Last fall, Cornfield Electronics came out with what they felt was an innovative and necessary invention, the TV-B-Gone. Print and television media from across the country, from The Weekly Standard to the New York Times to the CBS Evening News, discussed the brilliance of this miniature one-button universal remote. I think all of it is a load of crap.
To those unfamiliar with the most overpriced amalgam of plastic and electronics since the Tamogatchi, the TV-B-Gone is a trapezoidal device, about the size of one's palm, which with the push of a button, will turn off "virtually any television." That's right, for the low, low price of $14.99, consumers from across the nation can enjoy a television-free world.
The genesis of the TV-B-Gone came out of Cornfield Electronics' idea that, and I quote from tvbgone.com, "rarely is technology used for anything useful." I won't even attempt to debate the merits of that argument; the thought that the vast majority of technological innovations are not "useful" is ludicrous. It's this lofty, holier-than-thou attitude toward the modern age, television especially, that strikes at the heart of my dislike for the TV-B-Gone
From what I've read on the product's website, the invention - from the Luddite-inspired brain of Mitch Altman - is designed for use in doctor's offices, bars or laundromats. All are places where televisions are in use to entertain idle visitors. Yet Altman, and those who choose to purchase his product, do not want to be entertained by the idiot box. Instead of asking the proprietor of the institution (the secretary, the bartender, the Laundromat owner,) TV-B-Gone owners simply press their magic button and any television within a few yards should shut off.
I understand that some people don't like television, and don't want to be bombarded by melodramatic soap operas or contrived talk shows while they sit in a stuffy doctor's office. But the presupposition that any one person's choice of entertainment is more important than anyone else's bothers me. Sure, maybe no one will throw a fit if the television screen is dark and only shows a blurred reflection. But perhaps someone really wanted to find out if the kid on "Dr. Phil" exhibited nine of the ten characteristics of a serial killer.
Using the TV-B-Gone evokes a similar, albeit less severe, reaction to the Parents Television Council trying to banish "indecent" programming off the airwaves. Both involve imposing one person's definition of entertainment on a larger audience. At least the PTC is loud and proud about their hatred for modern television.
TV-B-Gone users exhibit the snooty, self-absorbed personality that seems all too common in today's culture. One invention rapidly increasing in popularity blocks all cell phones from operating within a close proximity of the device. Another simple plastic creation, the KneeDefender, prevents passengers on an airplane from reclining their seat at the expense of the leg room of the person behind them.
All of these have the implicit message of, "I want my privacy, but I'm too much of a chicken to tell you so." And I think that is what bothers me the most about the TV-B-Gone, not the fact that some people don't want to watch television; I get that, and I wish I had their will power.
It would be so simple to ask the bartender or the fellow patrons in the laundromat to turn off the television. It hurts no one to ask the cell phone chatter in Starbucks to take his conversation outside. Request that the flier in front of you, who probably paid just as much for his plane ticket, not recline his seat. Yes, it is easier to just use your simple machine and hide behind the blanket of anonymity, but in reality it is cowardly and anti-social.
Indeed, the whole concept behind the invention is its secrecy. "Aha!" says the TV-B-Gone user. "The television is off, and you should be thanking me that your lives are free from the evil cathode ray tube!" People may use it so they can read their magazine in silence, but they're lying if they don't admit to a small ego trip when they press that little black button.
Lastly, the TV-B-Gone reminded me of a prank my middle-school friend Greg Wyatt pulled back in Mrs. Cuff's sixth-grade English class. We had a substitute teacher that day and were engaging in the time-honored activity of substitute teaching-watching a boring video. Greg had one of those watches that had technology similar to that of TV-B-Gone; it could operate a television. On a couple occasions, Greg turned the power off of the television, much to the frustration of the confused sub. After she sent a couple of quick evil-eyes in our direction, Greg discontinued the trickery out of fear.
But it brought me to thinking that if grade-school kids anywhere ever got a hold of the power of the palm-sized TV-B-Gone, the device would eventually join the "banned objects" list filled with relics of the past, including of course, the Tamogatchi.
Brian Wolly is a senior majoring in history. He can be reached via e-mail at brian.wolly@tufts.edu.
