J and I (and most of the folk here in Philadelphia) are Comcast's bitches. For serious. They are at one moment an evil, malignant cable empire (Sorry, we didn't have any service scheduled for this morning, Ms. HomeValley); the next, a benevolent God of digital recordings.
Internet, we have DVR.
And it is very, very good.
First, let me tell you that our local Comcast office is in a "questionable" part of town. When J and I went to pick up my cable Internet mechanism thingie recently, I told J to wait in the car; I'd just pop in and grab the goods.
"Yeah, right," he rolls his eyes while parking. "You are not going in there alone."
"Oh God! I will be fine," I say, exasperated. "Sometimes, J! I swear."
Five minutes later, our yuppie asses stand rigid in the goddamned line, at the center of a brawl that at once escalates into screaming, pushing, and shouting outside.
"This doesn't exactly bode well for my argument," I concede through clenched teeth.
J wonders how he will shroud me from imminent gunfire. (He didn't wonder that aloud, guys. He told me that later.)
When J remembered that Lost's timeslot was changed from 9 PM to 10 PM, and thus WE MUST HAVE DVR THIS INSTANT, he apparently had no problem with me going into the depths alone.
I'm just saying.
I survived, and the DVR, she is glorious.
Smart television watching! We are no longer the networks' pawns! We fast-forward through commercials (except Geico ads, of course, because those fucking caveman...)!
This morning, I DVRed Dawson's Creek on TBS.
Please don't judge me.