The Remote:

While reading over the worst short story I've seen in ages (and who knew that Valerie Plame was really a KGB officer?) I came across this piece on an entirely different topic:

New research suggests men are still hogging the television remote control. 41% of men and 30% of women claim to rule the sofa entertainment, says a poll by Intel.
What I like about this story is that it shows something of what the post-blog future of the media will be like. It reports what its findings are -- but then, at the bottom, it adds in some reader comments:
Though a few people had comments on the rules.

"Do none of these etiquette experts have children? For years now the first I see of the remote is when the last of my children has been extracted, screaming and kicking, from the lounge and sent to bed," says Mike Thomason.
Maybe not even then.

Grim's Hall has television set, but it isn't hooked up to anything except a VCR and DVD player. As a result, the only things our remote can do are turn the various devices on and off, play or stop the video, and fast forward or rewind a tape, or "scene select" on the DVD. As such, except for a few seconds at the beginning and end of the watching session, it's of no use whatsoever.

Even so, it is the coveted possession of the three-year-old boy. He loves the thing.

A few days ago, it was lost. We looked everywhere for it. Under things, over things, behind things, whatever: it was nowhere to be found. After quite a bit of hunting, we just did without for a while.

The next day, the boy came downstairs and plopped himself down by the bed. He reached underneath, and extracted a (normally quite empty) briefcase that is stored there because it is out of the way. He unzipped it, reached inside, opened an internal pocket, reached inside of that, and pulled out the remote.

I'd never have thought to look there, I can tell you.

No comments: