Complete Idiot’s Guide to Smart TV

Earl Fowler

Truth be told, I’m a bit of a Luddite. If tech savvy has an antonym, I’m the antonym’s synonym.

Still have a landline telephone. I adore my 64, my Commodore 64. It’s hooked up to a dial-up modem at. a. mind. -numbing. ly. sloooooooooow. shave. and. a. haircut. two. bits. per. second. But only because the rabbit ears broke.

The two standout state-of-the-art features of my 13-year-old Chevy Cruze are a radio and a heater. I figured The Cable Guy was a documentary.

So like most people my age, I dug the world a whole lot more when television sets came with VHF/UHF tractor gear switches for shifting between the only two channels then available. That satisfying chtchtchtchtchtcht sound as one used needle-nose pliers to jiggle and jockey the dial between the two stations served as all the assurance one needed that God was in his La-Z-Boy and all was right with the world.

What I wouldn’t give today for a pull-out on-off/volume switch and hands-on horizontal and vertical control knobs to fiddle with, in increasingly frantic attempts to bring order to fluttering images of Bewitched or Green Acres or Namath upsetting Morrall and Unitas in Super Bowl III. So much more Tantric than today’s 88 buttons, 85 of which are worthless pitfalls and counterproductive stumbling blocks, on an itty-bitty remote designed for sprites, pixies and tiny Trumpian hands.

In the halcyon days of yore, if all else failed, you could give the top of the TV a resounding, open-handed smack to stop the picture from rolling. It rarely worked for more than a second or two, but the red mark left on your palm was always highly gratifying. Also woke up Gramps, who couldn’t make it through an episode of The Donna Reed Show to save his life. “Did I miss Gunsmoke again?”

If sufficiently pissed off, simply pissed to the gills (hold my beer), or both, you could work out your frustration by recklessly risking your life on the roof and bending the antenna poles, reflectors and directors beyond repair. When in doubt, twist metal. Life was simpler back when men were men and girls were girls and father knew best.

Burn meat on barbecue. Drink Blue in stubbie. Watch Gomer Pyle on RCA Victor.

Repeat.

Today, if you accidentally press one of those 88 flipping buttons with your butt while reaching for popcorn, the screen goes dark for five minutes until you can enlist a 10-year-old to sort it all out while rolling his eyes.

But the past, as they say, is a foreign country. Someone I used to know. Why she had to go, I don’t know. She wouldn’t say.

Those schoolgirl days of telling tales and biting nails are gone, but the good news is that having recently skimmed a Popular Mechanics article while waiting for the dental hygienist, I can proclaim with confidence (borne out by bitter experience we all share) that I now know at least as much as the sketchy blowhard tech-spert at Best Buy about how to install the intimidating, 85-inch behemoth that has been sitting in a box in your basement since the holiday season.

Ten essential steps to get you started:

Step 1: Unbox the Thing

1. Carefully remove the TV from its box. (Pro Tip: The box may have more features and riders than your first stereo or divorce settlement, so consider repurposing it as a futuristic home office or stress-relieving man cave.)

2. Be mindful of the fragile OLED screen with its thin layer of liquid crystals, polarizing film and transparent electrodes – it’s highly advanced, but it’s also surprisingly breakable. Handle it like you’re assembling IKEA furniture with a butter knife. Which always works better than those confounded Allen keys anyway. Feel it in your fingers. Feel it in your toes.

3. Before proceeding further, now would be a good time to book free transportation from your motel to the courthouse and back to the motel, via the chapel. Your house is likely to be uninhabitable for months after the electrical fire, and litigation with the implacable insurance company is bound to be a bitch these days.

Step 2: Connect the Power Cord

1. Plug the included power cord into the aft end of the TV. (Note: The “aft” is any side of the device that doesn’t face you, and can be found only by rotating the TV like a Rubik’s cube. Some models may refer to the aft side as the stern — consult the specs written exclusively in nanoscopic Mandarin — but it is crucial that you not confuse the stern with the port or the starboard. Otherwise, you’ll have to knock a hole in the wall to see the screen from a perch in your bathroom while sitting midship, as it were. Mind you, this is not entirely a bad thing if you’re an Able Bodied Seaman who enjoys Fox News.)

