In principle, it is an uncomplicated device. : Life With a CCD-F30

I sat on the floor with the CCD-dash-F30 in my lap wondering where I’d gone wrong. Should I have connected it to my Colortrack 2000 using an RFU-dash-89UCA adapter or should I have bypassed the adapter in favor of an optional VMC-dash-910MS-slash-920MS audio-video cable?

There were tears of confusion in my eyes.

The CCD-F30 is a video camera I purchased to chronicle the events of a growing family. It is also known as a Handycam, but no one speaks in simple terms anymore.

In principle, it is an uncomplicated device. You point it, push a button and hope to God the person being taped responds in a manner that will outrage neither family tradition nor public decency.

I bought this particular model because it employs a miniature cassette and is lightweight. The clerk at Circuit City said I could carry it all day and not even know it was in my hand.

“Sweetest little thing you’ll ever hold,” was the way he put it.

“How do I fit the little tape into the VCR?” I asked.

“That’s the beauty of it,” he said, then paused.

“What’s the beauty of it?”

“You just plug the F30 into your TV set and watch it on the screen.”

“There’s no VHS tape involved?”

“That’s the beauty of it.”

Pause.

“Am I going to have to ask what’s the beauty of it again?”

“You can make as many VHS copies of the tape you need,” he said. “One for the kids, one for Mom and one for the little boy who lives down the lane.”

I brought the CCD-F30 home. My wife spent the afternoon taping a birthday party.

At the end of the day she said, “How do we play it back?”

“That’s the beauty of it,” I said.

“What’s the beauty of it?”

It sounded familiar.

“You just plug it into our 2000.”

She was looking at the instruction manual.

“With what, the RFU-89UCA or the VMC-910MS?”

“Let me see that,” I said.

I have no aptitude for electronic devices. When I entered the Marine Corps long ago they tested me for special skills. Electronics was last.

“What do you like to do?” the instructor asked.

“Write poetry,” I said.

He was 6 feet 4 and as hard as tempered steel.

“We don’t have combat poets,” he said.

I ended up in the infantry.

“Did you read the warning on the lithium battery?” I asked my wife. “ ‘Battery may explode if mistreated. Do not recharge, disassemble or dispose of in fire.’ They even have it in French. ‘Si elle est malmenee, la pile peut exploser . ... “‘

“Never mind that,” she said. “How do we transfer the picture from the miniature tape to the television screen?”

She was asking the question of a man who has still not figured out how to turn on the microwave oven.

“Let me see the camera,” I said.

She held it out of reach.

“I don’t want you to start pushing buttons. You’ll wipe out the birthday party. Just tell me what cable we need.”

I fixed a radio once but left an electrical short in the on-off button. Every time we slammed the door, the radio went on. Slam it again, the radio went off. Visitors thought I had invented a radio that automatically turned on when we left the house to protect against burglars.

I kept the radio until our children were old enough to run in and out of the house on their own 50 times a day, slamming the door each time. It was either get rid of the kids or the radio. It was a split vote, but the radio lost.

As it turned out, there was only one cable that came with the F30. The wrong one.

We discovered the shortcoming after two hours of trial and debate that threatened to turn violent.

“Give me the damned camera!” I shouted at one point.

“I’d sooner tear my heart out!” she shouted back.

“First give me the camera!” I yelled.

The CCD-F30 wasn’t worth our marriage. We called a truce, but she wouldn’t kiss and make up until I got the F30 working right. I took it back to Circuit City and explained in detail what I had done and suggested I might have the wrong cable.

“You’ve got the right cable,” the clerk said. “You just didn’t set the channel selector in the proper mode.”

“You mean I don’t need the VMC-910MS/920MS?”

“That’s the beauty of it,” he said, “you can go either way.” Then, impressed by my ability to use numbers, he asked, “You an electronics man?”

“Combat poet.”

“Ah.”

I bought the new cable even though I didn’t need it. I set the channel selector on the back of the RFU. Nothing. I switched to the VMC. Still nothing. I filled the air with the vilest words I knew. Zero.

Back to Circuit City. This time I was told the CCD-F30’s tape had been packed too tightly and wasn’t rewinding properly. The repairman stuck his finger in one of the holes and turned the tape manually. Voila!

That night, I hooked the F30 to our 2000 and it worked.

My wife was delighted. “If you hadn’t opted for combat poetry,” she said, “you’d have made a great electronics expert.”

We kissed.