Re-discovering the Evil of TV

For several years, I lived without television. I know many of you reading this will find that statement un-American but it's nonetheless true. For home entertainment, I read books and listened to radio just like in the days of old. For a bit of modern mainstream, I would rent or borrow a DVD and watch it on my laptop.

A return to school meant I had to set up internet at home. When I purchased an internet provider, the cheapest plan included cable television so that's what I bought. I explained to the helpful customer service representative that I did not need a cable TV technician to come out to my house because I did not have a TV. The concept was apparently lost in transmission, but it was nice to meet Jose the cable guy anyway.

So there I was with lots of movies channels and no remote control. When my mom offered me a small TV she didn't use, I caved in. What's the harm? I'm paying for cable anyway so why not enjoy it?

I set the television on a hope chest under an eave in my bedroom and just a few feet from the foot of my bed. It seemed cozy enough, not much different at first. The television seemed a benign addition to the room and I welcomed it.

I soon realized that the spot which once held my library selection now held a small black apparatus that would bite into my sleep like a vampire. And I had invited it in!

I explored my cable package thoroughly from the comfort of my ooh so comfy bed. I found the History Channel, the Learning Channel, on and on it went.

Then, one night, I discovered CSI (not the one with the red headed detective but the one with the good looking guys in Las Vegas). The show, I learned through my new electric friend, was on almost all the time. Every night, several times! I quickly became addicted and found my sleep slipping away, cheaply traded so that I could see a fictional crime solved.

Soon after my downfall I saw a friend who used to love the idea that I was TV-less. He would say things like "I don't have a TV either now," pleased with our mutual rejection. Er, either? Not only did I now have a TV, it was in my bedroom and I was addicted to it. The shame was too much but I confessed anyway. Of course just to the ownership and not the deep, dark addiction part. That was mine and mine alone.

Around the time that CSI crept into my bedroom, I began a new job with, get this, a TV-less boss. Instead of watching television he did things like spending time with his family or getting up early to go surfing before work. I began to speak openly about my addiction and he would nod in understanding of the slippery slope I had slid down. I began to see the error of my ways in the little dark circles under my eyes.

I recently moved, to another country actually. Now, television is once again a foreign concept. It's still in my bedroom and on quite often but now, because it is mostly in another language, I can ignore it. I'm back to being an observer of the observers, seeing its vice-like grip from a bit of a distance again. Of course there are lazy days when curling up in bed and letting the brain go numb in front of the TV sounds like a dream. But for the most part I'd be happier if it just disappeared.