Several years ago I lived with a man, who, at one time, was a great adventurer. He was a fierce martial artist and had lived a year in Antarctica. He'd made it a habit to climb sheer mountains, and spent summers as a fire watch in a solo cabin in the mountains. I'd somehow fallen in love with the man he used to be, and didn't recognize the one who was spending more and more time on the couch. When I'd get home from work, the TV was on featuring one judge or another. At night, he'd fall asleep in his clothes on the couch, while the ads for Cham-Wow and ambulance-chasing lawyers and Hits of the '70s compilations went unobserved.
I finally said one too many snotty comments about the TV, and right there, with the neighbors over, he unplugged it and put it on the curb.
A tentative peace returned to the kingdom, but of course, that peace would not stave off the inevitable implosion of the relationship. He left, and I lived in my home alone, happily catching my two favorite shows, The Office and 30 Rock, on my computer.
Then a lovely guy at work learned I had no TV and he felt so sorry for me that he gave me one that had been in his spare room. The parrot had bitten through the cord, but nothing a little tape couldn't fix. I accepted this TV, and used it for many years.
Then today, my current boyfriend brought his TV over. It is bigger and better and stronger than the last one. So the old TV went out onto the curb, and on Craigslist for free. Within a half hour, someone had taken it.
The EPA tells us are 27 million televisions, 205 million computer products, and 100 million cellphones thrown out every year. Only 16 percent of those are recycled.
To date, I've never, ever bought a TV.
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