When I was a kid, we had a strict “30 minutes of screen time per day” rule,* which meant that every day was filled with an epic internal struggle. Should I try and beat World 5 in Super Mario Bros. 3, or should I put it off for a day to corner that criminal mastermind Carmen Sandiego? What is this new show Thundercats, and will it ever be worth missing a new episode of He-Man for? There were, of course, ways around this. My sister and I would take turns sitting watch on the window sill when my mom went out on errands in order to catch a glimpse of her car entering the garage below. This would give us a window of about 7 minutes while my mom made her way up from the garage to our tenth floor apartment—just enough top shut the TV off with sufficient time for it to cool down and pass my mom’s hyper-sensitive touch test (yes, she’s really feel the TV to see if we’d had it on).