I went to the Salvation Army this week. I was looking for a tv.
Shreveport, Louisiana, Polaroid SX-70 (2022)
While moving I found my college-era Nintendo 64, snug in a milk crate along with copies of GoldenEye and Perfect Dark, plus glossy strategy guides and a semi-transparent purple controller. Now you can get a flatscreen tv nicer than anything anyone has ever owned, in high definition and with a remote control, for fifty bucks. But one of those modern wonders stretches the game, distorting any fond memory, as if you could pull the Venus de Milo like taffy. There’s just a wrongness to it, like playing an LP at 45 speed.
Backyard roses, Jackson, Mississippi, Polaroid 600 (2022)
They only had one tv in the whole joint. It was one of those probably ten years ago heavy flatscreen jobs that no matter what you did would never look right. Like even if you were watching something in widescreen, the aspect ratio was always off. It’s the one in your parents’ extra bedroom that brings no joy. The one that lets you down even after you’ve awkwardly taken your leave from the living room and hoped you could just watch tv and fall asleep like when you were in high school, but then just give up and watch videos on your phone of people deep-cleaning stovetops or something.
Hot Springs, Arkansas, Polaroid SX-70 (2022)
The bad flatscreen was $20. There was a giant yellow tag next to it though that had scribbled on it “NO SOUND,” over and over. I began to wonder what a tv was if it didn’t have any sound, and if it was just broke and needed throwing out. Then I thought a lot of people like watching with the subtitles on anyway, or have different levels of hearing. I was pretty sure that $20 wasn’t what a tv was worth without sound, though. Maybe five or even ten bucks.
I turned and headed back up front without looking at the big bins of LPs. I stopped looking at thrift store records ages ago. Even those in great condition, and there are some, are the same Herb Alpert and Jim Reeves albums you’ve seen ad nauseam your whole life. Maybe every now and then you’ll see a late-period Commodores, but it’s been literal years since I’ve seen any real rock or blues.
Ashdown, Arkansas, Polaroid SX-70 (2022)
At the register everyone was talking about their water situation. There was a young man with long dreads who said he was from the Delta, and for all the challenges the Delta faced, proclaimed his water was great.
I peered down through the glass counter, where there was an old book with a white label bound to it by a rubber band. In a neat hand the label read James Joyce Ulysses 1934 1st American Edition, Our Price: 199.99. Next to the Ulysses was a recent book from a friend, which proclaimed it was a Signed First Edition, and was $39.99.
The clerk was from Georgetown, in Copiah County, and was maybe my age, or my mother’s. “Our water was always brown,” she said, “because it was well water, but it was delicious. We would drink that water in the summertime when we played outside, drink so much we would shake from side to side, so we could hear it in our bellies, just sloshin’.”
Then I remembered that feeling, remembered that summer sound.
“COLOR TV” is this week’s installment of GORJUS, a newsletter devoted to art and life in the South on instant film. If you like it, consider sending it to a pal. Just like anything, some weeks are better than others. I’m gorjusjxn on Instagram, and you can see more Polaroids at McCartyPolaroids.
Man, I’ve got the TV you probably need. One of the last THICK RCA models, 30-something inch screen, about two feet deep. Seems like it weighs about what a feather-weight fighter does. Wish I could send it via Star Trek transporter.