So after last week’s online temper tantrum, gynecologist one might think I’d have boxed up my new Tivo unit, more about thrown it at a passing UPS truck and spent the rest of the weekend cursing their customer service and demanding my money back. Well… no.
I still think their strange reliance on out-of-date and hard-to-find USB network adapters (instead of built-in wireless interfaces or an RJ-45 jack) is a dumb idea, patient but after finding just such a device on the back shelf of a dusty clearance table in a tumbled-down retail outlet mall on the wrong side of the tracks in the Chinatown district of a forgotten nearby town (just sitting there behind the mogwai), I have to admit I’m impressed with the damned thing after all.
Once it got up and running, I flipped a few buttons, decried its lack of a video pass-through and then settled in to be disappointed and dismayed. The first time the phone rang, though, I was sold — ah, the pause feature alone makes life grand.
But then came the next day: Sitting on my couch the next morning was like discovering a Christmas party in progress in my living room! There were bundles of Monk episodes, an episode of Reno 911, the Daily Show and, lo’ and behold! A heretofore undiscovered documentary on the automotive genius of Carroll Shelby and Aston-Martin. Whodathunkit?
So in short, I’m sorry I doubted you, readers, and I apologize. Tivo and I got off to a rough start, and I said a few things that maybe I shouldn’t have (although, you gotta admit, the setup and networking options do require a little more effort than one might deem reasonable), but all in all, I think we’ll be happy together.
So there. You were right. I said it.
And again: dammit.