2:18 p.m. A man's relationship to the love of his life is a complicated one, indeed. My Igor is no exception. More than anything else, even more than smoking, which he's had to abandon, Igor loves his TV. Always has. Even as a handsome young man, Igor would eschew all other attractions and remain totally and steadfastly faithful. Here, you see Igor and his love, just before a formal occasion, possibly a prom.

That's why it's so, so sad what happened last night. So sad. Last night, between movie one and movie two of a three-movie marathon, Igor broke the TV.

You've got to feel for the guy. He'd gone earlier to the video store and after much consideration and thought, rented Blast From the Past, Analyze This, and Henry Fool for me because I'm a Parker Posey fan and because they were out of Thin Red Line. Then, a quick stop at the market to stock up on all the movie-viewing essentials: blue-corn tortilla chips, a salsa variety including avocado; chunky peanut butter, brie and grapes, sashimi, a big can of Japanese beer whose name escapes me, some 6-packs of Dr. Pepper and Pepsi One, and popcorn.

All was in readiness, and we were going to be trying out a new angle for our TV-viewing pleasure which entailed moving the TV, an old but wonderful 21-inch, million-pound Sony with a gazillion wires out the back connecting it to a VCR and satellite tuner on top. It was a little tricky, but we both managed to turn the Godzilla-sized thing with all the parts slipping and sliding and no fingers were smashed nor shins nicked.

We watched Blast from the Past at the new angle, which was slightly higher and farther away than the old angle, but because the movie was fairly amusing, we didn't bother to change anything until we hit the rewind button and discussed things a bit. I always have to talk about the movie a little, fix errant plot points that are askew in my mind, edit it until I know I could have made it better if I'd had the chance.

For example, Sissy Spacek was relatively funny as the disintegrating mom, but she was forced to hop-walk to show increasing age as Brendan Frasier neared adulthood, because somebody decided that would be a hoot. Otherwise, you've got Sissy and Brendan in an underground room sealed off from the rest of the world with nothing but liquor and Christopher Walken between them and the Oedipal moment, and that's less funny.

And Brendan was a little slow on the uptake once he got to the upper world, but really -- who cares? He's dancing, he's as cute as you could want, and I loved him so much in Gods and Monsters that it just doesn't matter. So, it was about here in the rewind that Igor got up, and perhaps thinking of Brendan's musculature rather than his own, attempted to move the entire TV tower-structure, wires and all, by himself.

Needless to say. Ah, so needless. Only a small amount of bruising, thank God. But all you can see is dark red. You can see the greens and the yellows peeking through but mostly there's only red now. Poor poor TV. Is it a tube inside that got knocked out? Are there still tubes inside the thing? Or is a wire wobbly somewhere in the back? Oh, we sat and stewed for awhile and turned every knob we could find, but the poor thing is injured, indeed.

Igor is fine, I'm happy to report. The spare TV from upstairs is considerably lighter and more portable, so we just arranged it in front of the old one, changed the angles back to lower and closer, popped in Analyze This, sliced up the brie, and we were pretty much back where we started.

It may be diminished and there may not be as many wires as there used to be and the remote is a joke, but Igor is happy. Igor is in love. Love means never having to say you're Sony.