Mindi Lahiri is Today's That Girl!

Of the tens of thousands of movies and TV shows on Netflix, I've seen every single one. At least clicking through the content leads me to believe so.

Browsing through suggested offerings created by algorithms especially for me (categories such as Gay Romantic Comedies, Disaster Documentaries,  and Dramatic TV Series Featuring a Strong Female Lead), I find myself saying out loud, "Seen it. Seen it. Seen it."

It briefly occurs to me that I could spend less time staring at the big screen in our living room, but then what would I do during dinner? The coffee table, where we eat, is right in front of the TV. The dining room table is too covered with mail, books, laundry, and other assorted junk to use for dining, except twice a year at Thanksgiving and Easter when we clear it off.

Premium cable complete with "On Demand" doesn't help much. Even with our multi-channel DVR, there are limitations to the available programming we can watch. For example, I can't record the current season of Grey's Anatomy because Clyde and I are only on season 7 in Netflix. Plus, it's frustrating to have to wait a whole week before the next Scandal or Madame Secretary airs (note: dramas featuring strong female leads).

I need a new source of programming to feed my binge watching addiction.

So I signed up for Hulu, one more paid TV subscription. And I sprung for the higher priced, commercial free version.

Hulu has a lot of stuff that Netflix and cable don't, particularly in the category of classic TV. Through the magic of Hulu, for example, I've rediscovered the 1960s sitcom, That Girl, starring a bright young Marlo Thomas who plays the bubbly Ann Marie. I used to watch it as a little boy and dream I'd grow up to live in my own apartment in the big city, complete with a boyfriend like her Donald. I can still hum the theme song. Of course it's very dated and corny, but when you think back to 1966, it was pretty gutsy to show a single young woman living alone in big old New York City. Sure, she had a boyfriend to get her out of the worst jams, but she paid her own rent.

Another series I'm enjoying on Hulu is more contemporary, The Mindy Project. Mindy Kaling plays another "single gal," Mindi Lahiri, also in New York City.

It's fun to note the similarities between the two. Both feature independent career women who live alone, at least initially. Both women get into a silly new situation in every episode. Both are a bit shallow: Mindy is obsessed with celebrity gossip; Ann because, well, that's just how young women were portrayed in those days.

The differences are also notable. With 50 years between them, Mindy is a little freer than Ann. While Ann and Donald date for years, there is absolutely no hint that they ever have sex. Mindy, on the other hand, openly sleeps with a succession of boyfriends, usually on the first date. Ann's career options seem limited - she wants to be an actress but often works as a waitress and retail clerk. Mindy is a full blown medical doctor, an OB-GYN. While Ann and Donald are about as white as you can be, Mindy is of Indian descent, though she is thoroughly American. When someone asks her religion, she thinks she might be Hindu but she's not sure.  Ann and Donald don't discuss religion.

It might be interesting to discuss whether television influences or reflects who we are. What can we learn about 1966 from watching That Girl? What does The Mindy Project tell us about our own times, 50 years later? All I know is that I learned from Ann Marie that happiness means getting your own place in the city and having your very own boyfriend. Poof! Here I am. Speaking of my boyfriend, while I watch my stories, Clyde spends his free evenings reading, mostly, though he's just as hooked on Grey's Anatomy as I am.

When You Don't Want to Talk to the Computer, Say Agent

After a tough day and a long drive home, I had exactly one hour to relax before heading out for my evening obligation. Clyde was out of town and I had the house to myself. I fed the cats and settled down with my laptop and the TV remote. I keyed in the URL for Facebook. Nothing happened. then a message came up saying, "Web page not available." I checked another couple of sites. Nothing. Nada.

Ok, so the wifi was out. Sometimes it happens. I'd just reset the modem - and nothing. Didn't work. I only had 45 minutes left.

So I'd worry about it later. I clicked on the television to watch a Seinfeld rerun.

