notes from the strike zone

i love television. i fell victim to its hypnotic pull at an early age. and now, grown-up with my own home and my own cable bill, i am free to watch whatever i want whenever i want. but, there is guilt. how many evenings have i spent vegetating, when i could have been out curing cancer/climbing mount everest/negotiating world peace? not that i would actually do those things, but tv provides us all with a ready exit from reality, one that i am often willing to take in lieu of enrichment or quiet reflection.

in november the writers went on strike, cutting short what was a very engrossing fall season. now i find i really don't give a damn about all those made-up people whose fictional lives were previously so entertaining. and i'm liking my life better without the eyeball dehydrating nightly dose.