My housemate has a substance abuse problem: every month or so, he goes to Best Buy and comes home with around $200 worth of DVDs. Normally, I wouldn't mind, since he's very non-discriminating in his tastes (which is why all five seasons of Friends, plus the “Best Of” sets, are sitting on the rack next to my Rollins and anime. Jebus), but sometimes he gets stuff that's really, really good. He's brought home Buffy, The Simpsons, Band of Brothers, and best of all, The Sopranos. Or, rather, worst of all.

See, the problem is that Michel brings home this good stuff, and I'm compelled to watch it, all of it, all at one throw. I come home from work, make dinner, and proceed to watch four or five hours of television. Granted, it's really, really good television, but there's no denying that my ass is on the couch rather than in my desk chair or my reading chair or just plain off the couch and off at the track. It's excellent stuff, and I'm drawn to it, like a Seattlite to a triple latte with soy milk. I know I have a problem, and, dammit, I don't want to fix it.

The good news is that I'm about three episodes away from finishing season four of The Sopranos. The bad news is that Super Extended Grow-Taproots-Out-Of-My-Ass Edition of The Two Towers should arrive some time tomorrow.

My name is Adam, and I am a video addict.