The who-controls-the-remote debate endures in the story of modern relationships, not to mention a thousand lame stand-up monologues. Technology has not solved it. Usually, one half of a couple gives in to the other half (let's just say it: the man) who obsessively controls the clicker, darting from channel to channel, asserting his divine right to choose what is watched and for how many nanoseconds. If you are that person (full disclosure: I am that person), why not consider the greatest gift of all? Hand over the remote. I know, it's unthinkable. There are good reasons why that other person shouldn't have the clicker. She or he doesn't have the finely honed skills (hasn't had the practice you've had) and doesn't understand how to get from the listings grid to the DVR library fast enough, and gets too easily distracted by inferior programming as it flits by. Your mate still uses the thing as if we live in some bygone era of channel surfing, simply clicking through, one by one, all the way up into the 700s, the 800s, then back around. ('I like doing it this way better,' my beloved said, blip-blipping through dozens of channels we never, ever watch -- at which point I demanded the remote back.) Give it up. Hand the remote to the one you love for a month; or relinquish for the year. Why? Because something wonderful happens: You start watching other things. You make discoveries. You broaden the junk buffet. You are also conveying a message and it is this: I don't know everything. We are on a mind-numbing journey together, but the point is, we're together. 