Not the nostalgic, grainy rabbit-ears version your grandparents talk about, where three channels signed off at midnight with the national anthem. No. I love the now of TV. The glut. The golden age that refuses to end. I love the way a glowing rectangle in the corner of a room can become a universe.
I love TV.
So yes. Call it an addiction. Call it escapism. Call it the opium of the people. love tv
I love the news crawl at the bottom of the screen during a hurricane. I love the weather girl pointing at a green screen, her hands tracing the path of a storm that hasn't arrived yet. I love the infomercial at 3 a.m., selling a non-stick pan with the desperation of a broken poet. I love the static between channels—that snow of a lost signal—because for one second, it reminds me of the void that the TV is always, kindly, filling. The glut
But when the credits roll and the screen asks, "Are you still watching?" I love TV
I always am.