briquettes. I may not know how to install a TV but I’m a real caveman on the Weber.”

Later that night, my wife and I retired to the bedroom to watch a greenless Seinfeld. Love that Puffy Shirt, Jerry.