Bear v. Shark Read Free Page B

scissors or a knife.
    Mr. Norman checks the Internet for the weather. He wants to check the weather on the Television, too. He asks Matthew to turn the Television to the weather network.
    Matthew sighs and says, “Which one?”
    Mr. Norman says, “The one on the staircase.”
    Matthew says, “Not which Television, which weather network?”
    Mr. Norman says, “How many are there?”
    Matthew scowls. It’s a difficult age. Or maybe something is wrong with him. Or maybe this is just normal. He says, “There’s the Weather Network and there’s Weather Network Plus and there’s Extreme Weather.”
    Mrs. Norman is sitting right-angled in the kitchen Net Nook, printing a course map and checking the weather on the Internet. She says, “There’s also Weather Europe.”
    Mr. Norman says, “What’s the difference?”
    Matthew says, “Weather Europe is not a part of our cable package.”
    Curtis appears downstairs with a briefcase.
    Mrs. Norman says, “Cable package.”
    Mr. Norman says, “Just put it on the Weather Network.”
    Matthew says, “I’ve said it so many times and I’ll say it again. The Weather Network Plus is better.”
    Mr. Norman says, “Why is it better?”
    Matthew says, “What it is is more up-to-the-minute and complete.”
    Mr. Norman says, “More complete than twenty-four hours a day?”
    Matthew says, “It has more weather.”
    Mrs. Norman says, “I wonder why they even have the Weather Network anymore.”
    Curtis says, “Extreme Weather has this thing where they show you the weather from the weather’s perspective. It looks awesome.”
    Mr. Norman says, “Put it on Weather Network Plus.”
    Matthew says, “I have no idea what channel that is.”
    Mrs. Norman (in the Net Nook) says, “Just a sec, I’ll check our local cable listings for details.”

12
The Old Televisions, Part II
    The point being: Watching Television used to be a distinct and bounded activity, like bowling or extreme virtual snowboarding. You were not doing it and then you were doing it. Likewise, you were doing it and then you were not doing it. On, off. Off, on. 0, 1. Binary: simple, discrete, delineated. You turned it on to watch and you turned it off when you were finished. When you were finished, you turned it off. Seems so strange now. That one-inch heavy plastic border around the screen, everyone thought it was a nonpermeable membrane. It would have been silly to suggest otherwise. But here’s the thing: as the images on the screen kept getting brighter, sharper, clearer, the Television Set’s plastic border kept getting fuzzier, blurrier, more ill-defined. The spilled images shimmered and danced in American parlors. Television became, gradually, nondiscrete. Watching Television became, gradually, nonbinary. TV got tangled up in our lives, and there was no untangling. Our lives, which are on continuously (until they are off). You don’t turn a life on and off, off and on, on and off. Likewise with a TV, which is bound to life inseparably, inextricably. You wouldn’t (and couldn’t) turn it off even if you could. And you can’t — because there is no off switch, because the Televisions are built into the walls of homes, because they are in stores and restaurants, mounted in the corners above your booth, spilling pixels into your porridge. And most of all, because they are there (and on) even when they are not there. Did you ever see that one episode of
American Nightmare
where the insane guy wants to turn off his Television? And there’s no off switch and there’s no cord to pull out? And he’s going crazy, running around, screaming? It’s spooky, kind of, but it’s also hilarious. He’s running around with this wild look and finally he gets a gun and he stands in front of the big screen and he fires a shot right into it. And we’re at floor level looking up at the screen — the crazy guy’s screen — and we see it like explode and we hear something fall to the ground and then we see the crazy