2. Make sure your power outlet is near the TV. But not too near. The cord is only 18 inches long and last time it took five minutes to untangle Uncle Bob from the five-foot extension you hadn’t taken into account (not included).

3. Press the power button. If the TV doesn’t turn on immediately, check to see whether it’s plugged into the outlet. Because that’s still a thing. While waiting for a signal, which could take a while, ask yourself: Could it be you just don’t try or is it the clothes you wear? Don an Indian headband. Maybe shoot a little meth just to get the juices flowing. (Pro tip: There might be some left-over crystal powder on the carpet if you accidentally bent the TV screen with the butter knife. After it cools down from quick deployment on stove burner, conceal knife under Eaton’s catalogue in closet. Spend a few seconds fondly chuckling over how Mom used to wonder what was happening to the silverware.)

   
   

Step 3: Initiate the Wi-Fi Setup

1. Navigate to the Wi-Fi settings menu using the remote control. Warning: You will need to enter your Wi-Fi password manually. Yes, we’re still doing this in the year 2025.

2. Choose your Wi-Fi network, and then enter the password. Strain to remember that password you wrote down on a sticky note three years ago. Didn’t it have something to do with a former contract starlet for Howard Hughes? (Pro tip: Did you know that Hughes used to pay a barber to be on standby 24/7 in case he decided he needed a haircut at 3 a.m.? He was kind of the Elon Musk of his time, except for being good looking, famously private and preferring grown women to that girl in Grade 7. Is it just me or did the filthy rich seem smarter when they didn’t keep telling us whatever fool drivel they were thinking while high?)

3. If your Wi-Fi isn’t working, reboot the router. Call it a modem because nobody will know the difference. Do not call it a doohickey or a floppy disc or a “byte me” because at that point, the wife and kids will realize you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing, which is why the digital clock in the Cruze still blinks 12:00 and the radio settings are all tuned to Casey Kasem’s top 40 countdown. If rebooting (two light kicks and some mild blasphemy are usually all it takes) doesn’t work, unplug the router, untangle Uncle Bob, turn off the TV and go outside. You might discover the Wi-Fi works better there. You might not. Either way, keep on going and never look back. Remember Lot’s wife. (Pro tip: Trees, swaying in the summer breeze, showing off their summer leaves, as you walk by.)

Step 4: The Remote Control

1. As mentioned, the remote control has been mysteriously studded with 88 buttons, none of which are clearly labelled but as many as four of which make perfect sense to anyone schooled in chanted sutras, Sumerian cuneiform and Ginsbergian finger cymbals.

2. Assuming it still resembles the ancient Olmec stone-block symbol for the feathered maize deity, press the “Home” button to begin your quest to navigate the TV’s menu system. This will require an advanced degree in information architecture before proceeding further. Or another trip to the pharmacy (see below).

3. Screw that. Try standing on one leg, clucking like a chicken and repeatedly pressing the big red button on top. It must do something. (Pro tip: Casually duck under the dining room table if you suddenly hear air raid sirens. If space is limited, don’t mention to the others what you’re doing. Pretend to be looking for a dropped grape.)

   
   

Step 5: Sign in to Your Streaming Accounts

1. Enter your multiple streaming platform passwords one by one, making sure not to mistype anything. You might be a touch typist, but don’t you dare fat-finger that Hulu password or it’ll be back to flint-snapping stone tools for the next two million years.

2. You’ll be prompted to connect all your streaming accounts, apps, and social media profiles wherever you get your podcasts. Like you ever listen to podcasts. Do you really need to connect TikTok to your TV? No, but if you don’t, you’re way less likely to see celebrities bare their nipples. The book-of-the-month club might be more your speed, Grandma. What are you even doing here?

3. Once logged in, explore a sea of options requiring you to spend 15 minutes scrolling to find something that seems worth spending 15 minutes watching. Sorry, your 15 minutes is up. (Pro tip: Return to the pharmacy, this time to pick up that pressing prescription for Nembutal. Five minutes after putting the lime in the coconut and drinking it all down, start to wonder whether the Hulus were formerly known as Zulus. What would a chair look like if knees bent the other way? Is it possible that space itself is an amniotic fluid?)

