When I say, “I don’t watch television,” nearly everyone within earshot is inclined to say, “I don’t, either — at least, not that much, really.” My friends shake their heads knowingly, chiming in that TV is the death knell of American civilization, that nothing good is ever shown — except on PBS, of course.
The truth is, I’m not above TV; on the contrary, it’s above me, jerking on the marionette strings for a forced laugh, a tense moment, a watery eye. Just watching the ads for any of the evening drama programs starts my pulse racing: I get too wrapped up, too involved. Sometimes, when my wife’s at work, I sneak a peek at a music video, and I feel the same way I do when masturbating: anxious, excited, inadequate, ashamed.
