Prepare to stick me in the freak archives right now because of what I'm about to tell you:

In this early 21st Century year of 2005 AD the boy and I do not possess cable television. Or satellite. Or even TiVo.

But sit down and clutch your trembling heart, for it gets worse: We do not own any of those things BY CHOICE.

Do you wanna be shocked senseless some more? Well, then take THIS: We still use a dial-up modem (remember those, kids?) but that is NOT by choice.

Yes, indeed, I'm coming at ya from this side of the internet at the tremendous speed of about 00.01 kbps (if it's a good connection, I should add), but that is only because we haven't decided which high speed cable we want to zip through the world wide web with. (Actually, I think the boy is afraid that if he gets us high speed internet, he'll NEVER be able to pry this mouse and keyboard from my hands ever again! 'Cause as it is, I have to log off every once in a while in order to call him and tell him that I'm still alive. Yeah, remember the archaic concept of ONE PHONE LINE?)

Anyway, this is about how and why we're stuck (voluntarily, but still stuck!) with... shudder... network television. The boy wanted to get satellite, bless his aching heart, but I put my flat foot (yeah, it's really flat. I'm a medical freak marvel) down and said the one word despised by men the world over: NO.

But I cited wonderful reasons of course. I said: "There are books to be read, music to be listened to, dining room tables to be dined at, words to be spoken, dogs to be petted (albeit OTHER PEOPLE'S dogs... hint, HINT HIIIIIIIIIIINT!)..." and so forth.

So no cable, satellite or even TiVo. Only a Netflix subscription and N*E*T*W*O*R*K television.

Earlier this week, the boy was ailing, so he stayed home.

When he woke up, I was on the couch, glued to the Today Show. (But it's strictly for research. I want to determine once and for all whether Katie Couric is a robot, because I've never met a real person who is so bloody chirpy that early in the morning!)

He went back to sleep. When he woke up again, I was watching Regis & Kelly. (Don't judge. You would be too if you didn't have any other choices.)

He nodded off again. When he came to again, we had breakfast while Ellen was on.

Noon. Good Day Live on UPN. By now the boy is slowly catching on that I change the channel way too punctually for this to be a random occurrence.

Lunch. Click remote over to Brit Wit on PBS.

1:30 Bold & Beautiful (DON'T JUDGE!).

2pm More Brit Wit.

3pm Our resident shrink, the good Dr. Phil.

4pm Oprah, of course.

5pm News.

5:30pm BBC World News on PBS.

6pm Syndicated sitcom reruns. Several choices, for a change! There's a bit of vintage Will & Grace. Or King of Queens, if the mood should strike you.

At about 6:30pm, when I switched over to watch The Simpsons, boy said - nary a HINT of sarcasm in his tone - "You're right. We can't POSSIBLY get cable or satellite, because then you might just start watching television all the time and never read, or write, or blog, or ..."

You can attend his funeral at... just kidding.