High atop a tall pine tree at my house is a weird radar-looking thingy. My home’s former owners were pilots, so perhaps it’s a short-wave radio thingy. Or maybe a weather thingy. About the only thing I know for sure about it is that it’s definitely a thingy.
There are also wires running all through my house, mostly cable wires. The previous owners apparently watched a lot of TV — I mean the kind of folks who watch the 4 p.m. and 5 p.m. “Maury” broadcasts. They knew all about some paternity tests.
And then there are smaller wires, perhaps for that primitive device our ancestors called a “telephone.” It was like a cell phone stuck to your wall. If you wanted to drive while talking on the phone back then, you couldn’t drive far at all … maybe to the den.
Speaking of the den, there’s a thingy in there, too. And it blinks every now and then. Perhaps it’s an alarm system. I’m sure I’ll set it off and get roughed up by the sheriff someday.
I’d yank out all of these thingies, but I’m scared all those wires might be holding the house together. It is over 75 years old, after all.
Besides, I’ve got a new theory about all the thingies and wires around the house.
It used to be that we’re being spied on by the Chinese. And that they were pretty mad about my cursing the Chinese for all the junk they ship over here for me to assemble.
“INSERT BOLT 4F INTO WINGNUT G AND DO THE HOKEY POKEY?!WHAT?!”
But, now, I’m pretty sure that we are living in a reality show. No, not one of those where people exacerbate their personalities for the camera or where guys vie for a woman, while letting other guys take her for a test drive. That’s realistic!
I mean a reality show more like “The Truman Show,” where the participants don’t know they’re on a reality show. Well, at least, not until I figured this thing out.
And, let me tell you, I’ve got connections in the reality TV world. The first guy who ever won “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?” graduated from my alma mater. And the girl who just won Bravo’s “The Fashion Show” last week, Anna McCraney, is the daughter of a lady from my hometown.
I didn’t say we made a good reality show, because we’re pretty boring even as boring folks go. But I just found out we’re the top-rated show in Uzbekistan. (“Maury” was No. 2; there was no No. 3.)
I guess the hidden cameras in the kitchen have made my wife a cooking star if Uzbekistanis are impressed by such instructions as “press the ‘popcorn’ button.” Perhaps I’m their equivalent of the crocodile hunter, only instead of poking around at snakes, I’m giving them a hard lesson in lawnmower safety.
But I’m sure what puts it over the top is the bedroom cam — yes, comedy hour. The nightly routine where I come into the room, stump my toe on the floor fan, bump my head on the closet door and then kiss my wife’s foot goodnight before realizing she’s turned the wrong dang way on the bed has become a classic bit.
ContactChris Johnsonat firstname.lastname@example.org or 706-320-4403.