Last week, the lease ran out on my spacious, hell-hole of a house, and I was forced to vacate the property. After I had moved all my posters, 8x10s, television sets, and my bed, I stood inside the now empty interior and fondly recalled all the debaucherous activities that had taken place there. I laughed at the four separate holes in the wall. I examined the copious burn marks on the carpet, and I said a little prayer for the poor bastard who was assigned to fix our multiple-fork clogged garbage disposal. It truly marked the end of a care-free, slutty time in my life. However, this moment of closing chapters and new beginnings wasn't the saddest part. Not by a long shot. The realization that I was losing my DVR box was the most horrifying part.
That lovable bastard knew everything about me. Sure, it occasionally screwed me over by taking a nap instead of taping 'Top Chef', but it runs like twenty-six times a week. That's a forgivable offense. I take back all of the horrible things I said about that son of a bitch. It knew all of my favorite shows. I didn't even need to tell it to record 'City Confidential' or 'Grey's Anatomy.' It just inherently knew!
I also had like thirty hours of saved programming that I never wanted to delete. From the 'Saturday Night Live' episode where Darrell Hammond dressed up as Donald Trump, dressed up as a slice of cheeseburger pizza to a ten minute clip of some douche bag kid making the worst guess in the history of 'Get The Picture.' That microchipped rhombus had it all. Now, it's all gone. Gone forever.
"Don't worry, Mack. You'll get a new one," my counselor has been saying. But it just won't be the same. I have to wait until the twelfth to move in, and once I do, it'll take at least a year to train this fill-in on all my obscure viewing habits. This new and sad imitation will have no idea that I like to watch 'Cold Case Files' but only if it's a particularly gruesome episode. It has no clue that I like watching 'Family Double Dare' but absolutely loathe 'Global Guts' even though I like Mike O'Malley. Goddammit!
I'm sitting in my parent's house right now staring at their two separate Tivos, and all I can feel is rampant jealousy. My parents, just like most of you reading at home, don't have to feel the shame and stigma associated with having a complete dearth of Tivos. I do. I can no longer watch 'Maury' at two o'clock in the morning, and I can no longer order Jerry Springer Uncensored for no damn reason at all. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers. It's going to be a rough few weeks.
