I'M KEN, I'M A GRAZER, I FREELY ADMIT THAT

Man finally has something to do with his hands. As might be expected of idle hands, it is not constructive.

The decline of our civilization can be analyzed through any number of channels. Drugs, violence and the general current of moral decay lend to heavy-handed discussion along these lines. My head hurts deeply just thinking about thinking that deeply.

In keeping with the times, I want a target within easy reach. And there is nothing so accessibly nihilistic as a television remote.

If you think this doesn't lead to a breakdown of our culture, that it doesn't contribute mightily to shortened attention spans, that it doesn't turn every remote-toting soul on every couch in America into a quick-cut music-video director, then use one until the batteries go dead.

The effect is immediate and pathetic. You punch buttons and the television in your field of vision doesn't respond. You punch buttons again, thinking the remote was only momentarily misguided; no response. You punch again, thinking the device will reform itself. Nothing.

The hose that runs from the rear of a clothes drier can become unloosened and spray lint all over the laundry room for a week before most males will deem it worthy of looking at. When a television remote fails, the back of the thing is pried off in minutes to see what the problem might be.

I narrow this to males without reservation. It is uniquely so and innate. My sons practice this with abandon, though the women of the house remain content to stay with one program beyond a few lines of dialogue.

Comediennes regularly make note of the manly art of channel-switching. Barbara Bush even complained about the president's nasty habit in this regard. The remote control is a gender-targeted creation. When it comes to television grazing, women are decidedly behind the curve.

(They would prefer to tell you their attention spans are considerably longer than the two seconds or less it takes to evaluate a channel's offering and make the decision to move on. One person's gift is another person's reluctantly admitted inadequacy.)

Obviously, this is a phenomenon still evolving, since remotes are more common in recent years and cable television has provided more channels for grazing. Thus did time and technology combine for an opportunity that is either glorious and entertaining on one hand or wasteful and mind-numbing on the other.

Bruce Springsteen had it right in singing "57 Channels and Nothing On." If familiarity breeds contempt, then mediocrity breeds channel switchers. Expanded cable means more not to watch.

That assumes that quality programming can be detected in the instant it takes to bounce from one channel to the next, just a restless arpeggio in which cartoons are dispatched with the same speed as a news show, a congressional hearing, an exercise program, an Australian football match, a black-and-white movie, a nature documentary or the bottomless well known as "Married ... With Children" reruns.

Talk is flowing loosely these days, with arguments in full bloom among broadcasters and cable executives as a result of a congressional act, that valued stations might be dropped from some cable systems. While the negotiators will ultimately make peace (the incestuous nature of their relationship demands it), there is a stronger sentiment than usual that some people might unhook their multi-channel arrangements and go back to over-the-airwaves reception.

Technology takes a step back and grazing becomes a more limited endeavor.

Some friends were talking about this the other day. One voiced the opinion that he would give up cable in a moment were it not for a couple of stations that cater to his sporting desires and the headline news channel, which he claims to watch obsessively.

I'm sure cable executives would not be taken aback by this attitude, especially since they get paid the same whether an individual customer watches all the offered non-premium channels or just a few. (Some subscribers of this or any newspaper take the publication just to get the comics or the lottery numbers; no one takes exception, and that's why a diverse product is offered.)

Another friend went unplugged about a year ago, deeming some cable content unfit for his children, and he seems no worse for this.

In describing this experience, however, he dwelled on the severe and rather spooky withdrawal he went through in the early days of kicking cable.

He would sit for long periods in front of his television, remote in hand, running rapidly through the four channels that remained in his reach. Nothing but frustration and longing came from this. In the middle of a sleepless night, he yearned for some dreary movie to bore him to slumber. These were the worst times, without a fix and hours before the cable office opened.

At last, however, the remote control loosened its grip. He regained some semblance of comfort with the remaining stations and found, to his great surprise, more hours in the day. It was a revelation. "I'm free," he finally declared.

My friend says now he is pleased with himself and would do it over again ... but not without a 12-step program.

He may be on to something: Grazers Anonymous.

Ken Newton is editor of the Southeast Missourian.