Again, nothing. I unplugged the DVR/cable box, counted to 10, and plugged it back in. A message appeared saying that there must be some sort of problem. No signal was available.

35 minutes left.

"Can't I just relax for a few minutes?," I said to one of the cats. "Why does this always happen?" In fact, it's never happened before. I was just frustrated.

A half hour before I had to leave, I called the cable company which provided both our cable TV and wifi. Comcast's computer operated IVR (interactive voice response system) answered right away.

Now, I used to design IVR call flows. I know a good one when I hear it. Comcast does not have a good IVR flow.

It's creepy that it knows my address before I do anything, presumably from my incoming phone number. I had to provide the last four digits of Clyde's social security number (the account is in his name). Then I had to tell it what the problem was.

I said: "Wifi and cable are out."

"Is your problem related to the television or wifi?" asked the IVR. "Please say television or wifi."

"Argh...." I said, feeling a hole burning into my stomach lining. "Both!"

Comcast's computer said: "I understand you have a billing issue. You can go to our website and try to resolve the problem there."

"No," I screamed. "I cannot go to your website. My wifi is out." I punched 0 several times in hopes of being transferred to a customer service agent. It didn't work.

"Please tell me the nature of your call," the computer repeated.

"I want to speak to a customer service representative," I yelled, reminding myself that since I was talking to a computer, I wasn't hurting anyone's feelings by being angry.

20 minutes left.

I finally hit on the right command by saying, "Agent! Agent! Agent!" I was put on hold to wait for the next available agent.

Marie was very nice. I told her as patiently as I could what the problem was. Marie was, in fact, a real person and I didn't want to blame her for all of Comcast's IVR ineptitude. Remotely, she reset my modem and had me unplug the DVR. Like I'd done already. Nothing happened.

15 minutes.

Marie got to a point where she didn't know what to do. She would have to refer the problem to someone else and call me back in 10-15 minutes.

I don't think I have to tell you how I felt about that. The clock was ticking.

I watch a lot of television. Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe it's not good for me. But I don't smoke or do drugs. I don't drink alcohol. When I come home after a hard day I want to watch TV.  When TV is not available, I break into a cold sweat. My insides turn to jelly. My heart rate goes up. Quick, I think, go online to relax. Look at Facebook or Youtube or check email. But in this case I couldn't because the wifi was out too. Why not have all of the electricity go out then? What's the point of even being home? I needed a screen to look at, damn it!

I was putting my shoes on to go out the door when Marie called back. They were unable to identify the problem remotely and there were no known problems in my area. Could a technician come out the next day?

"Well yes," I said sarcastically, "except I"m going to be at work."

I did consider that I was lucky to get someone the next day, not several weeks from now. But we pay a lot of money for Comcast. I shouldn't have to miss even a day of television or Internet.

I left for my evening activity. When I returned, the TV still blinked a message that there must be some sort of problem. I desperately faced the question of how to cope with the rest of my evening. Without watching one of my shows, how would I wind down enough to go to  sleep?

Hands shaking as if I had the DTs, I leaned against the counter and wondered, "What did the pioneers do without screens to interact with?" I reflected that they were exhausted from working all the time and probably just went to sleep.

Defeated, I looked around for some sort of technology with which to occupy my mind. My eyes fell upon an iPad sized object with a shiny covering. Inside, words appeared. When you came to the last words, you flipped a piece of the object over and a whole new set of words appeared. I didn't see a power source or an on/off button. It didn't beep or flash. There was no "Like" button. Something deep in my mind recognized this object. I'd seen these before. I used to have a lot of them, in fact. It was called, "book."

I carried the book to bed, arranged myself between two cats, and fell asleep.

TV in Every Room Not Quite Enough

We have three TVs in our house - 1.5 per person. One in every room except the kitchen and the bathroom.

As far as I can tell from a quick internet search, we are about average for U.S. households.

