George and I finally entered the new millennium and got new XFinity equipment for our TV. We did not do this because we wanted to be up with the current technology.

No, we actually got it because a message kept popping up like every three seconds on our TV screen telling us that our cable box was outdated and that the world would come to an end if we did not upgrade immediately. Or words to that effect. So we finally ordered the upgrade and the message disappeared from our screen, thank God. When we got the box with the XFinity equipment in it, we stashed it in our bedroom and ignored it for months.

Eventually I got sick of seeing that box in our bedroom. So I opened it and took out all the electronic stuff and the encyclopedic volume of instructions. I leafed through the literature, read a little bit, studied the diagrams and decided that the box did not look that bad sitting in our bedroom.

One day, after moving that box for the millionth time so I could vacuum in the bedroom, I decided to just hook the stupid thing up. So I emptied the box on the kitchen table and examined the multitude of equipment. I sat down and read the instructions thoroughly and decided that I was up to this task.

I started in the living room. I unhooked our old cable box, disconnected all the cables and wires, and set out the new equipment in an orderly fashion. Mojo, our dog, watching from the couch, warned me not to throw the old cable stuff out in case I screwed up the new installation. After all, how would he watch his favorite show, Pit Bulls and Parolees, if I messed up?

Coax cables, power cord, HDMI cord — check. Tiny little cable box — check. I was on a roll. Crawling around on the living room floor, I identified all the ports and holes and cable hookups on the TV that I would need to know about. Piece of cake. Who said this was hard?

I hooked stuff up to where it was supposed to go, until I got to the HDMI cord. Why is this cord so short? It would not connect from the cable box to the slot on our TV because the cord was like .5 inches long.

I ended up having to unhook our CD player/radio and the speakers and switch them to another shelf on our entertainment center. I finally got the stupid HDMI cord connected safely. Now it was time to program the remote.

I had to push a button, wait for the remote to flash green, and then input a three-digit number. Easy peasy. I was feeling pretty darn good about this so far. “Maybe I should work for Comcast part-time, for a little extra cash, that’s how good I am at this,” I thought smugly to myself.

Then the remote got very aggressive. It started barking all these complicated questions at me. Things like, “Do you want to set up your remote?” Uh, hello? What have I been doing the past half-hour? And then it yelled, “Do you want to set up your audio function now?” What? Yes, of course I do. We’d like to hear our TV occasionally. Mojo was muttering, “I told you not to try this yourself. My show is on in 30 minutes. Call the cable guy.”

Don’t ask me how, but I got the remote working. Eventually I realized that it was voice-activated. I must admit, it took us a few tries to get that feature down pat.

We were shouting into the remote (with our faces almost pressed against it) things like “Action News,” or “HGTV.” We soon realized that we had to actually press the little microphone button on the remote for the voice activation to work.

So now we have the highest of high tech on our TV. And I even hooked up the other TVs in the house. So if you stop by our house, chances are excellent that you will hear one of us shouting “Netflix,” or “Something that doesn’t suck” into a remote somewhere in our house.