Remote Controlism

"The secret of creativity is knowing how to push buttons." Broughton

A couple of weeks ago I received a parcel anonymously from Auckland, New Zealand. It
turned out to be a DVD entitled WE, featuring the wisdom of Arundhati Roy. The
accompanying note stated that the writer had been following my internet columns and offered his/her congratulations. Putting memory into gear, I recalled that more than a year ago I received a book written by an Indian man explaining the social problems of India. I was solicited to visit the sub continent and write about the inequities experienced by the bulk of the population who suffered under the caste system of privileged government. Owing to a lifelong lack of money I was unable to oblige, although the idea was certainly appealing. Curry has always heightened my taste buds. Maybe there was a remote connection between Arundhati Roy and my Indian Guru?

However, I did not own a DVD player and have no idea what DVD actually means. My
nearest guess is Dysentery Verbal Dispersion Curiosity got the better of me and I lashed out and purchased a DVD player. After reading the instructions and plugging this into that, I decided to exercise the couch and experience my first DVD. Finally after pushing numerous buttons on the TV and DVD remote controls, the screen burst into life and the Booker Prize winner expounded her theories about George Bush dominating the world with mortgages funded by the US taxpayer. Most enlightening in the political backwaters of primitive New Zealand. Who am I to disagree with reality?

Several glasses of health giving wine later, the world's biggest problem was the number of remote controls I had to manage without spilling my wine. On the left of the sideboard sat a 14-inch TV hooked to my Karaoke machine. Each had its own remote control. The trick was to keep pushing buttons until something sensible happened. Under the TV was a video machine with wires that disappeared under the sideboard. Just what they hooked into is still a mystery. It also has a remote control with a little flap and endless buttons. Usually it takes about ten minutes pushing buttons to play a video tape which is simply a big sound tape that goes from one end to the other, then it rewinds itself for no apparent reason. The result is radio with pictures.

On the right-hand side of the sideboard sits a 20-inch TV inherited about six years ago.
Underneath is another video player gadget that operates differently from the left-hand one. Two more remote controls sit on my couch side wine dispensing table. Behind me on the window ledge sits a small sound tape and CD player of indefinite age. Another remote control to administer. My shirt pocket contains a cellphone which is smaller than all the remote controls put together. It took me about three weeks before I got the thing to work properly. Apparently everything had to be programmed using a central button that I couldn't see without my glasses. But at least it doesn't require a separate remote control. Maybe one day somebody will actually phone me.

In my trouser pocket lives a digital camera. When I bought the tiny gadget, I couldn't find
anywhere to put the film, but I soon got than hang of pushing buttons and loading the images into my computer with something called a moveable drive. It was somewhat different from the gravel drive alongside the house. When I unplug the camera, the moveable drive disappears. I guess that's why they called it moveable. I can even hook in into the TV and turn it on and off with the TV remote control. I now have three short movies of my dog barking at all the flashing buttons that keep her awake at night. The lounge blinks with a green glow when the ceiling lights are turned off by remote control. The only red light is my electric toothbrush charger.

On the big table sits my ancient 8 mil video camera. I think the batteries are flat in the remote control I mislaid several years ago. My bedroom has small TV with another remote control and a battery-powered clock on the wall that ticks loudly to remind me to turn of all the remote controls in the lounge.

Sadly I'm surrounded by electronic gadgets of dubious benefit to my wine swilling lifestyle. Tomorrow I'm going to switch on my 1932 Courtenay valve radio and remember the good old days when commonsense ruled the world. But in the meantime, where the hell is the remote control for the oil heater? It's getting a bit nippy.