Do you speak techno-slovakian?
Once every five years or so, we get a new television. Sometimes it’s because we actually need one – like that summer when a lightning strike electrocuted several of our appliances. But most of the time, it’s because Tom starts reading about the incredible picture quality on the newest TV screens, and he just can’t stand it anymore. He needs to see it for himself.
It happened again earlier this month. I tagged along to Best Buy to make sure Tom wouldn’t bring home a TV that’s only a half-inch smaller than our entire living room wall. He has always been careful with money and is a shrewd negotiator. But everyone has their weaknesses. And if Tom met a savvy salesperson dangling a big enough screen at a big enough discount, he’d likely turn our entire house into an IMAX Theatre.
This time around, we decided to scratch the TV itch because our three kids are in college, so we’re turning what used to be their playroom into a movie room. But the old Sony in that room, which once played Disney movies and Nintendo games, wasn’t a “Smart TV.” And in this day and age, we’re not about to tolerate any idiot TVs that don’t even know an app from an ape. I mean, come on. We’re not animals.
So, there we were, looking up at a wall of smart televisions, all showing the same color-saturated promo videos on a loop. They mostly looked the same to me. But Tom and the sales guy marveled at how crisp some screens were compared to others. They bantered back and forth about OLED versus QLED, refresh rates, and resolution. For a man who swears there’s no difference between red and maroon, Tom suddenly cared a lot about contrast and color accuracy.
After an hour of speaking “techno-Slovakian” with the sales guy, we settled on the smartest TV we could afford and loaded it into the SUV. Thankfully, our sons were still home for the holiday break between semesters, so they wrangled the thing out of its box and onto the wall mount over our fireplace.
The boys said the new TV has a feature called “AI Services,” which I assume means we can probably use it to launch rockets.
When they handed me the remote control, it looked more like a wizard’s wand. I’ve only learned half the buttons so far, but it’s got a built-in microphone, which lets me boss it around with commands like, “Turn on the TV” or “Mute it.”
Usually, I don’t love the idea of talking to inanimate objects. When I was growing up, a habit like that would get you labeled “crazy.” But lately, talking to machines, computers, and automated phone lines has become the new normal.
I talk to Alexa in my kitchen when I need to set a timer for pasta. I talk to Siri on my phone to dictate a text. If it’s cold outside, I say, “Hey, Volkswagen, heat the driver’s seat.” And when I call the pharmacy, a computerized voice insists that I tell her what I want. (She doesn’t love it when I say “agent” or “representative” or “Please give me anyone with a pulse.”)
We’re living in an age where non-human voices time our food, send our texts, get us drugs, and heat our buns.
Now the new TV wants to chat, too. I appreciate her interest, but she’s not a great listener. I told her to play a show I liked, but she took me down a rabbit hole of other options. I tried to set her straight, but things got heated. Tom heard the commotion from the kitchen and came to investigate.
Tom: “What’s going on in here? Are you arguing with the TV?”
Me: “Yes, but she started it. This Smart TV has a smart mouth, and I’m not sure I like her tone.”
Tom: “Have you really turned into someone who yells at the television? Should I be worried?”
Me: “Listen, we’ve gotta show these things who’s in charge around here.”
He shook his head and went back to the kitchen, where Alexa announced that the pasta was done boiling. Just another day in an artificially intelligent America.
Gwen Rockwood is a syndicated freelance columnist. Email her at gwenrockwood5@gmail.com. Her book is available on Amazon.
