Baby got back: A profile shows the massive 18″ rear end of obsolescence.
The great, hulking beast that was our RCA 32″ television is dead. Purchased specifically because it amply filled the cavernous interior of our corner armoire, the technological dinosaur gave no hint of its impending demise. Maybe we had been working it a little too hard by our constant streaming of The Office on Netflix. Whatever the cause, our old TV was unresponsive one afternoon, and we knew that the time had come for us to say goodbye to picture tubes and enter a new televisual frontier.
I was born at a time when accepting the demise of a television set was preceded by valiant attempts at resuscitation. To simply say, “Well, the TV isn’t working; time for a new one,” was unthinkable. If you were reasonably handy and had little fear of electrocution, you might have removed the back panel and pulled out a vacuum tube for a quick diagnosis at the corner drugstore’s tube tester. At the very least, you would have called a repairman. Not until the grim-faced technician signed the death certificate would a family concede that a replacement was necessary. It was, after all, an expensive proposition. Read More