Does binge-watching come with directions?

Gotta face facts: I don’t know how to binge watch TV.


Which is really weird because I have no trouble bingeing in other ways. I binge ice cream. And chocolate chip cookies. And comic books. (I have the palette and aesthetics of an 8-year-old. Sue me.)


But binge watching TV is apparently a bridge too far.


My students often tell me they are bingeing a particular show. Some have watched every episode of “The Office” — all 201 of them — multiple times. One knocked out two seasons of “The Handmaid’s Tale” in as many weeks. Another spent a weekend watching four complete seasons of some reality show whose name escapes me.


I, on the other hand, am attempting to binge watch “Star Trek: Discovery.” I borrowed it from the library a few weeks back. Since then, I have watched one-and-a-half episodes. Pathetic, huh?


It took me two attempts to get through the first episode because I kept falling asleep. I’m having the same trouble with episode two.


It’s not that I don’t like it. The show’s pretty good. They’ve made Trek all grim and gritty, not your father’s Trek, yadda yadda yadda.


But pretty soon, I’ll have to return the set so other people can borrow it. They’ll probably finish all 15 episodes overnight or pace themselves over a weekend, in between full seasons of “Breaking Bad.”


My completion rate is significantly slower.


In the past few months, I’ve “binged” one Hulu series, “The Act,” about a mother who forced her child to use a wheelchair when she didn’t need it. The show had eight episodes. It took me about three weeks.


I also “binged” an eight-episode series from the Oxygen channel, “Dirty John.” It’s about a slimy conman — is there any other kind? — who wriggles his way into the life of a trusting woman and her daughters. I really whipped through that one, comparatively speaking, in about 10 days.


Both shows, by the way, are “based on true stories” or “inspired by real events” or “somewhat tenuously connected to something that might have happened to somebody, somewhere, at some time.” And they’re both enjoyable, but I’m not sure you should take the recommendation of somebody with such limited TV-watching experience.



I appreciate shows that have only seven or eight episodes because I feel like I can commit to them with a reasonable chance of success. Shows with more installments start to feel like a job that you hate — picking mushrooms out of the yard, cleaning the gutters or getting a colonoscopy.


I have a laundry list of failed programs in my wake, series that I have started and then abandoned or that I promise to get back to “someday.”


These include all of the Marvel series, including “Daredevil,” “Jessica Jones,” and “The Punisher. They include the WB’s adaption of “The Flash,” which I really like, despite being three or maybe four seasons behind. I peaced out of “The Handmaid’s Tale” after six episodes, all of which I enjoyed but found too depressing to continue.


My turtle-speed watching is mostly because I don’t prioritize TV viewing. I’d rather be reading or doing something outside, especially in the summer.


Also, I’m more of a movie guy. A 90-minute or two-hour commitment strikes me as more reasonable, a complete story that doesn’t require the broadcast equivalent of a promise ring to see through to the final credits.


Even so, I have an alarming number of movies sitting around, both physically and digitally, that I may get to, at my present rate of consumption, some time in my 70s or 80s.


It’s gotten so bad that my wife and I recently made the decision to move our TV out of the living room. When we watch the news, which is really my must-see TV, we use a tablet or phone, so why build a room around a big black relic?


Earlier this month, we lugged the TV into the basement and plunked it down in front of an old couch. We’ve gone down there to watch three times since. Once was to watch a movie.


To nobody’s surprise, I fell asleep.


chris.schillig@yahoo.com


@cschillig on Twitter

White people must be less fragile

I learned a new concept recently: white fragility.

To be more accurate, I learned the label for the concept. This label, coined by Dr. Robin D’Angelo and used as the title of her 2016 book, may be new, but the concept itself dates back decades, if not centuries.


White fragility refers to the discomfort that white people like me feel when talking about race, and to the defensiveness we exhibit as a result. Any indication that we may have benefited socially, academically and professionally from the color of our skin will cause us to feel that we are being attacked.


