Radio Shack manager-in-training Patrick White next to display of TV converter boxes. — Emily Paine Carter, special to So Salem

Emily Paine Carter is columnist So Salem. You can contact her at 981-3430 or via e-mail.

Emily Paine Carter

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"Will You Be Ready?" What was this scary, apocalyptic headline -- like, ready for The Rapture? -- doing on a brochure at our friendly neighborhood Radio Shack emporium? Mercy, the marketers even used a red-and-black color scheme: the colors of the anarchy flag.

Ah, the danged digital-TV conversion. Grr! More new-fangled technology! Dag-nabbit! Suddenly I, uh, "channeled" Yosemite Sam: the daggone tech-switch triggered my deep, inner ol' codger.

Sure, the government explained it needed more of the broadband spectrum. I'm not claiming a totally reasonable rant. But I -- and some others -- fumed. We sputtered. We muttered, "Oh, great: another expense. Another task."

OK, so I'm a wee bit of a Luddite. Sidewalk chalk vs. Facebook? No contest. (Yet wasn't use of "Twitter" amazing after the recent Iranian election? I halt my jokes to think seriously of our July 4 freedoms.)

The TV conversion thrilled a tech-y Salem pal: he had an excuse for buying a fancy-schmancy, gee-whiz Blu-Ray-whatsis system. I lacked a benefactor to buy or install or maintain all that for me.

Recently I cited the 1970s book "Future Shock." Is it ironic that I use an old book to explain my current TV-challenge? Anyhow, it's an example of how we must adapt. A definite serving from my "irony" skillet: I was the computer volunteer in son Erik's kindergarten class. Go figure.

See, a teensy TV/radio cube sits on my kitchen counter, no cable within shouting distance of its handy locale. Been there a good 25 years. Not many channels, but it was adequate, useful, pleasant; it even entertained the household critters.

I couldn't find an inexpensive, petite replacement TV. Radio-TV combo? Ha.

My TV-ette is old: an antique coal-fired model, I joke. So I bought the prescribed converter (the government coupon paid half). But of course I hadn't known all my relic's limitations.

So I made frequent visits to local emporia for adapters and antennae. (Some wizards said they'd been besieged, even bothered and bewildered, by last-minute shoppers. Salem Radio Shack manager-in-training Patrick White estimated having sold 1,000 converters by mid-May.)

Alas, the signal was too weak. "Not worth spending more on that ... TV," gruffly opined one wizard. And, of course, by then it was too late for a refund on the converter.

I slumped homeward, not feeling angelic, to "watch" my now-radio.

So, yessirree, I built up a pretty good head-of-steam over this-here dad-gum, dad-burn digital decree. (Ah, steam! Now, there was a technology: oh, the romance of steam locomotives.)

Library DVDs and cable-TV elsewhere console me. Yet you might hear Ol' Yosemite Samantha: I'll be in the TV aisle, grousing about gol-durned, techno-shenanigans.