   
   

Step 6: Adjust Your Settings (Because Why Not)

1. Now that you’re connected to the Internet, it’s time to adjust settings. Take your shoes off and remove one sock. Use Q-tip to remove residual belly button lint and store it in a glass phial. Go to Picture Mode and select “Vivid” to render TV more colourful than an epileptic fit triggered by an acid flashback during the clarinet crescendo in Rhapsody in Blue at a convention of synesthetes. It will revert to “Store Setting” anyway the next time you watch Columbo.

2. Adjust the sound settings to your liking, or just do what everyone else does and leave it on “Auto,” which will automatically change settings based on Japanese temple gongs and make everything sound slightly muffled. Or maybe you’re just getting old.

3. Consider turning on “AI-enhanced brightness” to adjust the screen to the touch of a velvet hand like a lizard on a windowpane. Come to the stark realization that the separate and alienated ego is an illusion distracting us from knowing that there is no self other than the unbearable brightness of Being. (Pro tip: Look around slowly, Tonto, and notice that you are the only person in the room wearing an Indian headband.)

   
   

Step 7: Like The Dark Lady, The TV Knows You Better Than You Know Yourself

1. Your TV can now track your viewing habits. Congratulations, it’s your new digital stalker! Expect recommendations based on the data it gathers from watching you struggle through endless lists of titles.

2. It will also start sending you notifications of things a random Beijing algorithm thinks you’d like to endure, even though you know for a fact you’d never watch a romantic comedy to ... golly, that joke about Meat Loaf’s breasts always slays you.

3. Pop-up ads will appear for items you watched for four seconds or less. Be ready for a flood of sponsored content featuring products you didn’t even know existed but now desperately need. You’ll never find the mute button in time as you try to keep your 88 straight. (Pro tip: HARE KRISHNA. HARE KRISHNA. KRISHNA KRISHNA. HARE HARE.)

Step 8: Never Watch Cable Again

1. The Smart TV will now completely ignore any cable connection you have, reminding you repeatedly that cord-cutting is the only way to live, even though you haven’t figured out how to cancel your cable subscription and will continue to pay monthly for the rest of your natural born days.

2. It will also constantly prompt you to download new apps to “enhance” your experience, such as “Next-Gen Reality App” or “Mind-Control Search Function.” You’ll never open these apps, but your TV will act as if your entire world depends on it.

3. In fact, your entire world does depend on it. Resistance is futile. Next time, don’t click the “yes to mind control” box just to get to Netflix faster. (Pro tip: We are the Borg. Lower your shields and surrender your ships. We will add biological and technological distinctiveness to your own. Your culture will adapt to service us. And next time, doofus, more butter on the popcorn.)

   
   

Step 9: Embrace the Endless Updates

1. Occasionally, your TV will ask to update itself. There is no avoiding this, as it will occur whether you want it to or not. Kind of like Fran Dresher’s voice on The Nanny. (Pro tip: No milk today. Your love has gone away. Three days ago while you were focused on this idiotic project.)

2. These updates will include exciting new features such as “Mysterious Unsolicited Apps” and “What’s This Button Do?” You’ll never use them but they will appear every few days until you give in and surrender more privacy. Throw a Coca-Cola bottle out the car window when no one is looking. Oops. That act of wanton individualism was anticipated and entirely predictable from your profile. They were looking and the proper authorities have been notified.

3. Remember when being human was also a thing? Close your eyes and imagine Jefferson Airplane playing “White Rabbit” during a Human Be-In at Golden Gate Park in 1967. (Pro tip: The ones that mother gives you don’t do anything at all.)

Step 10: Admire Your New Smart TV

1. Finally, sit back, relax, and tell yourself you’re watching something amazing. Ignore the glitches, random reboots and cumbersome Borg helmet and face coverings.

2. Watch a documentary on The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. Quickly run out of character ethic and switch to The Golden Girls. That Blanche Devereaux. What a slut. Did you know she had six husbands in real life?

3. Real life? What a waste of time. I like to watch. (Pro tip: As long as the roots are not severed, all is well. And all will be well in the garden.)