As a result, we blow off such discussions or exit them entirely. If we stay, we may argue that such prejudices do not apply to us, that we are more enlightened than the next person, that we don’t “see color.” We may even start to feel slighted ourselves, that we are being made to feel guilty for being white.


I have suffered from white fragility, 100 percent. I’d like to say that I’ve recovered, but I’m learning that it’s more about the journey than the destination.


Acknowledging white fragility first requires acknowledging white privilege. People who are white must recognize that, in American society, certain advantages have come built in.


This doesn’t mean that our road has been smooth or that we haven’t earned what we have. It does mean, however, that it has been easier for us to get jobs and loans, to avoid entanglements with the law, and to find people who look like us in books and movies. We have benefitted, unknowingly in most cases, from institutionalized racism.


That word, “racism,” and the equally pejorative “racist,” cause white people’s hackles to rise, which is part of the problem.


D’Angelo, in an interview on the Teaching Tolerance website, argues that society needs to change its definitions. “As long as you define a racist as an individual who intentionally is mean, based on race, you’re going to feel defensive,” she notes. “When I say you’ve been shaped by a racist system—that it is inevitable that you have racist biases and patterns and investments—you’re going to feel offended by that. You will hear it as a comment on your moral character.”



Instead, she says, society must start to think of racism as “a system that we have been raised in,” one that is beyond considerations of good or bad.” Realizing that American society is steeped in racism and that we have all been affected allows us to move to the next step: Overcoming it.


And that’s tough work. As a place to start, Salon writer Sarah Watts recommends four questions we can ask ourselves during discussions about race: Am I trying to change the subject? Am I using inappropriate behavior to deflect? Am I getting defensive or angry? Am I going out of my way not to focus on “the negative”?


Avoiding discomfort is not the goal. Experiencing it is. Because it’s only from a place of discomfort that we can start to change.


So when we respond to discussions of race by saying that “all lives matter,” all we do is reaffirm the status quo, a world where “all” has traditionally not included everybody. Or when we argue that “blue lives matter,” we co-opt a movement that was designed to focus on one specific group and move it in a different direction.


In both instances, we attempt to shut down a discussion of race because hand-holding messages of peace or supporting law enforcement are less squirmy.


One could argue plausibly that the resurgence of white nationalism in this country over the last few years is a knee-jerk reaction to white fragility, a way for some factions to reassert a place of dominance, perhaps subconsciously, in the social and political hierarchy.


Hence, the strong attachment to the Confederate flag, the nostalgia for some halcyon age when life was allegedly simpler (i.e., less diverse), when “girls were girls and men were men,” to quote the theme song from “All in the Family,” which could serve as a rallying cry for a certain type of backward-longing American.



And, if I’m being completely frank, white fragility could be expanded to “dominant fragility” and used to explain our defensiveness in discussing issues like immigration, female autonomy and the challenges of a living wage.


But such an expansion makes me guilty of changing the subject, something that is too easy to do and that has happened too often where race is concerned.


Because white people like me need to be less fragile, to speak less and listen more.


chris.schillig@yahoo.com


@cschillig on Twitter

Saying goodbye to two long-time publications

Two venerable print institutions announced recently they were going away, victims of changing times and consumer buying patterns.


The first is the Youngstown Vindicator, a paper with a storied history dating to 1869. According to its general manager, Mark A. Brown, the publication succumbed to many of the same forces that have closed almost 1,800 local newspapers since 2004 — dwindling circulation, rising costs and a migration of advertising online.


When a newspaper folds in 2019, competitors do not cheer. This is because people working in print recognize the hard realities of the industry and the vital importance of what newspapers do. Papers are more than a wrapper for retail flyers or a place to park anniversary announcements, as important as those functions are. Newspapers, at their best, provide the spine that supports a community — a place for people to be informed of the stories of the day, to see the good (and sometimes the bad) that their neighbors and friends do, and to be apprised of actions by local governments and elected officials.