I've always watched a lot of television. When I was a kid, I plunked down after school for Petticoat Junction and Gilligan's Island, and after a break for dinner I sat through the prime time lineup, followed by the news at 10:00 and reruns of M*A*S*H before bed. In the summer, I would go outside and play, but only after the mid-day broadcast of Love American Style and before The Adams Family at 4:30. As a result, I've participated in a number of pop culture trivia contests over the years. I won a prize once for being able to sing all three verses to The Beverly Hillbillies.

In the mid 70s, I could recite the entire week's programming schedule for every channel. I was a walking TV Guide. To be fair, there were only four channels at the time. And none of them were on 24 hours.

Other than during dinner, my parents never limited TV time. There was one exception: my mother forbade me from watching Charlie's Angels. Of course it wasn't hard to disobey down in the basement with the volume turned low. I think Mom was worried that the sexy female detectives would inflame my youthful passions. If she'd only known my true nature, we could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble. The Six Million Dollar Man - now that inflamed me. And of course, Captain Kirk when he fought aliens with his shirt off. Other boys had angel Farrah Fawcett in a swim suit over their beds. I had a poster of speedo-clad male divers from Casa Bonita. Mom thought I was interested in diving. But I digress.

So apparently, now in the 21st century with hundreds and hundreds of channels, we need three TVs to keep up.

It's a wonder we ever do anything else.

It's better now than in the old days. You don't have to schedule your play time around the TV. You can watch when it's convenient. In addition to recording the traditional and cable network shows, you can also, courtesy of Netflix and cable on demand, watch multiple episodes of many series, past and present. Currently we are enjoying occasional marathons of Veep, Frasier, House, and Royal Pains.

Clyde and I watch TV together most of the time, as opposed to watching simultaneously in different rooms. This potentially changes when Clyde decides to watch an overly depressing or violent movie, or if I want to watch a sitcom that is beyond his tolerance for stupid.

While the television may be the center of attention when we sit in the living room, you can also find nearby: three laptops, an iPad, and two iPhones, all of which are capable of delivering YouTube, Netflix, and any number of other video streaming services. They are rarely all used at the same time, but usually the TV isn't the only screen running.

The laptops have the added advantage of being good platforms on which the cats may lounge.

There is plenty of entertainment available thanks to technology, but I think we need a TV in the kitchen. I can carry a laptop into the bathroom.

Important Issues of the Day: Celebrity Guest Appearances

I looked forward all day to booting up my DVR to watch the sitcom New Girl. I carefully arranged dinner on the coffee table, situated the remotes for maximum accessibility, elbowed the cats away from my plate, and prepared to relax with a chuckle at lead Zooey Deschanel and a great ensemble cast including a bunch of really cute guys. My hopes for a pleasant evening were dashed when I realized that it was a rerun of the episode where they all go to Prince's house.

I didn't want to sit through that one the first time, let alone as a rerun.

I know it's just a sitcom, but do you really expect me to believe a group of socially challenged, underemployed young people who can barely afford to cohabit in their LA loft actually get invited to a party thrown by a 1980s pop legend? Do people Zooey's age even know who Prince is? What favors were called in so he could promote himself on this popular show?

I'm usually pretty annoyed when celebrities make appearances as themselves on my favorite shows. It's unrealistic. Implausible. It disrupts ongoing plot elements. And if I don't like the celebrity, it bugs me even more. Prince, as it happens, has always really irritated me. Between the screeching and the hair I've always had a kind of stomach churning reaction to the guy.

But it's not just Prince. It's any self-promoting celebrity appearing on fictional television.

You may have to have been alive in the 1970s to remember the worst, or best, examples of celebrity aggrandizement on a sitcom. On Lucille Ball's TV sitcom, Here's Lucy, there was a different special guest star every week. I would get so irritated at Lucy gushing and fawning over the celebs who almost always played themselves. It was the same plot over and over. Lucy would act like she'd never met a famous person before when in fact, all she ever did was to meet them. She was, herself, bigger than most of them anyway.

