The Boob Tube

On New Year's Day, our local NBC affiliate (KRON 4) dropped its affiliation with NBC, leaving me peacockless for the time being. Thankfully, I haven't shown any signs of withdrawal – yet. Still, I have nowhere to turn if I want to watch fresh broadcasts of Friends or Frasier. People with cable providers have been given an alternative station, but I've got a silly little DirecTV satellite that doesn't (to my knowledge) pull in local stations for free. This is San Francisco, folks. We're on the bleeding edge of technology. Problem is: we keep picking at the scabs.

Gretchen wants me to help her write 'thank you' notes for all the Christmas cards (and presents) we received this season. I'm more interested in watching a rerun of Voyager. It's a 7 of 9 episode, and those (by law) must never be missed. Of course, I don't watch television like a normal person. I stare at the screen (read: the computer screen) while the boob tube does its thing beside me. What the hell did I do with my time before the Internet came along?