There is a new high-definition TV in the apartment directly across the street from mine. I can see the hundreds of thousands of pixels from my bedroom. From my bed.
I watched more Olympic events on that television than on my own. From across the street, it was easy to see aerial shots of the pool. When country names and flags were super-imposed over the top three lanes, I could even make out the one that said USA. The display on this TV set is bright. I wonder how big the screen is.
Last night, I watched Michelle Obama speak at the Democratic National Convention. I couldn’t hear a word, but visually, it was an interesting perspective. I could see her smile. I could see “One Nation” banners fluttering in the audience. I could see the crowd respond to Michelle at specific moments. I could see her daughters come out on the stage followed by their father, via satellite. When the woman who lives in the apartment got up and walked past the TV, I automatically dodged her moving silhouette as if she were blocking my view at a live event.
Right now, the cameras are focused on Bill Clinton in the audience. Is it just me, or are his ears very red?
I think of the HD-woman as Bea. All last summer, I saw her sit with her elbows up on the windowsill, looking down at the street. As it got warmer out this spring, I anticipated the day she would start to open her living room windows again, thinking that I would mark summer’s arrival that way.
Now I’m marking bedtime by Bea’s television. If I glance across the street around 1AM and her apartment has gone dark, I know it’s definitely time for my lights out, too.
Leave a Reply