Curse You, DVR

If there is one thing I would change about my family it is their ownership of DVR. If my weary eyes didn't deceive me, my family had something like 90 different programs DVR'd. Really, this is my mother and brother. My father's primary relationship with DVR seems to be asking others to stop recording things so he can watch a program in the other room.

For my mother, the DVR is the modern equivalent of sending newspaper clippings. Every moment of pop-culture advice over the past six months that in any way suggests to my mother something about me has been saved for my pained perusal. For my brother, it's a means of making sure that every inane thought that passes through his head gets heard in real time. We used to get to wait for commercials, when we at least could prepare by going for a drink. But not anymore: just getting into something when a flash of something red moves in the background? Pause that puppy and launch into a sermon about a that one time at camp some guy I never met said something factual about frogs.

You know how I know the DVR is evil? On December 26th, my mother and brother - denied their Christmas madness by my sadness - could contain it no more, and sat down to watch....Santa Tracker.

As I retreated to my hideaway, I asked "We are all over the age of 25, right?" There was no response. I didn't have the remote.