Digital VD

AROUND MY HOUSE, we have always counted ourselves happy little capitalists. Sure, we pay plenty of lip service to the eternal verities of God and freedom and high, democratic ideals. But in our dark consumerist hearts, we believe that if we are to truly shine our light upon the Second and Third worlds, to elevate their spirits and subjugate their wills, we must peddle our goods and services to them--our clothes, our entertainment, our fast food.

While I don't pretend to have mastered the diplomatic complexities of the Middle East, I do know that if we'd simply treat Palestinian encampments like giant American food courts, in which friendly Chick-fil-A attendants walked around with trays full of toothpicked samples, the bloodshed would end. Nothing says, "Put the explosives down, Mustafa," like an inviting platter of all-white-meat chicken.

Because of my slavish adherence to our system, my house is unlike others. While many pad around their kitchens singing college fight songs or current pop offerings, I sing commercial jingles. For a while, I favored those of discount electronics outlets--"Nobody beats the Wiz / Nobody beats the Wiz." Then, it was local car dealers: "Jerry's Ford / Makes it clear / Let the competition beware!" But a staple of my repertoire has been the early '90s jingle of the world's leading home-video retailer: "Blockbuster Video / Wow! / What a difference!"

It pains me to say it, but the song is over. Not just because Blockbuster long ago changed slogans, but because the lyrics have become a lie. If you live in a semi-rural area, as I do, chances are you won't notice much of a Blockbuster difference, because the bigger, badder franchise has driven all the mom-and-pop stores to ruin.

Gone are all the personalities and idiosyncrasies. I can no longer look forward to the "employee favorites" shelf, where video clerk Paco would steer me to the latest in Latino prison movies. Likewise, since Blockbuster doesn't carry adult titles, I can no longer drop behind the beaded curtain, where I wouldn't actually rent films--I'm not some sort of perv or weirdo--to look at the pretty pictures and then smell the girls on the boxes.

More important, however, is that Blockbuster doesn't even qualify as much of a video store anymore. In fact, in 1998, they dropped "video" from their name. It's no wonder. Just walk into a Blockbuster (there are 5,300 of them nationwide), and try to find the videos that they used to offer grown-ups.

When you enter my local Blockbuster, you must first wade past one Disney rack, three kids racks (containing--count them--nineteen Mary-Kate and Ashley videos, including "How the West Was Fun"), the Hello Kitty Carry-Along Mini Dollhouse, the Stuart Little 2 Friction Vehicle Roadster, the snack and magazine racks, the Good Humor cooler, and the Scooby-Doo Tiki Fun Set. After you get past the six racks of Nintendo Gamecube, Xbox, and Playstation 2 offerings, and the video sell-through and clearance racks, only half the store is left for rentals.

But what really makes Blockbuster a malevolent corporate entity--one that's more insidious than Arthur Andersen, Enron, and WorldCom combined--can be boiled down to three letters: D-V-D. Perhaps I gave it away already, but I don't much care for DVD. I'm not even completely sure what it stands for--Digital Venereal Disease? As with the clap, it is dangerous to have unprotected contact with anybody in the throes of DVD hysteria--a condition which already afflicts nearly one-fourth of the rental market just five years after the technology was introduced. (DVDs have actually eclipsed VHS tapes in sales, a feat that took CDs 13 years to accomplish over audio cassettes).

These enthusiasts will rhapsodize about DVD's superior picture and sound, about users not having to be kind and rewind (like I ever did anyway). They will bore you with all the bells and whistles that DVD affords ("Rent Jackie Chan's 'Gorgeous'--in which, 'action has never looked this good'--and you can listen to it in 5.1 Dolby Digital Cantonese!"). If you try to defend the merits of VHS--say, the recordability (just try finding an affordable DVD player that records) or the infinite title selection that's available in the VHS format--they will look at you as if you just blew your nose on your tie. They will call you a Luddite, a troglodyte, and worse. When I told one colleague that I was sticking with VHS, he asked, "Dude, do you also like your women with no breasts and huge butts?"