Portal de Periódicos da CAPES

Rear Projection

2008; Johns Hopkins University Press; Volume: 1; Issue: 4 Linguagem: Inglês

10.1353/thr.0.0034

1939-9774

Frederick Barthelme,

Interactive and Immersive Displays

Rear Projection Frederick Barthelme (bio) Greta had won the fifty-two-inch rear-projection Sony television in a church raffle, a gift to the church from one of the casinos. The casinos, just as you might imagine, were like that, always donating to this or that charity, always being good citizens, always going the extra mile for the local firemen, or police, or the PTA. It didn’t matter much what your organization was, if you needed a little helping hand, the casinos were always ready. They went out of their way to contribute to the well-being of the community. The casinos were real team players when it came to participating in community affairs, models of selfless commitment to a better life for all. When Vaughn first saw this TV, back in the summer, he’d said, “I always wanted one of these but it cost too much and the quality of the screen isn’t that good and the image is fuzzy and it’s an ugly piece of furniture that takes up too much room. It’s kind of an eyesore. I guess that’s why most people avoid ‘em.” This was the first night he stayed at Greta’s place. “Why, thanks very much,” Greta said, making a curious face. “That’s not exactly what I mean,” he said. “I was a fool to accept it,” she said. “C’mon, that’s not right,” he said. “I just meant that—” “Yeah, yeah,” she’d said. “Okay. I accept your apology.” It was their first big night and Vaughn wasn’t one hundred percent under control. He tried to repair this gaffe by explaining about rear-projection television, and about DLP rear projection compared to CRT rear projection, and about direct view CRTs, and the business about scanning, about 1080i and 1080p, and how the picture is composed of [End Page 519] alternating lines that are difficult to get in register, and after a while he could see that wasn’t working. “I really always wanted one,” he said finally. “He scores!” she said, offering up a high-five. So they turned the set off and went about their business. He read a book. She regarded him with great curiosity, and then, after a suitable period of observation, said, “What is that strange object you’re playing with?” “Yada yada,” he said. And they went to bed. The days that followed went more smoothly. Vaughn accepted the television and the television accepted Vaughn. One night they went to dinner with his ex-wife, Gail, and heard all about her new thirty-year-old boyfriend. He had put his name, tattoo-style, on her neck. When they returned from the restaurant, things weren’t going so well. They weren’t talking to each other. Eddie, the tenant, was in the main house, in the living room, sprawled on the couch, making himself at home, snacking and watching something that looked like ultimate cage fighting on the big screen. “Vaughn is upset about his wife,” Greta said. “Yeah?” Eddie said. He didn’t take his eyes off the TV. “She had some guy’s name tattooed on her neck,” she said. “Wasn’t a tattoo,” Vaughn said. “Was an ink thing, like a drawing.” “Even worse,” she said. “What kind of guy draws his name on some woman’s neck?” “Young guy,” Eddie said, wincing as one fighter on television kneed the other guy on television repeatedly in the groin. “This is old time ultimate fighting. They don’t let ‘em do that any more.” It surprised Vaughn how pissed he was about Gail. Pissed and sickened—she was a grown woman, well past the age where you get written on. He tried to hide the anger, but Greta was all over it and she [End Page 520] wasn’t pleased. They’d ridden in silence from the casino, watching the wipers slog back and forth across the windshield. “What’re you doing in here anyway?” he said to Eddie. “Don’t you have a TV out in the apartment?” “Tiny screen,” Eddie said. “Barely see it. These guys would be the size of squirrels on it. The size...