“Did you see X on the Y show last week?”

For those who don’t know me, it’s a fair and innocent question to ask. But most people I do know are so entrenched in the “world” of television that they tend to forget I am not in that world with them. Inevitably, someone will ask. It could be at the office, in a restaurant, or on the subway.

They’ll get an absent-minded stock answer. “I don’t really watch TV,” comes my reply, and then I brace myself. Funny looks usually ensue, and then everyone present will forget so they can ask me again another day about something that happened on another show. I don’t own a television at all. I only see a TV on occasion while visiting a friend’s apartment; the box will be turned on at some point during the visit, and it becomes the center of everyone’s attention, including mine. I try to avoid TV altogether and I think the rest of the universe should too.

Those of you who have read my article, “The Times They Are A-Changin’,” from May 2004 won’t be surprised that I don’t watch TV anymore. Most programming is dull and oftentimes even disturbing. Ninety-five percent of the women and men I see on television are culled from the top 5% of the most beautiful people in the country- even the so-called reality shows. What’s real about them? It would make the people around me appear inadequate despite the fact that I live in a town filled with beautiful people, New York City, and I would gladly ask out at least two ladies on almost any given crowded subway car if I had the time. The actors I see on dramas such as 24 and sitcoms such as Friends are so prone to overly-dramatic dialogue, gestures, and situations that I want to tell them to calm the heck down, or at least medicate themselves. Reality shows aren’t much more than avenues for people to self-indulge in front of millions of other people as opposed to doing it in the neighborhoods they came from; and the networks will gladly make the trade of having to hire expensive actors and write scripts in exchange for getting attention-seeking everymen to air dirty laundry on national television.

And then there’s the advertising. Actors in ads are even better-looking on average than the ones in shows. Those marketing people are damn good at pitching things that most people don’t need, or even want. Last week I was at a friend’s place, the TV was on, and a seductive KFC ad appeared. My friend turned to me with a happy, knowing smile. “Don’t you feel like ordering a big bucket of chicken right now?” I robotically nodded my assent, despite having finished a large dinner just a half hour earlier. Some strong suggestions from my digestive system that it would go on strike if asked to work overtime prevented me from eating again. The fact that my body even had to weigh in on this debate embarrasses me to no small degree.

It’s the advertising dollars that keep television on the air, and television ads are more effective than any other type. When we watch, seeds are planted in our brains: our skin is not smooth enough, our cars are not big enough, our children are not being nourished properly, we are still hungry, but we’re too fat. In other words, our lives suck. We can’t have happiness unless we buy it in packages, one over-the-counter drug at a time. Advertising tells us we can buy our way out of our unhappy existence. But, there is a fundamental compromise we must make. We first have to pursue the money we need to buy those products or services.

Television, in many ways, is a disease. When I had a TV, I found it impossible to be in the living room without turning it on, kind of like a rash that won’t go away. It’s too easy to come home after a hard day at the job, kick back on the couch with a remote, and let the box do all the work for a few hours. You can just sit back and let it entertain you without too much thought, or attention. Most people and activities don’t have that particular feature. Your spouse or dog may do it for a while before he or she needs some attention in return. A stripper would certainly expect a pretty penny for her efforts. But the TV entertains and informs, selflessly, expecting nothing in return. (Of course, creating all this quality programming isn’t free, and it would be generous, kind sir or madam, for you to kindly donate your attention during the barrage of advertisements, thank you very much.)

I would argue that television takes something away you will never get back: time. The time you’ve spent watching overpaid actors or pundits or juiced athletes are hours you have lost. All those hours spent watching ads are either inducing you to buy something, and if they aren’t then isn’t it a waste of time anyway? I recognize the human need for entertainment. But why aren’t we out playing more sports? Or reading books? Picking up new hobbies? Spending more quality time with the real people in our lives instead of watching other people do stuff? I remember something one of my buddies said to another when the latter elected to watch Friends instead of hanging out with us on the beach during our last week of college: “What are you doing? Your friends are right here!”

Let’s not pretend that life without television is all wine and roses. There are downsides to this unusual lifestyle. You may be the only one at a party to miss the punch line of a joke referencing something from pop culture. You could miss that big interview where some A-list actor professes his love for an up-and-coming young actress for the first time— and be the schmuck who had to read about it in a magazine or on the Internet later. You would have missed Justin Timberlake ripping off something from Janet Jackson’s right teat, thereby exposing most of it during the most watched event of the year: a historic moment in American history. You won’t get to see a streaming ticker across the bottom of your screen, informing you of what the terror alert level is. Worst of all, your own creativity will be stifled, because you’ll miss all that creative stuff that other people are putting up on the screen. Like reality TV that’s not real.

Then there are the withdrawal symptoms, which can be pretty rough. You may long for that sultry blonde news anchor who comforted you while describing the London suicide bombings. It may be difficult to dissociate cold-turkey from images of your favorite celebrity shopping at K-Mart. You’ll miss the new Gap ad everyone is raving about. And all that free time is really an outrage. But the most agonizing symptom you’ll experience is that severe itch in your right hand- because the remote isn’t comfortably nestled in it. The faint of heart need not apply.

There exists a nicotine patch that can help you get your fix during the initial withdrawal: it’s called the Internet. That’s where I turned to for much of my sedentary entertainment, although it does require a bit more effort. But who has time for that anymore?