In the name of Equality....

It is a new year. New years = new beginnings. I feel compelled to come clean. I have been hiding a dirty secret for some time now - one that I am not proud of.

I live with a racist.

How can this be you ask?

You may be saying to yourself: But John, you are so well traveled, so insightful, so goddamned understanding, liberal and open-minded. I am beside myself John. Say it aint so.

Others may be thinking... but John… you live alone.

I say yes, you are correct, to all of the above; however, the aforementioned racist is, in fact, an inanimate object – namely, my television set.

Surely in this day and age, especially here in the cultural mosaic that is Canada, this simply cannot be. Alas it is.

You see, my television is old – from a bygone era. It had a VCR as companion, begrudgingly acquainting itself with a new-fangled DVD player (I have not had the heart to even mention high def to it, let alone the dreaded Blu Ray). It has been with me since my first day of University, circa 1996 – making it 13 years old – unheard of for a TV. The doctors said she wouldn’t live past five… seeing as she was a MAGNASONIC and all; a TV so rare (and ghetto), that she is not even listed in the instruction manuals of the 4 universal remotes that she outlasted.

To me, my TV is akin to old drunken Aunt Esther. We all have one, or at least heard tales of one. You know, the one that was a personal friend of Moses (and not Charlton Heston's Moses either). We sit her in the corner at family functions and holidays ignoring and laughing off the insults and slurs that she hurtles through the room like verbal shrapnel; chalking it up to her being 'from a different time.'

“Frankie, you’re a drunk”, she may say. “Your wife wouldn’t have left you if you weren’t a drunk, or if you were better looking.” Or, when at Christmas you remark “Wow Angela, that present you gave Aunt Rachel looks beautiful, I wonder what’s in it.” Aunt Esther pipes up, yelling, “Is it something that will jump out and strangle the crazy bitch??!!” Or perhaps, she will give social commentary: “I don’t trust that new politician…How can one of them there Orientals tell me how to live my life…if I need a lesson on rice making I will call him.” When you reply, “Aunt Esther, he is Asian, he is not Oriental, that’s a rug”. She would chide back with something like: “What’d you know? That sweater makes you look like one of those homo-sexuals.” Ah, Aunt Esther, your only hope is to make sure her wine glass is perpetually full so she will eventually spit out her dentures and pass out, only to keep herself warm in the inevitable pool of her own urine.

My inanimate "Aunt Esther"

My TV is the inanimate equivalent of Aunt Esther. She is a full-fledged racist. Unlike Aunt Esther, however, it is the Asians that my TV seems to prefer. If you are Asian or, so Caucasian that you either glow or are transparent, you are ok in my tv’s books and will appear on the screen. If you are Indian (either East or Native), Black, Hispanic, or even slightly tanned, you are non-existent to her. My olive skinned, Italian forefathers would be dead to her.

One of my favourite TV shows is one called Heroes. Seeing as it is a series that takes place all over the globe it has a very multinational cast. I would find myself literally cursing my tv and screaming at the screen:
“For the LOVE OF GOD Mohinder! Life isn’t that bad! Just smile! Come on, smile for me! I NEED TO KNOW WHERE YOU ARE!” You see, if any character other than the Asian ones (due to their skin tone), has his mouth shut, or does not have his eyes WIDE OPEN I am lost. They become invisible. I need to see the teeth and that only really happens when they are smiling. Because of this dramas are out.  It's comedy or nothin'.

  
On a side note: my TV’s favourite colour?…orange.

I knew I had a problem when my friends started refusing to come over to my place to watch movies or TV. Sure, they would be cool about it when I would first warn them that it may be a little difficult to see the picture.  They would patiently sit through the screening saying things like, “no, this is really neat. Now I know how the visually impaired feel when they watch TV.” Or, “don’t worry, I have always needed to develop my sense of hearing.” They rarely came back a second time.

Two days ago I hit my breaking point. I was not going to be labeled a social pariah because of my racist television. I was going to take control; namely, I was going to Best Buy to get me a shiny new flat screen.

Bringing the newer model home was harder than I thought. Yes my TV was a racist. Yes my TV was costing me friends and making me a social outcast. But she had been with me through thick and thin – through several Olympics, bad Spanish soap operas, drunken screenings of ET after the bar at university, the World Trade Centre bombing and my bad reality TV addiction. She never judged, she never told on me. Who was I to end a 13 year relationship? I felt like a cheating husband, trading her in for a trophy wife. Disgusted with myself, I took the new model out of the box.




The love was instant. She is so shiny and new! With such a classy, recognizable name that just rolls off the tongue...Samsung.  

My old TV is now in my closet, obliviously awaiting garbage day. Some may think me cruel to perform euthanasia.  I call it a public service. Let’s face it, I can’t live with a racist. That’s just not right.