Uncle Nunzio is not into compact discs. To him, CD means "certificate of deposit." Rumor has it he even has his christening money in a high-yield, long-term CD. Uncle hasn’t even discovered 8-tracks yet, which is good because I have a bunch of Sinatra 8-tracks I might be able to palm off on him.
Uncle lives in a world where the answering machine has not yet been invented, let alone voice mail. When he read my rant about computers a few weeks ago, he said, "You’re finally coming around to my way of thinking." "No way," I asserted, "I’m a modern man."
Uncle seems very comfortable with his lifestyle where an iPod might be something you find in a frog pond. The telephone has always been his mortal enemy so I don’t think the new iPhone would have any appeal. He gets frustrated with the phone company, even though there isn’t just one phone company anymore. He calls information and doesn’t realize he’s gotten a recording. The conversation goes something like this:
The operator: "City and state, please."
Uncle Nunzi: "Wildwood, New Jersey."
The operator: "That’s Phoenix, Arizona, right?"
Uncle Nunzi: "Who knows anybody in Phoenix … I want Wildwood, New Jersey."
The operator: "OK, do you want a listing for a business, private residence or the NASA Space Station?"
Uncle Nunzi: "A business."
The operator: "Business, is that correct?"
Uncle Nunzi (growing impatient): "Yes."
The operator: "Please state the name of the business."
Uncle Nunzi: "Urie’s Fish Fry."
The operator: "That’s the Velvet Touch Massage Parlor, right?"
Uncle Nunzi (contemplating, for only a fleeting moment, whether he might want the number of the massage parlor): "I want Urie’s Fish Fry."
The operator: "That’s the Venezuelan Consulate, right?"
Uncle Nunzi: "What’s the matter, you don’t speak English?"
He slams the phone down.
Uncle is very happy watching his 17-inch color TV. He doesn’t have cable. He is usually content watching channels three, six, 10 or 12. Only occasionally does he venture to UHF and just to watch a ballgame.
We, his family, don’t understand. We consider ourselves "modern" and wouldn’t be caught dead behind the times. We crave large, soaring TV screens with high definition, the wires hanging like spaghetti from the back of the set. When the guys I pal around with talk about size these days, they’re talking about the size of their TV screens. If you don’t have at least 42 inches, you’re nowhere man, back in the Stone Age. Size really does matter in our world. Guys would move their wife and kids out of their house so they could find room for a new gargantuan TV on which to see Donovan McNabb upchuck in the final minutes of a big game or a Phillies reliever blow one to the Mets. There’s not a TV screen big enough to capture that kind of uniquely Philadelphia excitement.
Uncle is unmoved by surround sound that makes you feel as if you just wandered on to a NASCAR track. He doesn’t worry about his On Demand conking out. He never has to spend 45 minutes on the phone waiting for a real human being to answer the phone at his cable company. He doesn’t have to choose between a satellite dish and cable, and then worry about whether he made the right move. He doesn’t get all the out-of-market games, but then he doesn’t bet on all the out-of-market games, either. And he doesn’t get a monthly cable bill that equals his mortgage. Yet, we feel sorry for Uncle. We know what’s best for him.
The family agreed. We have to get Uncle some modern conveniences so he can enjoy life just like us. We can’t allow him to live in the past. It took a lot of effort 15 years ago, but we finally got him to give up his three-way, Admiral-Combination, black-and-white TV (one of us stole a tube out of the back and told him the old television had finally died on him).
Uncle put up a vigorous fight. He wanted to know what to do with the perfectly good TV antenna on his roof if he got cable. But you won’t need an outdoor antenna when you get cable, we tried to tell him. We thought we sold him on the idea he could get all of his favorite old movies without commercials on Turner Classics.
"I get the same movies on Channel 12 every Saturday night with no commercials," he said.
"But the pixels, the ambient lighting, the contrast ratio, the high resolution," we all shouted.
"And don’t forget the Bose speakers," I screamed.
That’s when he threw us out.
