After nearly two weeks away from home, I returned to find a monster in the living room. It’s a hulking creature, sleek and shapely, poised and ready for action. As I cautiously circled the room, the beast sat still, silent, waiting for my command. Then, with a simple motion of my hand, the creature came to life. I stared in amazement of its brilliance, while slowly, it took control of my mind.

That beast is a 42″, plasma-screen, high-definition television.

For months, my roommate Jon has been joking—or should I say half-joking—about getting an HDTV. And I’ve only half-jokingly enabled him. “You know you’re going to get one anyway,” I’d say, “why not before the Super Bowl?” Had his beloved Denver Broncos made it there, he probably would have succumbed. But for all my cajoling, reason and frugality won out, and so we limped along with our perfectly-adequate-but-not-totallly-bitchin’ 27″ set.

And then, lightening struck. Literally.

While I was away, New York was hit with what was apparently a colossal electrical storm. As Jon ran through the house unplugging anything remotely valuable, the building was struck. Light bulbs popped as thunder cracked, but all else seemed fine. Except the television. Computers, monitors, stereos—all fine. But as Jon pushed the power button on the TV, a blinking red light was its only response, a harsh rebuke for his neglect.

Now, as far as signs from God go, it doesn’t get more obvious than a thunderbolt from the Heavens. So in accordance with this divine calling—and his own desire—Jon began shopping for the television that he’s been waiting for an excuse to purchase in the first place. Within a matter of days, our sad, on-the-fritz old model was replaced with the behemoth I discovered upon my return.

Generally speaking, I don’t watch much television. I have my shows—24, Doctor Who, and the occasional episode of Good Times—but save these programs, you won’t often find me in front of the ol’ idiot box. Or, I should say, you wouldn’t have often found me there. But it’s hard to understate the lure of high-definition. Suddenly, I find myself watching things I never would have given a second glance, were they not broadcast in glorious 1080i resolution. I’m riveted by mediocre-to-poor quality shows like The(New) Twilight Zone, and Aussie Wine Trail has me positively enthralled. I even accidentally sat through 15 minutes of Jethro Tull Live, before recoiling in disbelief at what I’d just done. And then there’s Bikini Boot Camp, a “travel program” in which three busty, barely-clothed twenty-somethings do jumping jacks on exotic beaches around the world. They’ve retrofitted old shows like Quantum Leap and Knight Rider, too. You’d be surprised how much hunkier David Hasselhoff looks in HD.

I’m sure that this obsession with the TV is just a passing phase, something I’ll get over in due time. But that time isn’t right now. Right now, they’re showing reruns of Charmed on TNT-HD. And right now, I’m going to go watch.