Notes from Perry Street

The Little Black Dress and I had just plopped down on the sofa for a little, as teens say now, “Netflix and Chill.”

The difference between that phrase and reality, at least in our situation, was we really were going to watch something on Netflix. And the “chill” involved a nice chardonnay. Anyhow, I turn on/stream/upload/ whatever one does to get Netflix going. Instead of getting to my “home screen,” a message pops up. As near as I can recall, it is something along the lines that “this television” (being the one we are watching), does not appear to be part of the Home Network.

That gave me pause. I follow the online instructions and Netflix again tells me I am not part of the network. I again pause, thinking - this is my home, this is my television, this is my “Netflix.” Well, okay, all that is true except, apparently, the Netflix part.

I do what any guy in his sixties would do …

“Hey dad, what’s up?” The Eldest says after picking up my call.

“Netflix is telling me I am not part of the ‘home network.’ Oh … and why is the account in your name?” I responded.

“I just did that when we set it up,” he responded. I then proceed to point out that when he “set it up,” he was living at home when he wasn’t at college. He is now in Texas with a new wife. Basically, he took the Netflix account with him … BUT … I am the one paying for it.

Make sense? I mean it makes sense what happened, but I don’t think it makes sense that he gets to take our account, the one I am paying for, and just make it his own.

“Well, I will take photos of the screens so you can see what you all had saved and are watching when I get back,” Caleb, that would be the Eldest said. “Listen, love you, gotta go get ready.”

An aside, technology is pretty amazing, like how your son can essentially steal your Netflix account. Furthermore, he and I were having that conversation while I was in Newnan and he was at Fort Irwin in California, sitting on his tank getting ready for war games.

Since he wouldn’t be back for three weeks or so, we bit the proverbial bullet and got a John and Corby Netflix account. Our very own. A clean slate so to speak. And that is exactly what I mean, because when we signed on, there was no “continue watching for John,” “because you watched …” “your saved shows” and so on. A clean slate, literally. Nothing showed up. How often do we get a clean slate? How often do we desperately wish for one? Take them when you can. They are a rare gift. It is July. The month we celebrate our nation’s independence. So between the hotdogs, hamburgers, cook outs, picnics and adults blowing off their fingers after one too many “watch this, hold my beer,” please take a moment to thank that someone you know who serves or did in our nation’s military. They are the reason we have a 4th. And that goes for you too, Caleb. Until next time.