When Dan asked me if I wanted a Roku last year, I declined. Why would I want that when I can just DVR shows I want to see? And why do these whippersnappers use the Snapchitchat anyway?
Then, tragedy struck. Our cable died over the New Year holiday. Faced with a long weekend of forced boob tube weaning, I made a rare trip to Best Buy for my fix: an HDMI plus-in Roku.
It. is. awesome.
After Emme arrived, my desire to keep up with must-see-TV disappeared. I spent three years clueless as my Facebook feed filled with gasps over this show and threatened spoilers for that show. As each year passed, I figured my chances of catching up were nil. When you have a tiny person in your life, the idea of spending a weekend in pajamas watching shows and surviving on takeout is a pipe dream, akin to fitting into college clothes and waking up to something other than the jarring sounds of a human alarm clock.
The Roku gave me hope. I had incentive to rejoin couch potato civilization in a casual and gradual manner.
Yeah, screw that. I soon realized that if kiddo went down at 7:00pm, I could watch 3-4 hour-long episodes per night and sneak in extras when cleaning. It took me one week to watch four seasons of “Downton Abbey” and another week to watch three seasons of “Orange is the New Black.” Translation: I can now politely and most prodigiously employ a wireless to shank a rat-mouthed bitch.
Tonight, I started “The Mindy Project.” There are 57 24-minute episodes. That should take me 2 weeks to get through.