The Flashing VCR Clock Chronicles
It's time to admit you are powerless. Technology has left you in the dust and now your only choice is to admit it and seek help. Perhaps you can join a 12 step self-help group. "Hi, I'm Ferd, and I'm technologically clueless..." Which group are you a member of? Your VCR has never stopped flashing 12:00 o’clock, OR you haven’t owned a VCR for years because you watch DVDs and HD satellite, but you don't know how any of it works. Or, you're on the fence, afraid to commit; one of those folks who just can’t give up the VCR because there's a box of tapes stashed away that you haven’t watched for a decade but throwing out the VCR would be like burning a photo album, like somehow, surrendering. Hmmm…Welcome to FA: Flashers Anonymous, short for Flashing VCR Clock Owner's Anonymous.
CLUE BUS
Here’s a Quarter, Go Buy a Ticket to the Clue Bus – Pt. 2
I had been stirred out of my post-project-completion bliss by a message on my cell from a good friend and client, Nando. As usual, his panic was contagious, and when I heard him announce on the message, “I’m gonna lose it, I swear,” I knew that the quiet evening I had planned with a stiff espresso and the last five chapters of the book I had been trying to finish for the last 6 weeks was going to have to wait. Undoubtedly I would be able to do it mañana.
Meanwhile, I had to figure out how to help Nando without getting sucked into his vortex of doom drama queen ordeal. My wife, Pix, was at home in La Cruz painting the new canine media annex (dog house) so I could spare a few hours. I was in Nuevo and the cruise to Punta de Mita was always nice this time of day.
 I loved Nando like a brother, but here is someone who really doesn’t understand the concept of choosing your battles. Rather than letting certain things slide in order to avoid say, a heart attack, Nando instead went into accelerated tunnel vision panic mode.
If a contractor didn’t show on time (a not-too-rare occurrence during the construction of his home and in the year since) Nando was known to not only pester the unfortunate offender with repeated calls, but also to track the poor guy down, more often than not resulting in said contractor telling Nando to stick his precious construction project in the dark recesses of his posterior. Hence, Nando had gone through multiple tile men, multiple carpenters, multiple plumbers and so on. Needless to say, his construction stretched the Mexican minute to a month and then some. Two and a half years in the making, I had to admit that his home was something to behold.
The reason for is that in spite of being inducted into the Loco Gringo Hall of Fame by 90% of the contractors in Nayarit, Nando had nonetheless ultimately garnered the services of a very select group of artisans and craftsmen who were now dedicated to the flamboyant Mexican-American and referred to him affectionately as “Carito Mariposo.” Somehow, I had become part of this select few when I was called on to replace the sales consultant for a local audio/video store who had the unmitigated gall to change career paths in mid-project; it seems a job as a street knife vendor in Guadalajara outweighed the bliss of being verbally abused on the daily by Nando. However, I am going on record; I do not refer to him as “Carito Mariposo.”
After passing through the gates at Punta de Mita, where I was a known amigo, I continued through the rolling trail boulevard and around the Four Seasons Hotel turn off to the little blind cul-de-sac where Nando’s “casita” nestled into the bougainvillea shrouded berm, framed by the setting sun to my right, and the Mariettas to my left. At these prices, I should be seeing a whale or two, I was thinking, when to the right of the palapa, in the spans of just visible sea, a fountain of sea-mammal-spewed water signaled the presence of Moby Jr... God, I hate it when my ridiculous notions are validated…
When I knocked at the daunting front door (Brazilian Rosewood which required thrice weekly oiling to avoid balsa hell from over-exposure to the whale propelled blow hole salt water) Manny answered and immediately embraced me. Manny was Nando’s on again, off again partner and had single handedly made Nando’s assimilation into the new country as smooth and painless as possible, given Nando’s penchant for intolerance.
As the too-long embrace progressed to a point where I would have to come up with an awkward yet clever excuse to break the stranglehold, we were both suddenly thrown backwards and only by grabbing onto the life-size marble sculpture of a dolphin that Nando had dubbed as “Fleeper,” was I able to prevent the two of us from smacking into the marble floor. As I regained my senses, I was facially assaulted by the huge, slobbery tongue of Nebulus, Nando’s adolescent Newfoundland hound. "Boo!" I whined, "...cut it out!"