To me, Here's Lucy reeked of lazy TV writing. But I was only in grade school at the time so what did I know?

Could I BE any gayer? I'm trashing a TV show that's been off the air for 40 years. But I never missed an episode.

There is one guest star who plays himself on a sitcom and pulls it off: Will Wheaton, who's acting career peaked when he was a teenager playing Wesley Crusher on Star Trek: The Next Generation, has a recurring role on The Big Bang Theory. Wheaton plays himself with deprecation and humor.

Hot in Cleveland is a funny show where they also have a lot of celebrity guest stars. Joan Rivers, Mary Tyler Moore, Carol Burnett, the guy from Modern Family, that other guy from that one show ... But on HIC, the celebrities play characters, not themselves. It's highly entertaining to see familiar faces in new roles, entertaining instead of just self-promoting.

Maybe Will Wheaton's career hasn't peaked after all. Big Bang is one of the most popular shows on television. And Carol Burnett looked great on Hot in Cleveland. Mary Tyler Moore, however, didn't look so good.

No Escape from Sports and Television

A couple of regular readers have mentioned that they are looking forward to my detailed analysis of the Super Bowl this week. Sarcasm notwithstanding, it's hard to avoid the news that the Denver Broncos are one game away from NFL championship. The whole state is awash in Broncomania. Even the company where I work is having a "sports attire" day on Friday. I can hardly contain my excitement. Of course, along with any celebratory event at the office, there is a sharp reminder to adhere to the dress code. We don't want anyone taking fun too far.

Actually, the Super Bowl has little effect on me except it might be easier to get around during the game. Perhaps we could go to a movie or something.

Just because I'm not interested, however, doesn't mean I can escape from it. Thanks to the ubiquity of TV, I am exposed to all kinds of non-stop sports.

It's not enough that Americans have more than one television per person at home. Or that we can watch anywhere using our mobile communication devices. There are screens in every restaurant, waiting room, bar, and everywhere else you can think of.

A favorite eatery in Lodo has a TV on literally every wall, sometimes more than one, so that no matter where you sit, you can't help but see "the game" or whatever's on. Last time I was there, I counted 13 from the booth where I sat. Basketball, soccer, and hockey were on view, along with a broadcast of American's Funniest Home Videos for balance. It was notable only for the absence of American football.

Even the nice restaurant where I took my boyfriend, Clyde, for his birthday, had a big screen with ESPN on the wall. I watched one man ignore his wife and kids repeatedly so he could check the score. Shaking my head in disgust, I missed what Clyde was saying to me.

On my weekly early morning visit to Village Inn, where it's just me and a bunch of old guys eating breakfast (yes, yes, I'm one of the old guys ...) the server, Regan, knows to sit me as far from the television as possible. But still I am never out of view of highlights from last night's game.

My favorite Indian restaurant has a TV in the corner where they used to show Bollywood music videos. It provided the perfect festive atmosphere in which to eat Indian food. But they have switched over to the usual whatever sports thing is on.

This isn't just an American thing. Waiting to board a plane in the Tokyo airport recently, we were practically forced by the placement of a big screen in the boarding area, to watch sumo wrestling. Man oh man, you can really see a lot of sumo wrestler details on those giant, high definition TVs.

At least at Annie's, on East Colfax, they show old movies sometimes instead of sports so that Clyde and I can guess who the actor is instead of what team is playing.

Clyde suggests having those little individual TVs like they do on some airplanes which you watch using headphones, viewing without disturbing others.

Actually, that already happens at my gym. Some of the exercise equipment has individualized screens where you can change your own channel and watch what you want. It can make a 30 minute cardio session go a lot faster. And even if you don't have your own TV on the treadmill, just look up. There are 10 hanging from the ceiling to keep you entertained while you work out. Never fear, the locker room has a couple too, in case you go too long without screen time.

Reality TV Not Real Enough

I don't watch "reality television." It's not realistic enough.

