AS A DEVOTED fan of the late V-66, Boston's first--and to date last--music video station, I was more than disappointed to see the channel fall by the wayside after little more than a year on the air.

But what really outraged me was what replaced it: the Home Shopping Club. Until this year, you had to go to New York to hear loudmouthed salesmen trying to hawk junk you didn't really need. Now you can subject yourself to the torture of a Crazy Eddie commercial any time of the day or night, in the comfort of a Harvard dorm room.

I had not considered the value of home shopping--if indeed there is one--until I realized what a pain it is to go out to do your shopping. Until, that is, the day I walked into Strawberries to buy a record.

OBLIVIOUS TO the world, I walked into the store with my walkman headphones on. I passed through some sort of metal detector I had been accustomed to seeing only in airports. Unlike the airport checkpoints, this barrier did not have a customs official with a gun standing by, nor was there a sign that said "inappropriate comments about bombs and explosives may result in arrest." (By the way, what is an appropriate comment about bombs or explosives?)

But very much like the airport checkpoints, this columnway did do strange things to my walkman as I walked through. I don't remember exactly what happened, but the tape diverged from the music I had been listening to and played the message "worship the devil and serve your relatives for breakfast at the Union."

Undaunted, I proceeded through the store. I was immediately stopped by an overanxious clerk who forced me to check my bag. Again, I was not unaccustomed to such behavior. Rather, I was used to trading in my bag for a token receipt with the jack-of-hearts on it.

But the clerk did not give me a playing card. For my receipt, he gave me an object which was not only impossible to describe, but also so large and heavy that I had to drag it around by my foot as I traipsed through the store. This was behavior I had only seen at gas stations where they give you a men's room key attached to a spare tire to prevent you from absconding with it.

I proceeded to select an album and bring it to the counter. After disengaging myself from my weighty baggage claim check, I pulled out my Visa card and presented it to the attendant.

Not good enough. I had to have a picture ID to verify that I was indeed John N. Rosenthal. Luckily, I was carrying my National Rifle Association member card. The clerk compared the names to see that they matched up.

Then she called the Visa company to see if I was a deadbeat. Then she checked the catalog to see if my card had been revoked. Lastly, she filled out the bill and asked me to add my address and phone number to the bottom of the register in order to make sure I really wasn't a deadbeat and to prevent me from absconding with the engine block that served as my claim check.

I walked back through the checkpoint, remembering this time not to wear my walkman. I made an inappropriate comment about bombs and walked out, vowing to myself never to go shopping again.

NOW I do all my shopping in the comfort of my own home. Not from the Home Shopping Club, as a matter of protest, but from catalogs. The Star Market catalog is particularly good. It lets me do all my grocery shopping over the phone. Most of the food is rotten by the time it gets to my house, but they have a great deal on Windex.

Most of the clothes I buy from catalogs even fit too, although they are usually out of style by the time they arrive. Still, it beats going through maximum security every time you want to go to a store.

My favorite catalog to date, though, is the one I got from the Norwood Trophy and Engraving Company. It arrived just in time, as I was almost out of trophies and things to engrave when the catalog showed up at my mailbox.

I ordered the usual 10 bowling trophies, two dozen gold electroplated thermometers and three personalized combination-pen-pencil- business-card-holder-paper-weights.

But the company's newest items really caught my eye. For only $190, I could have a ceremonial groundbreaking shovel. It doesn't look special from the picture, but I could tell it was made from the highest quality plywood and aluminum. Or I could have a ladies' walnut gavel for only $22.50, with my choice of a $10 gavel stand or a 4-inch sounding block for $24. (Men's stand and gavel cost extra.)

Unfortunately, nobody answered the phone at the Norwood Trophy and Engraving Company to take my questions about the quality of their merchandise or about what makes a ladies' gavel different from a men's gavel. I guess I'll have to wait until a gold electroplated thermometer becomes the item of the hour on the Home Shopping Club.