About six weeks ago I began a significant new relationship. Granted, it's with an inanimate object, but that isn't unusual among those of us who make careers out of watching television.
It's called TiVo, and if having it around has yet to utterly change my life in wondrous and mysterious ways, as some would suggest, our brief time together has gone a long way toward demonstrating what marvels technology can--and cannot--accomplish in allowing viewers to harness and control the world of television.
At the very least, the advancement known as "personal television" represents another major shift in TV's balance of power, putting people at home in charge when it comes to setting their viewing schedules.
Becoming acclimated to TiVo has taken a bit of time. There has been the customary getting-to-know-you period, exacerbated by the fact that I am essentially a technophobe and TiVo is a little black box filled with sophisticated hardware I don't even pretend to understand.
Before going any further, perhaps a formal introduction is in order. Known as a personal video recorder, and about the size of a VCR, TiVo costs $499 or $999, depending on capacity, plus a subscription fee. Its principal competitor is ReplayTV, though TiVo is personified by a cute if meaningless corporate moniker (dreamed up by a "naming consultant") and a little animated figure to make all this high-tech wizardry seem cuddly.
Both devices possess a remarkable array of skills, among them the ability to pause whatever you happen to be watching. This means that if the phone rings or the delivery guy arrives in the middle of a TV show--even a live sporting event--you simply hit "pause," then resume the action at your leisure. You can catch up with real time whenever you want.
Viewers can choose their own instant replays, rewind scenes and fast-forward. TiVo also provides the means to tape programs without popping in a videocassette or paying much attention to when something is on. Not only will TiVo record an episode of a favorite program, but you also can request a "season pass." In my case, TiVo currently tapes "The Sopranos" and "The West Wing" each week automatically, without needing to be programmed or prompted.
Finally, TiVo learns from what you watch and makes suggestions based on your viewing habits. You educate TiVo by pressing a little "thumbs up" or "thumbs down" on the remote control. One week, I asked TiVo to tape "Rushmore" and "The Manchurian Candidate," which I gave the "thumbs up." Since then, TiVo frequently highlights other quirky independent films or political thrillers as they pop up on cable.
The suggestions have been an occasional source of pride, with four-star movies highlighted in abundance. They also tend to prompt a bit of self-reflection when titles like "Body Chemistry 3: The Seduction" show up--thoughts like "Dear God, what sort of dreck have I been watching?"
If there's space available (the cheaper version can store up to 14 hours at a time, the more expensive model 30), TiVo will also tape programs I haven't asked for, just in case.
Having checked out "Freaks and Geeks" when the series returned, I was startled to see TiVo had taped the next week's episode on the off chance I might want to see that one too. TiVo did the same with "Sports Night" and recorded a "Law & Order" rerun off the A&E channel because I almost always watch the originals on NBC.
In short, TiVo presents you with a personal television menu: what you want to watch, whenever you want to watch it. No headaches about remembering what to tape or which cassette it's on. Your own TV valet.
All of this is achieved by virtue of a central computing system, updated daily through a phone line hooked into TiVo. The in-home system makes a daily call to the little gnomes at the company's headquarters in Sunnyvale, Calif. (ReplayTV is based in nearby Mountain View), who transmit back listings and dozens of suggestions.
Admittedly, my relationship with TiVo--which I received at Christmastime--got off to a rocky start. First, I lack the PhD in quantum physics required to hook up the blasted thing to a TV set equipped with a picture-in-picture function. After several hours of cursing and a full 40 minutes on hold waiting for a human technician, TiVo was wedded with less fanfare to the TV in the bedroom, where it currently lives.
I was also rather taken aback to discover just how much the TiVo folks knew about me based on what their little spy in the armoire was telling them. When I called seeking help, they promptly rattled off the last time I called and how long I was on the phone--just about everything except my mother's maiden name and what I was wearing.
Indeed, a slightly paranoid type might begin to fret about what the little fellow is up to--whether it's talking to the microwave and other appliances, a la "The Twilight Zone," and planning some sort of coup.