 Soon after moving to his new home, Nando and Manny had taken the obligatory furniture buying trip to Guadalajara, Tlaquepaque and Tonala. On the day they returned, the home was being cleaned by a local woman, Rosa. When Nando entered the expansive kitchen, he found Rosa’s 15 year old daughter, Marta, on the floor laughing and playing with Nebulus. The two were clearly enjoying each other’s company. After a prolonged conversation through translator Manny, Nando had ascertained that 1) Rosa and her daughter Marta lived in the nearby village of Punta de Mita, 2) Rosa was a single mother, her husband had died in a fishing boat accident five years earlier, 3) Marta was her only child, 4) the child took the bus daily to a school in Bucerias and 5) she was currently seeking full time employment. Another 30 minutes of discussion ensued, during which Nando marveled at the bond between Marta and Nebulus.
31 minutes later, Rosa & Marta were both employed by Nando and were to take up occupancy in the guest cottage, a casita most people would kill for. Nando assured Marta that the two would be treated with utmost respect, that there would be no untoward behavior owing to his sexual preferences and likewise the Mother and daughter could expect a positive atmosphere in which to live. They would be handsomely compensated, well above any comparable position. In return, Nando insisted on absolute honesty and unquestionable loyalty. Rosa would run the house, Marta would be responsible for the dog's care and grooming. When formally introduced to the dog, she was unable to get her tongue around his name, frustratingly spitting out something akin to "Neverless." But when finally she saw "Nebulus" printed on the little records card from the vet in La Cruz, she had excitedly cried out. "nay-BOO-loose!" Thereafter, the dog was simply Boo.
After separating ourselves from the dolphin sculpture and dog, Manny sighed, “Dios mio, Landon,” (like most of my Mexican friends, Manny pronounced my name “lahn-DOAN” unlike the nasally American pronunciation which sounds like “landing” minus the “g” when I’m not called Brandon, Langdon or Landreth), “…he’s totally really lost it this time (hees tote-a-lee reelly loast eet dees time).”
“So, where is His Cluelessness anyway?” I asked, getting up from my knees and noticing a pile of trashed black plastic and circuit boards in the far corner of the Media Room over Manny’s right shoulder. “And what the hell is that pile of crud?” I pointed at the plastic mess.
“That’s what’s left of the remote controls. When I got here a few hours ago, Nando had a DVD he’d just received from a friend in Santa Fe and when he tried to play it, he couldn’t get anything to work, so he piled all the remotes on the floor and did the Godzilla meets Bambi stomper dance and trashed them all. Why didn’t he listen to you when you told him he needed that special control thing?” he sputtered.
Dammit! This was a huge thorn in my side, possibly the biggest professional blunder I had made in the last ten or so years. The “special control thing” was a custom programmed remote control that I virtually insisted that Nando include in his system when I had installed it 6 months ago.
 I had never encountered a client who didn’t ultimately understand the value and importance of a well-programmed, intuitive system remote control. As I repeatedly pointed out, the controller is more important than any of the individual components in a system; if you can’t use the system, you can’t enjoy it and then what is the value of an expensive speaker system or state-of-the-art flat panel wide screen HDTV?
But I had hit a raw nerve with Nando. Control was his unofficial middle name. If he couldn’t exert control over a situation, individual or commodity, he wanted no part of it. You’d have thought he’d have understood, but he felt challenged, as though he was being denied the upper hand in the “relationship” between him and his Media System (and his Home Theater System downstairs which was probably to be the next victim of the stomper dance). This would possibly have been a draw if Nando was an electronics hobbyist or someone, like me, who has owned and operated electronics longer than I care to acknowledge.
Unfortunately, Nando was so clueless when it came to the nuances of consumer electronics that there was no chance he would ever figure any of this out no matter how many cheat sheets I gave him. Short temper + cluelessness = disaster. And I was in the heart of it. Clearly, money was not the issue here, but quite simply his inability to surrender (and in so doing, admit that he was incapable of this very trivial level of control).
My frustration at having failed to slam dunk the remotes in this system was quickly turning to self scorn. How could I not have foreseen this? “I’m sorry Manny, I’ve been spending so much time writing asides about Nando, that I got sidetracked… So, back to the original question; where is Nando so I can put an end to this foolishness once and for all?”
“Good news/bad news/worse news, hermano. Good news; he finally admitted he needs a better remote. Bad news; that's what's left of his cell phone in the middle of that trash-pile. Worse news; he took The Diva into PV to buy something at Radio Hut. He left about five minutes ago.”
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- to be continued
Landon Hollander
E-mail: landon5123@mac.com
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Landon Hollander consults, designs and sells audio and video systems (landoplan.com) and handles sales in the Riviera Nayarit for the PVMirror. He can be reached at: landon5123@mac.com. Landon is currently teaching his dogs French to see if they will obey commands in this language as they appear not to understand English or Spanish.
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