But then, I'm not an aging actress whose wrinkles are suddenly going to be coming into American living rooms unimpeded. Nor, for that matter, am I 76-year-old Clint Eastwood, whose unambiguous septuagenarian chicken-neck - courtesy of HDTV - now becomes a sociopolitical statement (i.e. Integrity is truth, truth integrity).
I've only had true HDTV for a few months now, but it truly is a wonder - especially when you're watching sporting events, like today's blissful orgy of NFL playoffs (3 p.m., Ch. 29 Chicago vs. New Orleans; 6:30 p.m. Ch. 4, New England vs. Indianapolis). Not only can you see every tiny droplet dripping from, say, Chicago quarterback Rex Grossman's slashed index finger but, when the Goodyear blimp is up there doing its work, every member of the crowd is a tiny, individuated dot, not just part of a big, pointillistically blurred throng.
But then, every technological advance I've welcomed into my living room has been - along with everything else - a new way for me to watch football.
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