Sloth, Maybe?

  Americans love their junk.  It's not the junk that bothers me, it's the love. - George Santayana As a teenager, I prided myself on not buying every fashionable knickknack that appeared on the shelf at a clothing store.  I didn't blow away $60 for a pair of sneakers that would be threadbare in six months.  I purchased a brand of jeans (Levis) passable enough to not be mocked by my fashion conscious classmates.  Sure I was insulted and mocked for not being a proper materialistic drone, but I brushed it off.  I was not a victim of that pernicious bug known as (dreadful pipe organ hit in minor key) CONSPICUOUS CONSUMPTION. The closest I got to being a conspicuous consumer was as a collector of comic books-- oops, GRAPHIC NOVELS, sorry.  I was a slave to titles such as Grendel; Concrete, the Living Monolith; Area 88... it was an eclectic mix of various genres.  I was immersed in these beautiful pocket universes where I could get away from mundanity....

Streaming services is what some folk would call a godsend, to which I mostly agree I remember when I first caught Daredevil on Netflix some time ago.   I noticed in the first episode, so much time was granted to exposition and character growth.  For the life me I couldn't figure out why.  At  first. Then the realization hit me:  Daredevil was an hour long drama because it wasn't interrupted by any god damned commercials! As my wife can attest, commercials drive me nuts.  They drove me nuts ever since I watched TV as a kid.  I'm watching a show, say for example Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and for every five minutes of drama it would be abruptly be cut off for what seemed like a commercial break that ran for the same amount of time.  Suze, as many before me, calmly suggested that I simply mute the TV and take a whiz.   What they don't understand is when I feel rage, I am consumed by it.  I preferred to shout at the TV while it bomba...