Catching just a glimpse of The Bachelor, I notice, for example, that the participants are impossibly good looking - they don't look like anyone real that I know. Not that my friends aren't good looking. But they are real.

I have enjoyed a couple of episodes of the Amazing Race, thanks to my friend John. Those contestants at least travel to real locations around the world, though they don't spend any time learning about where they are. They just eat the food or do whatever disgusting task they are assigned before moving on to the next location.

I do not understand, for the life of me, the appeal of following characters like the Kardashians or Honey Boo Boo. Who cares about these people? I'm more interested in watching my neighbors, who are real people, come and go. And some of them are quite good looking.

I want reality TV to reflect, you know, reality.

I have some great ideas for reality shows that reflect actual lives like mine.

How about one called Rush Hour? It's a game of suspense, where contestants have to choose the fastest route home from work at 5:00 p.m. Think about the skill it takes to deal with a traffic jam. Can you anticipate which lane will move the fastest? Do you take the next exit and risk taking side streets all the way home or stay the course in case things loosen up? A little side game could be called "Find the Radio Station that will Give a Traffic Report First," or just "Find a Radio Station" if your public broadcaster is having a pledge week. Throw in some extra drama, like what happens if the gas tank is almost empty. Or you really have to pee but it's at least 20 minutes til home. Or ethical dilemmas: what if your cell phone goes off while you're just sitting there? Is it ok to answer it if the car's not moving? At the end, the exhausted winner gets to have dinner with the family.

I should do a pitch to the networks. I have tons more.

• Computer Races - see how much work you can get done while software updates automatically install on your computer followed by a mandatory restart. If you win, you don't have to redo that project you forgot to save.
• Dishwasher Wars - how creative can you get in order to cram everything into the dishwasher no matter how full it gets. If you lose, you have to do the extra dishes by hand.
• Pill the Cat - now there's a reality show, full of drama and action, suspense, and tears (yours or the cat's). If you lose, you have a bloody finger and a resentful cat. We could film this one at my house, twice a day. 
• Is He or Isn't He? Is She or Isn't She? - Everyone has a neighbor, coworker, or relative who might be gay, but no one is sure. You can't tell just by looking anymore. These days, anyone can wear any kind of jewelry anywhere on their body, not to mention bright colored or plaid clothing. Tattoos and bodyscaping (shaving various areas of your body) are no longer indicators of orientation.  Some people won't define their sexuality one way or the other. There is no prize in this game, because chances are you'll never actually figure it out.
• Elevator Mind Games - Get into an elevator on the top floor and push the button for the bottom floor. Subtract points every time you have to stop to let people on or off. Lose double points if someone gets on and rides just one floor instead of taking the stairs.

It's not that I don't like looking at beautiful bodies on The Bachelor. It's just no match for true reality.

Movin On Up? Part II

Who says I'm not flexible? My very specific fantasy of living in a high rise with a balcony quickly succumbed to the reality of space limitations, parking restrictions, and cost per square foot. The long and short of it is that I'm not moving to a deluxe apartment in the sky, but a rather middle class ranch style domicile at ground level with a garage.

I was just about to give up on finding a better place to live. There is nothing wrong with my current abode of 17 years. It's a little small, but it's paid off and very cheap to maintain. Sure, I'd like a guest room sometimes. Other times, I'm glad I don't have one. The places I looked at last weekend with my handsome realtor, Glen, were either too small (and expensive), too much "fixer upper," or were snatched up by someone else before I had a chance to even think about it. In some cases it was all of the above.

I was exhausted after one day of looking but as I prepared to email Glen to forget it, I noticed he sent me a couple more listings.

Cut to Monday: I found myself digging through files for financial statements, signing endless forms, asking for time off to attend a closing next month, and talking on the phone multiple times with Glen and Michelle, my mortgage lender lady.

Caught in a whirlwind of paperwork and a frenzy of describing the new (to me) residence to friends, I had an attack of "ohmygodwhathaveIdone."

