The Reception in the Uncanny Valley (is abysmal) 

         Nestled deep in an isolated valley in Cambria County, Pennsylvania, the little community of Uncanny Falls feels cut off from the world. With little more than a dozen households, the tiny village appears on few maps and might have gone completely unnoticed if not for the national recognition it received after the government mandated switch to digital broadcast television in the summer of 2009.

        While many communities across the nation embraced the new digital signal, the reception in the Uncanny Valley was abysmal. Long before digital television was even conceived, the residence of the town endured spotty reception due to the treacherously steep walls of their peaceful little valley.

       For nearly forty years a powerful receiving tower, which stood at the highest precipice, rebroadcast the local network signals straight into the valley, allowing many residence to watch TV. The system was initially funded by the FCC, in a program meant to connect every household in the continental United States to at least one locally broadcasted television station.

         Yet, when President George W. Bush signed legislation to mandate that major television stations switch to broadcasting in digital, small communities like Uncanny Falls lost their signal. That's because, while massive amounts of funding went to the networks in an effort to persuade them to switch over the digital signal, very little money went to upgrading the rebroadcasting towers which service remote communities. Provisions in the original legislation to support these communities were removed from the final version of the bill, an effort that was successfully spearheaded by the cable and satellite television lobby. Predicting the frustration when residents began losing their reception of free, over-the-air signals, the cable and satellite companies began targeted advertising campaigns aimed at enlisting new subscribers to their pay service.

         But the frugal, independent, and self-sufficient citizens of Uncanny Falls would have none of that. The trouble began when a door-to-door satellite-dish salesman was shot and killed on the property of Uncanny Falls' most unstable citizen. Jonathan Frend was an unknown, struggling freelance nature photographer until the digital switch drew is attention and his ire. Mesmerized by the digital interference patterns that were now flickering across his television, Mr. Frend slowly descended into insanity. Cut off from the world, he watched and photographed these distorted images, eventually snapping, sending him into a paranoid rage.

        During his subsequent trial the world was introduced to his bizarre collection of images. Testifying for the defense, scientists and psychologists made the case that the incoherent, abstract patterns and inhuman visages to which Frend was exposed seriously diminished his ability to empathize with other human beings. Worsening a preexisting affliction, the constant stream of malformed imagery took its toll. Unable to turn away from his set, Frond photographed his television obsessively. In the end, he was found guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to 5 to 7 years behind bars. Luckily, the prison in which he now resides is perched high upon a hill and gets excellent reception.