You have one. If you don't, you're either considering getting one or you know someone who does, and they're probably telling you to get one. The all-powerful little box that instantly becomes the joy of its owner's life. Even FCC Chairman Michael Powell worships at its altar, calling it "God's machine." One of my co-workers is a proselytizer, preaching the Word of the Faith and telling others to get it even though he doesn't even have one yet.

It's amazing how much of a cult following TiVo has generated among the technologically elite. It's almost becoming equivalent to the whole secret handshake of having a Mac (Mac users can sniff each other out and instantly our respect for the other person jumps a number of points when we find out that they own and use Macs when not being forced to abide by the office Windoze machines). "Wow! You have TiVo? I didn't know that!" has been heard in my office more than once, and it is becoming well-known Who is Among Those in the Office With TiVo. Ask any of us who owns a TiVo, and we'll be able to rattle off the names of the others quite easily who also have one at home, because we've bonded and let each other into the secret society.

The one bad thing I will say about TiVo is that whoever designed the algorithms to suggest shows must've been smoking crack. Everyone I've talked to who owns a TiVo says that their machines fill up their hard drive with the complete opposite of what they would consider watching, and they have no idea where the machine is getting these notions they'd want to watch these shows. My TiVo started recording soap operas and home-and-gardening shows all in Spanish, so apparently, it thinks I'm a Hispanic stay-at-home mom. Of course, it could also think I'm a senile interior decorator. (Yes, Bill, I threw that link in there for you. You may commence with the cursing of me if you wish.)