I need a new television set. Actually I do not need one, but I want a new one. Currently I still have got a widescreen ↑cathode ray tube (CRT) machine, which is great, but I want a way larger screen. Some eight—or is it twelve?—years ago all of my dear friends and acquaintances watched the whole soccer world championships at my home. For a long time I thought this was because of my charismatic persona and tremendous sociability. Until last week one of them parasites explained:
 
    “Well, you definitely had the largest television screen.”
 
    And I want a way flatter device. Flatness, when it comes down to hardware, is something I truly dig. That also was the quintessential reason why—despite of ↵cellular inconveniences I bought the cell I bought, and, by ↵seemingly flexing tension, ↵appropriated it—culturally, that is.
 
    Anyway, the problem with buying electronic hardware today is that you have to go through doing some kind of dissertation before you can decide. For every codswallop there is a range of technologies and sub-technologies at hand, the market is tremendously bloated, and the companies’ marketing geniusses are not willing to furnish the crucial information in a comprehensive manner. So I set out on my journey into televisal occult knowledge.
 
    The only thing I knew at the beginning was, that another CRT is out of the question, because size matters. The width of CRTs is to small, the depth to large. So a ↑plasma screen or ↑liquid crystal display (LCD) will be the thing. The Web literally holds a ton of sites on plasma- and LCD-televisions. Of course the already mentioned marketing geniusses have driven their tentacles deep down in there. Google stops to be your friend here. But mercifully Wikipedia still is your friend in terms of current technology.
 
    Equipped with my newly acquired knowledge I first stalked the websites of the brand name manufacturers, and then, in the evening, went downtown to see the real thing. Mind, rule one is: Choose a brand name device, because there is an unmanageable heap of junk on the market. Rule two dictates to haunt a showroom and compare the screens side by side, preferrably while running the same program. And so I did.
 
    What I found is that the picture of the plasma ones is less “brillant”, meaning it lacks contrast and seems a bit “dull”, like there was a sleight veil of gauze overlayed. But then again, you do not know how long the device already is on the shelve, and—most important—the shop’s staff obviously is not at all able to achieve the correct settings. In fact I think that they do not try at all, because in my opinion it is just an impossibility if on a display of about two dozen screens, all sized 40” widescreen or well above, there was not a single one showing the whole picture. On every device parts of the picture at the left and the right were clipped of. That was easy to discover, as they were tuned to the Discovery Channell’s high-definition demonstration. But that you had to guess, as from the logo at the top left only “overy Channell” was visible. Alas, leaping leopards and macroscopical views of ants helped to identify the program.
 
    Good gracious, people, do you want to sell those television sets, or not? You’ve got hardware on display worth some several thousands of Euros, and you are not able to make it demonstrate its abilities. That’s not a business environment where I am willing to whip out the credit card, believe me.
 
    Finally I asked one of the shop clerks if he could adjust one of the machines, at least to the correct picture format. I did not even dare to mention the likes of tint or colour temperature.
 
    “What do you mean?” he asked back.
 
    “I mean,” I said, “that I am hardly going to buy a television set, if I do not know if it’s able to display the complete picture.”
 
    Fair enough, ain’t it?
 
    “Oh, that. Honestly, I don’t know how to adjust them sets.”
 
    Well, there is always the possibility of unwilling clerks, because from your looks and clothes they may deduce that you in fact are not able to buy certain items, financially speaking. But yesterday, having just returned from a funeral, I sported my best black suit and tie, therefore lived quite up to the looks of a subject distinguished enough to carry a credit card of the required weight. Now the accountants of that particular shop never will know the truth about my liquidity. If only I knew myself if the latter still is floating like plasma or has cristallized to absolute standstill.