Now that Stephen King’s TV miniseries “The Stand” is over, I’m not sure what I’m going to do with my evenings. This may seem like a trite statement to you, but when you’re not a TV person, when you get no kick from sitcoms, then you have to wonder about your own strong response to something like “The Stand.” In nearly every review, it ranked as TV trash. Even at work, where last night’s TV program is usually discussed with great fervor, no one mentioned “The Stand.”

But I guess I’ll admit it took me by surprise.

It wasn’t the acting — for sure.

It wasn’t the plot — for double sure.

In fact, I have a lot of questions about details. Like, was the end of the world only the end of the world in America, or were other countries hit by the Super Flu, too? How did the Germans fare, for instance? How come Molly Ringwald, as Fran, had so many nice dresses? Where did she keep them while she was traveling by motorcycle? (Maybe the same place she kept that red lipstick she wore in every shot.) And just exactly where is San Rafael Swell, Utah? (I suspect it’s somewhere just this side of Old Testament symbolism.)

Nevertheless, I found myself willing to overlook — nay, celebrate — flaws in characters, situations and pacing because I was so caught up in the suspense and excitement. I mean, “The Stand” was regular old Stephen King storytelling: a horrifying force to overcome, children to be saved, black gurus to be consulted, hit-you-over-the-head symbolism, ESP, halfwits, crazies, prophets and drool. You know, the stuff of his distinguished career. The stuff that puts the words “prolific writer” to shame.

And I had a blast. That’s right: m-o-o-n spells blast.

My teen-age daughter and I hunkered down in front of the TV, stayed up later than usual, taped what we couldn’t finish at night, and simply had fun.

We laughed at the Hollywood-made dead bodies with their faces in bowls of spaghetti. We laughed as Laura San Giacomo’s hair got progressively grayer and especially when she rode through the desert on that silly purple Barbie Doll scooter. We chuckled at the dog named Kojak, similar in sound to Cujo. And we argued whether the villain Flagg, played by Jamey Sheridan, reminded us more of John Goodman (the mischievous smile and twinkling eyes) or Michael Bolton (the hair). Talk about horrors!

I pointed out where the film reminded me of “Bram Stoker’s Dracula,” “The Shining,” “Mad Max,” and even Sharon Stone’s famous scene in “Basic Instinct” (actress San Giacomo was hardly modest when she lifted her legs over a cement balcony before leaping to her death).

More than once while we sat in the dark with our cat prowling in and out of the room, we covered our ears and raised our eyebrows. We were caught in the complete, utter and goofy suspense. We knew what was going to happen, giggled at the creepiness and even cried at the end.

Once, when I had gone into the kitchen, my daughter shrieked from the living room, “Mom! Don’t come in here!”

“Why? Why?” I yelled back.

“It’s that MacGyver guy commercial again,” she answered, knowing how much I would hate seeing Richard Dean Anderson’s face for the zillionth time.

Really, we even got a kick out of the commercials. I didn’t know Ann Jillian was a Slim Fast spokeswoman and a nightclub singer. And how many times did you catch yourself lip-synching “Hasta la vista, baby” with Arnold Schwarzenegger in the ads for “Terminator 2”?

For once at the office, I was prepared to talk about last night’s TV program, but most of my co-workers didn’t watch “The Stand.” I had to do some investigative journalism to find just one person at work who had seen it.

So now our TV is dark and we’re back to talking about what happened at school, what’s for dinner, how to spend the weekend. But I hear there’s another King miniseries coming up in the fall, and you can bet we’ll be turning off the lights and tuning in.