The TV Has an Update. The Show Can Wait.

You turn on the TV to watch something. The TV would first like to update itself.

Fair enough. Software needs updates. But the timing is impressive. The television has been sitting there all day, doing nothing visible, and has chosen the exact moment you pick up the remote to become a project.

On the screen is a progress bar. It says the update will take a few minutes, which is a useful estimate if you have no plans for the next few minutes. You do, though. You planned to watch TV. That was the entire plan.

Now the TV says not to turn it off. This is a bold instruction from an object whose main feature is that you can turn it off.

It reaches 99 percent and stays there long enough to make you wonder whether 99 is a number or a waiting room. Then it restarts. The screen goes black. You press a button on the remote, but it’s too early. The TV will let you know when it’s ready to be a TV again.

I get that updates can fix problems. I’m not asking the television to run on candlelight. I’m asking why sitting down to watch a show sometimes begins with supervising a computer through a personal milestone.

And once it comes back, you may find the home screen has changed. There’s a new row of suggestions, a button somewhere else, maybe a feature you didn’t know you needed and still don’t. The show you wanted is in there. You just have to locate it among the TV’s ideas for what you should be watching instead.

That’s the strange part. The thing designed to make entertainment easy now occasionally interrupts entertainment to improve the part where you look for entertainment. It’s like opening a book and being told the table of contents needs maintenance.

There might be an option to update later. That helps, right up until later arrives and you’re once again holding the remote, waiting for the television to finish thinking about itself.

Eventually the home screen appears. The remote works. You can find the show.

The TV is ready to watch TV now.