I used to have cable TV. I never cared much for sitcoms -- I favored "quality programming." With dozens of channels to fill the cable provider made several PBS affiliates available, probably because it didn't cost anything, so there was almost always a documentary on some curious subject being broadcast. I started to become a documentary junky. I watched shows about insects, frogs and reptiles. I saw vast armies of weaver ants consuming a forest, tree by tree. I sat and watched komodo dragons bobbing their heads and snuffling as they trotted along, while the khaki-clad narrator in the foreground whispered how fortunate it was that those giant, man-eating lizards have poor eyesight. I watched BBC dramas, historical series, and Wall Street Week with the punning Louis R. I saw most of the Jacques Cousteau specials at least twice, and was fascinated by travelogues and anthropological studies. When there was really nothing on, I could still be entertained by flipping though the channels with the remote controller, juxtaposing inanities into an amusing montage of surrealistic social commentary.

A friend of mine would listen sadly whenever I gushed over something I'd seen recently. "You know," he'd say, "it doesn't really matter what you watch, TV is inherently passive. Life is better without one. You'll read books and think more. You'll spend more time interacting constructively with the world, even if it's just a solitary hobby. Anything is better than watching that box."

I wondered whether he were right. It seemed like I was learning lots of facts from my viewing, seeing places and people otherwise inaccessible. And I wasn't convinced it was wholly passive. Rather than drooling before the screen with glazed eyes, my natural tendency towards critical analysis would step forward. I'd I watch actively, on several levels, following the narrative while observing the technique by which it was constructed and questioning its coherence, motivation and accuracy. But I did notice that TV absorbed a lot of time. Whenever I had some free minutes, too short for anything else, or thought I was too tired to go out, or work on some project, or even read, the TV would beckon. It was so convenient. It was even quasi-social. After sex, in a languid conversational void, you could watch TV together before falling asleep, and still be doing the same thing, together.

But things changed and I woke up. I moved the TV into the closet, then gave it away. In the years since I'm sure I've missed many informative and moving programs, but gained much more. A few of the most obvious differences are that I've lost all interest in pro sports while spending hours daily in real athletics; I no longer watch travel shows, but I've traveled much more; and I'm actually reading those books I always wanted to. More subtly, by avoiding bombardment with supersonic image virus I feel like I'm slowly drifting free from some of the more insipid and repugnant aspects of contemporary American culture. It may be that I've partially substituted other escapist vices for viewing, like reading and research, but those activities are still much more self-demanding, intellectually enriching and guided by my own values and curiosity, not those of any sponsor.

I'm confident that life without a TV is much better. Think about it; then get rid of yours. Smash it-- Or give it to someone whom you'd like to curse.