I've spent the past few days talking myself out of a continuous anxiety attack. Fact is, I have a little money to invest, and this is a good investment in a nice neighborhood. I'll enjoy the extra space and hardwood floors, and did I mention the garage?

So what if it's not the penthouse portrayed in the opening of Green Acres. I wouldn't look good in Lisa Douglas's flowing gowns anyway.

Movin on Up?

When I was a little boy, my dream was to live in a big city apartment. I'm sure that dream was born of watching TV because there were no big city apartments in Kimball, Nebraska, where I was born.

I thought the opening of Green Acres was fabulous when Eva Gabor swept back the curtains to a view of the Manhattan skyline. I, also, adore a penthouse view. I sympathized with her character, forced to live in the country with a bunch of bumpkins when she could be shopping in the city.

Later, when I was six, my favorite TV show was The Courtship of Eddie's Father, where a little boy lived with his handsome dad (Bill Bixby) in a cool high rise with a balcony and a housekeeper. That's what I wanted.

Of course I ended up not glamorously in the sky but on the ground floor between the mailboxes and the laundry room.

When I moved into my condo, I planned to stay about a year. I'd build up a little equity, save some money, and then move to Capitol Hill where I really wanted to live. That was 16 years ago. 

In the early 90s, I rented a roomy two bedroom apartment in central Denver with huge closets for $350 a month. It was Heaven. But by the time I was ready to buy, the real estate boom had taken hold and I couldn't afford to live in my own neighborhood.

I was forced to invest in my current property on the far away southeast side of the city (ok, it's 10 minutes from my old apartment, but that's light years in urban neighborhood terms).

I'm still in my "starter" home. Of course it's much nicer than when I moved in. The avocado green kitchen is gone. The flowery 1970s decor in the bathroom has been replaced by subdued gray walls, a blue granite counter, and elegant silver fixtures. My pad is nice now. But there's no balcony.

It's not just the building I'm thinking of changing. It's the neighborhood.

There's nothing actually wrong with my neighborhood. It's as safe as any in the city. There are plenty of stores and public transportation. The population is interestingly diverse. I love watching the South Asian men play cricket in the park across the street, for example (and it's not because of my interest in sports).

But Cap Hill has history, architectural diversity, a larger Gay population, a more urban feel, and tall buildings with balconies.

I have reached a point where if I'm going to move, now would be a good time. I have a little cash for a down payment and the interest rates are low. I'm not sure I'll do it. But I would sure like to fling open the shutters and see something besides the neighbors carting laundry.

TV Families Not Representative

I admit it. I watch a lot of TV. And I have to say, most of the families on the tube don't look like mine. An entire population is severely underrepresented, rendering some of the best shows difficult for me to relate to.

Unlike at my house where they pretty much rule, cats are notoriously absent from TV shows. For that matter, so are dogs. I'm not talking about those old Disney movies where the animal wins the national ribbon or dies at the end (I'm still upset about Old Yeller, 40 years later). I mean animals that are just regular members of the family, like those dogs and cats (and in a couple of cases, birds) who live with me and my friends.

According to the Humane Society of the United States, dogs live in 39 percent of all U.S. households. Cats live in 33 percent. Doesn’t that equal 72 percent? I was never good at math. But at least some number of families on TV should have at least either a dog or a cat.

Take that family on ABC's The Middle. A dog would add a lot of color to that chaotic household. Of course, the mom, played by Patricia Heaton, would be the only one who remembers to feed the dog, let him or her out, and so on.

I recently watched all five seasons of Brothers and Sisters - one extended family made up of five individual households. A number of times, I thought, “This is just like my family,” except there was not a bit of animal fur among them.

Currently on Netflix, I'm watching Kyle XY, a sci-fi drama that explores the meaning of family and belonging. It's a great show - sweet and touching as well as suspenseful, but it lacks any sort of animal presence. I often think the agonized protagonist and his angst-ridden teenaged siblings would benefit from the calming influence of a cat, but there isn't one.

