Jon de Vos: When wires cross
Winter Park, CO Colorado
Google has just buddied up with Verizon to examine tiered internet service. They envision a wired Internet Classic, pretty much what we have today, but if you are surfing with a wireless device like a Droid or an iPhone you would get Internet Lite. In other words, the new company, call it Veroogle or maybe Gooizon, could mess with the content of the internet before sending it onto their subscribers.
Some folks are growing excited that this violates net neutrality, the concept that internet users and providers place no restrictions on content, sites, platforms, equipment and modes of communication.
I’m all in favor of wireless everything. It would ease things around the house because I have lower standards than my wife.
For instance, if I have something on the east side of the living room that needs to be plugged into something on the west side of the living room, I’m fine with draping the wires across the floor and living that way until the Second Coming. My wife won’t live that way long enough for me to sit down.
There is no such thing as “wireless technology.” Some digital devices are able to take halting steps away from the Mother ship but return nightly like a vampire plugging into the wall charger. Cordless phones are anything but, after you plug in those sadistic transformers that cover all the other outlets. Add answering machines and Blu-ray, Wii consoles and music players, TV’s and all their combined wires whip into dread locks the moment your back is turned.
At my wife’s behest, okay, she prodded me with a sharp stick until I got off the sofa and added a much-needed phone outlet. I looked at it, satisfied at a job well done. My wife looked at it and said, “It looks a little high.” Soon enough, the new expensive cabinet glistened in the corner with about a foot of a gray wire dangling from the new outlet above it.
“Well done!” I congratulated myself and flopped back onto the sofa. Couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes later, and I awoke with a start to find her standing between the sofa and the television, completely blocking my view. She was blathering incoherently about moving the phone jack. “Move that phone jack? But . . . but, that’s impossible. Even Spiderman couldn’t move that phone jack. Let’s just put some bricks under the cabinet.
She stared back. The temperature in the room dropped fifteen degrees as she replied slowly, “But you have so many tools out there in the garage. I know you do. I trip over them all the time. Surely they must do something. Perhaps one of them is for moving phone jacks. Not only that, I’ll make your life miserable until you do. Book clubs happens in two weeks and it has to be done by then. Oh, and be sure to hide the wires.” Well, of course I can move the phone outlet, but the far better question is am I willing to forsake my place on the couch to do so?
I tried a low, inside pitch, “Book club, again? If they don’t want to look at the wires, can’t they just stay in the kitchen? Ow! Ow! Ow! Stop that! All right, I’ll do it.”
I began to gather tools for the task and made the obligatory trip to the hardware store. The journey of a thousand home chores always starts with a trip to the hardware store.
I spend a lot of time there on Saturdays with other husbands.
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