I love my TiVo.
Sometimes my TiVo records the programs it is supposed to record at the times it is supposed to record them. Sometimes my TiVo gets moody and cuts off the last few minutes of very important, educational programs like the Biography of Alexander Hamilton and by the “Biography of Alexander Hamilton” I might mean “Dancing With the Stars.” Don’t judge me.
I even continue to love my TiVo when it gets super bitchy and insists that I would enjoy Oprah, even though it knows how much Oprah makes me want to drink heavily, because drunk is the only way I can suffer through her bloated sense of enlightenment (just me?).
I love the bloop-bloop-bloop of fast-forwarding.
I love watching a two-hour episode of American Idol in fifteen minutes (Filler? bloop-bloop-bloop! Is Paula Abdul about to speak? bloop-bloop-bloop! I haven’t heard Paula Abdul’s voice in three years. I imagine it is very whiny.)
I love my David Conrad Wishlist.
I love my Season Passes of shows that I’m not ashamed to admit I watch (Scrubs, Numb3rs, Big Bang Theory, Miss Guided, The Shield, Men in Trees) and of shows that I delete without watching wink-wink (One Life to Live, Moment of Truth, Hannah Montana).
I love slow-mo-ing (wait. That doesn’t look right. Slo-moing? Slow-moing? Whatever) already slow-mo-ed (Slow-moed? Why is there suddenly a picture of a cow in my mind’s eye?) sports replays so that I’m watching them in SUPER slow-mo. It is this super slow-mo which revealed that Sid faked that high stick call in the last game.
I love pausing live TV.
And that brings me to the point of this post.
My sister in Texas emailed me today to tell me that she was painting her front door when her daughter, my niece, who is three — wait. I think she’s three. Let me think here. She’s short, blond, adorable, loves princesses, can’t legally drive but will totally mow your ass down if you stand in front of her princess golf-cart. Let’s go with three. — was watching my sister paint when suddenly nature called. Potty break.
“Mom. Can you pause it?”
“Uh. Pause what?”
“The painting. Can you pause it until I get back?”
Ah, yes. Raised on TiVo and forgetting that you can’t pause real life. This story makes me feel a little better about the fact that on many an occasion I have absentmindedly attempted to pause real life, or have found myself hunting through my purse for the TiVo remote so that I can rewind this little part of my life because that was my bus that just passed me up.
I guess I shouldn’t take too much comfort though, because after all, she is only three. And I’m … not.
But I am a WAY better driver.