I’m crushed that the Blockbuster is closing.
Going to Blockbuster was pleasure shopping for me. I could read the boxes and peruse the new releases and chat with the film-savvy clerks about what was good and what was just body counts and explosions. It was great.
In this new hands-off era, though, I had to knuckle down and figure out how to hook our home up with Netflix, the on-line service that delivers movies to your TV through the Interwebs. That part took me a couple of days because it kept asking for a password which I didn’t have and had never set and I couldn’t figure out if this was for Netflix, the DVD player, the router or the TV (it was all very complicated), and finally I just got angry and started punching in random numbers and lucked onto it. I’m not kidding. I guessed a four-digit password. Why can’t that happen when I’m playing the lottery?
The strangest part was when I got into my brand new Netflix account and found a bunch of recommended movies in “My List” that I’d never heard of. Smut and Westerns, primarily, which are definitely not my cup of tea.
Only after I’d deleted all those titles and spent almost two hours replacing them with movies I want to see — cute romantic comedies, heart-warming kid flicks, science fiction thrillers, and smart independent films — did I realize that the DVD player thought I was “William” and this wasn’t my Netflix account, it was someone else’s.
In my defense, I bought the DVD player brand new from Walmart, so it wasn’t my fault that Netflix thought I was William when I used it to sign in. Yes, I should have been quicker to pick up on how screwy the list was and that it referred to me as “William.” But being new to this, I didn’t know what it should look like.
I only feel a little guilty about this misunderstanding because, really, will it kill the guy to watch something worthwhile for a change?
Sorry William, I’ll get it reset this weekend and you can go in and rebuild your list to your smutty, Westerny liking. In the meantime you might want to watch that one movie in “our” list about the kid who finds salvation playing some obscure sport. Squash? Field hockey? Curling?
It looks adorable.
Janet Jacobs is City Editor of the Daily Sun. Her column appears on Saturdays. She may be reached by email at email@example.com. Want to “Soundoff” to this column? Email: firstname.lastname@example.org
I’m crushed that the Blockbuster is closing.
Some stories I’ve heard
Sometimes, stories come to me second- or third-hand, but they stick with me and I just need to share them.
‘Yeah, but ...’
“I’ve got good news, and bad news.”
It’s a time-honored phrase that boiled down to it’s simplest terms is really explained best in only two words — “Yeah, but ...”
Let’s hear it for butterflies
Let’s face it. When national leaders agree to attend summit meetings, we don’t expect many tangible and/or desirable results.
If I have said it once, I have said it a hundred times — I hate computers! I don’t want anything to do with cell phones with their myriads of applications. I don’t want anything to do with “blogging,” “tweeting,” “friending,” and “liking.”
Often, you start off your Monday with some semblance of an idea what the day and week will hold. Although working in a newsroom will teach you one thing: you don’t have control over anything.
There is nothing gradual about spring in Texas.
It’s Round-Up Time in Texas
For the longest time, “round-up time in Texas” meant “headin’ up and movin’ out” cattle. Cowboys atop horses undertook the massive undertaking.
Our new neighbor
Our house sits almost in the bottom center of a horseshoe of new homes which all back up on a man-made lagoon. Ours is one of the few homes that does not have an extended screened-in lanai but we are perfectly satisfied with the standard one
Smoker no more
So, I quit smoking.
Of course, just admitting that I once smoked is almost sinful in this day and age, akin to admitting I used to sell heroin to orphans, but it’s different now than it was when I started.
Read a book
No secret here, I was one of those odd children who would rather stay in her room reading books than play outside.
Fortunately, little Nancy (the madre) limited our television watching, and video games included nothing but Pong on Atari at that time, so once you were done with your alloted 30 minutes of television viewing for the day, you were on your own.
- More Opinion Headlines
- Some stories I’ve heard