I have a confession to make: I am an addict. Im strung out, my friends, literally—surrounded by the paraphernalia of my drug of choice, electricity. My apartment is a sickening jumble of daisy-chained power strips and extension cords, all supporting my particular addiction to wall warts—those power-squandering, space-wasting, chunky black power adapters used to juice my gadgets. Im not about to give up all my electronic gear—no sir, thats not an option—so Id like to offer a compromise. A methadone treatment, if you will allow me to stretch this already thin metaphor.