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Euthanasia of color TV. Postcards from Rome

Unfortunately, the pages of this blog see the sad news of yet another sad event: this, however, touched me closely. On May 13 , the 13.45, with a crackling electronic transistor short supply, my worthy Tv Sony is off, prematurely all 'age of just 16 years (one year of a color TV is around 6 years of a man). E 'with a heavy heart that I am ArtDirektorSDP rod these wet lines of farewell. Needless to say, my life, and my occasional guests, will never be the same. How many hours of carefree empty catotidico I / has given us. Appointments fixed, captive, with their load of emotions: Family Guy, The Simpsons, I Cesaroni, that extraordinary family, and then your affairs, Forum, Final Verdict, exciting morning that you never know how it ends; Studio Open, Door to Door, Tg4, Arena Giletti, fearless reporters, a nationwide I give glory days, and still Beautiful, Live Life, Men and Women: how many tears ... It would take forever to list them all. That device has passed all the nuances in technicolor rainbow sentimental human being. But now the news are just a radio journalist. Yes definitely it has not left us, the sound still works like a last breath of breath while whole screen is black with just a thin white line across (picture): see it like that, you can imagine, is a even greater pain.

And that sound, heartbreaking, borrowed by the vocal Carlo Conti seems to beg: "... pity."

Now I am disheartened to him to wonder if in pain, what's wrong behind that damn glass? What's taking me? I'm confused. Papi is certainly a conductor witty and tasteful, a true showman, but listen to the Pupa and Secchione without seeing tits and ass. ... But what's the point? Nothing will ever be. That horizontal line on the screen is a laconic flat encephalogram, the crack of a large eye that never opens. I do not know, I just can not do it, even if what he is, my old Trinitron, would have liked:

despite everything, I can not pull the plug ...

The ethical question remains. However, I will stay with him until the end.

No flowers, but good works

L * Art