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Slobs mark 50 years
of remote control

It's HARD to overestimate how important remote controls are to Digital Slobs. Zeus had is scepter, Gandalf and Frodo had their One Ring to Rule Them All, and Slobs have our clickers.

But even back then, if Middle Earth had been wired for cable, or if Mount Olympus had DISH Network, you can bet remotes would have reduced all other metallic, magical accessories to the pixie-dustbin.

And not unlike those pre-pre-Digital Age heroes, Slobs have our own epic quest. Eight hours daily, we suffer the slings and arrows of office politics, trying to avoid permanent marks on our person, or worse, on our file in Human Resources.

Then, with a single-mindedness Mother Nature usually reserves for insects trying to procreate, we weave through 5 o'clock traffic en route to our next remote-controlled fix.

If there's a picturesque sunset, we don't see it.

If we pass a grocery store and all we have in the fridge is A1 Sauce and PowerAid, we won't even slow down.

If we see the 102-year-old spinster from Apt. 12C trying to wave her way into the elevator, we avoid eye contact until the door closes -- just to press that mystical "power" button as soon as possible.

Mom might be ashamed -- but Beowulf would be proud.

However unsettling this seems in the abstract (or on the other side of an elevator) there's no denying the remote's calming effects in the pressure-cooker 21st century.

For example, if you're nervous about the blood-pressure portion of a physical, just take your remote into the exam room and hold it as the nurse gets a reading -- it will shave off 10 points easy.

This year is the 50th anniversary of the first wireless remote, Zenith's ray-gun-like "Flashmatic." This glorified flashlight triggered responses out of four photo cells on the set. Depending on your aim, you could turn the TV on or off, mute, or move the dial in either direction. If the set was anywhere near a window, however, your viewing choices would be quickly countermanded by the sun.

Thus, a year later engineers developed ultrasonic remotes that used high-frequency sound waves that only dogs and poltergeists could hear. These worked well until the mid-1980s, when ghosts in a Stephen Spielberg movie got tired of all the racket and sought revenge by pulling a little girl into a TV set.

Not surprisingly, modern-day infrared remotes were developed shortly thereafter.

The Consumer Electronics Association says there are now hundreds of millions of remotes, an average four per household -- many Slobs have replaced the chocolates in their coffee-table bowls with AA batteries.

Like it or not, our entire psyches live in our remotes. During scary movies, we'll take them to the bathroom with us. If our team loses, we'll throw them in anger, but carefully aim for the couch or some other cushiony place. When the batteries begin to die, we'll patiently wait accidentally on Ch. 6 until it gets enough juice to take us to Ch. 65.

And if a teething puppy mangles it to smithereens, we might momentarily want to summon a Greek god to smite him with a lightening bolt.

But it's the Digital Age, and who needs Zeus when the electronics department at Wal-Mart is open 24 hours?