Sayonara to my Samsung

Well, to my television that is. It isn't a Samsung. Wait, does Samsung makes televisions? No matter, mine isn't one of those. It was a White Westinghouse. Well, it still IS a White Westinghouse, but the television is no longer mine.

In more important news, yesterday morning, after loading up P.I.C.'s car, I say goodbye to my faithful TV.

My super-sweet electronic set up. Sure will miss the non-surround sound.

My father gave it to me the Christmas of 1998. A lovely, appropriately-sized 19" television. It was perfect for my dorm room. I would hook it up to my VCR and play tapes, and record my favorite shows. Perfect! That TV moved from one college dorm to another. Then back home to my parents' home. Eventually, that TV became my most trusty Chicago roommate. To Rogers Park, then onto Lakeview, then Lincoln Square, and finally to the Ukrainian Village, the TV was my accompaniment. And yes, I still watched my "tapes." Even last week. Hey, that pilates wasn't going to do itself. I needed my tutor, Ana Caban to talk me through it.

Obvious to even the most oblivious of my readers, I am moving. Moving entails going through things and really decided what makes the "cut" for the move. Moving in with someone else also entails evaluating each of your separate items and choosing the better. Clearly, the 46" flat screen that is barely six months old was going to make the cut. Sadly, my WW wasn't. And so we loaded it up, along with the VCR, DVD player and digital antenna (a trio of items of which I am still shocked didn't fetch me top dollar on craigslist.org) and many bags of clothing and drove off to the Salvation Army. We unloaded each bag onto the truck at the resale shop, none of which really made me sad. But when we got back into the car to leave and I saw my little TV perched on the edge of the truck, I felt rather sad.

I waved goodbye to my TV, telling P.I.C., "You know, I'm really kind of sad to see that TV go. It was old, but it worked, and it made a lot of moves with me."

He responded, "That TV is obsolete. Who cares."

My response? "You're obsolete."

Yes, kids, I may be moving on up (or in), but I still stay close to my immature roots.