I suppose cats are hard to train and, well, control on the set. Dogs are a little more trainable, and thus, visible.

The sitcom Whitney recently featured a dog adopted from a shelter. The poor fellow died in less than one episode.

One of the families on Modern Family has a cute little mutt. Gruff old grandpa/stepdad Jay, played by Ed O'Neil, takes an abandoned pooch to the shelter in one episode but can't go through with it. The dog has become a regular cast member.

There used to be more animals on TV but they were pretty unrealistic. Lassie was always getting Timmy out of some trouble or other by barking and barking until the humans finally understood. In reality, any dog that barked like that would be banished to the back yard or at least given the doggie version of Prozac.

Flipper, the dolphin, always knew everything in spite of being limited to the water. I don't know any dolphins personally, but I was always surprised that Flipper didn’t just get in the truck and drive.

At this point, I feel like I should comment on Tiger, the shaggy dog who lived with the Brady Bunch. But I really don’t have anything to say about him.

Animal companions are a little better represented in cartoons. The Simpsons have Santa's Little Helper and Snowball, a skinny dog and mangy black cat respectively. In spite of the animated nature of the show, this is the one that best represents pets as a regular, integrated presence in the family.

Ok, now that you know how much TV I watch, I'll bet you aren't surprised to learn that my own cats, Lily and Charles, usually watch with me. You’d never see it on television, but I'm often sprawled horizontally on the sofa, the two of them curled up on top of or beside me. That's what my family looks like.

No Such Thing as Free HBO

Holding an official looking clip board, the cable company representative told me through the screen door that they had been reviewing my account and discovered that for what I was currently paying, I could have many additional premium channels including all of those from HBO.

Not only that, I could have a Comcast land line phone with unlimited long distance to all 50 states and Puerto Rico.

I don't think I have ever called Puerto Rico.

In spite of the fact that my cell phone is adequate and I already have hundreds more channels than I could ever possibly watch, I invited him to come in and sit down so we could discuss it further.

As Charles, my 18 month old, jumped up on his lap and sniffed the clip board, we discussed my cable needs. I apologized for the cat. He said that he'd gotten the same treatment from the animals next door and didn't mind.

So evidently, this wasn't just a special visit because Comcast was interested in me. In fact, my neighbor, Terese, subscribed to the same new package that I did.

I realized much later that I should have asked, "How can I keep the same service I have now and pay less?" Oh these sales guys are slick.

As the Comcast guy made an appointment for the technician to come and install the replacement modem for my new land line phone, I thought that I might as well ask about a second DVR for the bedroom.

I rarely view TV shows "live." With the digital video recorder I can watch at my convenience and fast forward through commercials. The only problem is I have to do it in the living room. Since I've been falling asleep on the sofa a lot, it has occurred to me that it would be nice to watch The Daily Show in bed.

So for between eight and nine dollars per month, I now have a DVR in my bedroom - with HBO and Starz.

Meanwhile, I realized that if I was going to have a land line, I should probably get a telephone. Terese told me about a sale at Sears, so for $20 I bought one with a speakerphone, caller ID, and some other features I'll probably never use.

On Sunday, my new DVR, phone, and modem were piled up on the dresser with my wireless router and bedroom TV ready to use. Charles enjoyed playing with the new wires, and I looked forward to an evening in bed with The Simpsons and a few reruns of Sordid Lives.

It wasn't the relaxing utopia I was expecting. In fact, my 20 year old mattress was kind of lumpy. As a matter of fact, I suffer from considerable insomnia, and I often wake up without feeling in one of my arms. Spending more time watching TV in bed would only make it worse.

So my new $800 memory foam mattress (on sale!), arrives this Saturday. I can hardly wait to snuggle up with the cats and enjoy some recorded natural disaster documentaries from the National Geographic Channel - on my new, comfy mattress.

I guess you can't have free HBO without paying a price.