Move over sliced bread – your rich, buttery goodness can no longer be considered history’s greatest innovation. Indoor plumbing’s pretty good and all, but the systematic creation of drains and piping just doesn’t compare to invention’s latest king of the hill. The same goes for you telephony, and light bulb, and Lunchables with dessert.

There’s a new alpha dog in the yard of All Things Essential, and that pioneering protagonist glaring back at the cowering lot is TiVo.

Frankly, the technology’s not really all that “new.” Founded in 1997, TiVo, Inc. seems rather old in this turbulent environment where hot products quickly plunge from absolute to obsolete. But considering only 650,000 devilishly handsome Americans subscribe to TiVo’s service, someone in the know had to step up to the mike and sing its praises to the unacquainted public.

If necessity is the mother of invention, then convenience gave life to the Digital Video Recorder. Never in the era of modernization has such a supplementary luxury item been this indispensable. And while the price is enough to make your legs turn to jelly, it’s time to quit waffling and jump into the best investment since the market’s bubble burst. To paraphrase the good Lieutenant Sam Weinberg to a similarly indecisive Daniel Kaffee, “…if I had a choice between my cell phone and my TiVo, I’d choose TiVo any day of the week and twice on Sunday.”

For one thing, taking control of the remote instantly changes you into Network President. From here on out, the shots are yours to call. Won’t catch that 4 a.m. Perfect Strangers? Simply record it whilst in slumber and wake up to the hilarious hijinx of Mypos-ian situation comedy. Start The West Wing 16 minutes past the hour and you’ll still finish the commercial-free, uninterrupted show at the same time as mere mortals. Or re-live your fondest memories of halcyon high school days – a 44-minute doubleheader of Head of the Class and Saved by the Bell will certainly kick you back into the roll.

And feel free to get creative with your programming decisions. Record a handful of MacGyver re-runs, but only watch the last 10 minutes of each episode. In one quick hour, you can see Mac foil the bad guys’ evil plan with a rocket launcher made from a double latte and some gauze pads…six times over. If you’re sensing the mood is right for a night alone with Nicole Eggert, throw on a few Charles in Charge classics followed by some Baywatch to get your fix. Better yet, TiVo – yes, it’s a verb, too – a whole block of Skinemax’s educational broadcasting one night and display hours of soft-core porn as a backdrop at your next party.

But that’s the stuff you already know about, leading to the improper conclusion that TiVo is merely a glorified VCR. Hey, we’re just getting started. Perhaps the most useful attribute, TiVo actually allows you to pause and replay live television. Live television. Paused! Phone rings just as Agent Jack Bauer is about to disclose who doctored the Cyprus recordings? Pause it ‘til you’re ready. Some loudmouth wench next to you on the couch won’t stop yapping at the exact moment that girl runs through East Side High’s halls and yells, “Mr. Clark, come quick, some guy is beatin’ up Kid Ray.” By all means, go back a minute or two and catch up on what you missed.

For regular programming alone, that’s a fantastic feature; but for sports junkies, it’s a Godsend. First off, you control the instant replays. Any time Sosa crushes one onto Waveland Avenue, any time Garnett or T-Mac show no regard for human life and throw it down on someone’s head, you have the absolute power to replay it as many times as necessary. In slow motion, no less. Or, for the frivolity-minded, TiVo back to the frame where Pennington runs one in from the goal line and point out that guy in the stands who just got stiffed on a high-five by his oblivious buddy on national television.

Perhaps my favorite feature, though, you can use TiVo to repeatedly call attention to the gross incompetence of the game’s commentators. During this past year’s Miami/Ohio State National Championship game, we must have TiVoed back to hundreds of Keith Jackson blunders. I respect the old man and all, but we checked out Willis McGahee’s gruesome injury at least 20 times. While it was grotesque in sight, we couldn’t help but laugh as Keith solemnly described the situation: “Whoooa boy, he got hit on the inside of the knee, and his knee is…(saddened)…gone.”

TiVo also boasts a ridiculously comprehensive on-screen program guide. You can search for shows and movies to record by time, by channel, by title, any number of ways. Mo’ better, though, you can even search by actor or actress, director, or genre. Just last week I created a Christopher Walken “wish list,” and wouldn’t ya know it, I woke up a few days later with options to TiVo both his “he died-a dysentery, he gimme tha watch” cameo in Pulp Fiction and the Saturday Night Live with the Don’t Fear the Reaper/Needs More Cowbell sketch. It seems TiVo was created to provide joys like these in a man’s life.

Along those same lines, TiVo automatically records programs it thinks you’ll enjoy based on previously recorded data. Sure that’s pretty scary in a Kubrikian sort of way – ”Hi Slade. I TiVo-ed Welcome Back, Kotter and the 1996 World Series for you, Slade” – but should a classic Simpsons episode slips through the cracks, you’ll be glad TiVo was there to scoop it up. There’s only one problem with that, though. If you get bored and watch a single solitary episode of Will and Grace, you may be coming home to Queer as Folk and Christopher Lowell’s interior decorating tips.

In addition to routinely recording extra shows for you, it’ll offer up hundreds of suggestions on a separate page. It’ll present programming specifically made for TiVo, it’ll show you BMW Films shorts, it’ll enter you in awesome contests, like the high-tech digital pen I may have won. TiVo even sends you a newsletter every month with cool advice on how to take total advantage of the product. That’s what makes it a necessary purchase. That’s why 97 percent of surveyed TiVo owners recommend the magic box to a friend.

You see, it’s not just about the omission of commercials. I actually like advertisements. A lot. I walk around my apartment singing songs about zero percent financing events at my local Ford dealer. I vigorously play the air tambourine when Garth Brooks jams with his Dr. Pepper cronies. I laugh hysterically at what has become of George Costanza, hocking KFC hot wings like a normal washed-up sitcom star that wasn’t on the greatest show ever.

Commercials amuse me, they enlighten me, they complete me. Life without them, though, has never been better.

Slade Sohmer’s couch has a permanent ass imprint in it. Tell him to stop watching Full House and get a life: sladeny@yahoo.com.