That last piece, the watchdog function of the press, may be the most important. While the majority of elected officials, I’m convinced, seek office with the best interests of their constituents at heart, a small minority are engaged in shenanigans, and the presence of a reporter in the back of the room and an impending headline on the front page can be a powerful reminder of accountability.


Erin Keane of the Salon Media Group wrote last October about “news deserts,” those communities where no local paper exists. Like food deserts, where lack of comprehensive grocery services forces residents to make less healthy dietary choices, news deserts drive readers to social media, where information is often less accurate and more biased.


Social media has its place, of course. If you want to see dozens of pictures of Aunt Selma and Uncle Joey’s vacation or a four-minute video of your neighbor’s chihuahua balancing a cracker on its nose, then Facebook and Instagram can’t be beat.


If you want coverage of substantive news of the day, however, you’re better off turning to a local newspaper, either in print or online.


Most newspapers, like this one, have a substantial online presence. Unfortunately, because of missteps in the early days of the Internet, many publishers conditioned readers to get news online for free, under the assumption that advertising would bear the cost.


It hasn’t worked out that way, yet many readers still believe news should still be free, or nearly so. They don’t recognize that stories cost money and time to research, write, photograph, and edit. A piece that can be read in four minutes may represent dozens of hours of work over several days to produce.



The second publication to announce its imminent demise is Mad magazine, which will limp along with two more original issues and then a few reprint editions to fulfill subscriber obligations before folding altogether.


Readers of a certain age will certainly remember the heyday of Mad, when its self-styled “Usual Gang of Idiots” skewered pop culture, sports and politics each month, along with copious paperback reprints of popular features like Dave Berg’s “Lighter Side of ...” and Sergio Aragones’ visual gags.


In a way, it could be argued that Mad was too successful. Its snarky attitude is ubiquitous enough today to survive without the magazine, most evident in the thousands of Mad-like memes posted online.


When Ivanka Trump weaseled her way into conversations with world leaders at the G20 summit recently, or when President Trump asserted on July 4 that airports existed during the Revolutionary War, nobody had to wait two months or more for Mad’s writers and artists to skewer them. Images showed up almost immediately: Ivanka talking to Lincoln and watching Martin Luther King Jr. speak, Washington crossing the Delaware accompanied by a phalanx of fighter jets.


That’s Mad all the way, just without the magazine.


The Internet isn’t going away, and the disruptive effect it has on traditional media isn’t ebbing, either. Nobody wants to be the last person manufacturing buggy whips or the last person defending their necessity. When something no longer works or is no longer necessary, the market dictates its exit — a newspaper or magazine included.


But, at the bare minimum, if consumers like something and value its presence — a local or national publication, a small business, a service — they should support it with their patronage and dollars if and when they can.



Otherwise, they risk something they love becoming the next Vindy or Mad.


chris.schillig@yahoo.com


@cschillig on Twitter

Flaws Aside, Biden Is Still the Smart Choice

The biggest presence at the Democratic debates last week was somebody who wasn’t even there.


President Donald Trump’s shadow loomed large over the 20 candidates. It also impacted viewers, who had to weigh not only each candidate’s positions and temperament, but also his or her chances of emerging victorious over Trump in 2020.


One of the most significant question marks was Joe Biden, taken to school by Kamala Harris on his misguided attempts earlier this month to explain that he can work with anybody, including racist senators of past decades.


Biden stumbled through a states’ rights argument in response to Harris’s emotional comments about segregation and busing. It wasn’t his finest moment. Time — and polling — will tell how much it may have hurt him and helped Harris.


That misfire aside, Biden is still the candidate who has the chops, not just to face Trump, but to entice enough voters on the fringes of the president’s base to defect.


And those voters are there. They’re farmers who are feeling the pinch of Trump’s threatened trade wars. Workers who are tired of being underemployed and underpaid. Young parents who are concerned about the environmental state of the planet after Trump rolled back policies to regulate pollution. Patriots who wonder why the president so often trusts foreign dictators over his own country’s intelligence agencies. Compassionate people disgusted by the humanitarian crisis at the border and the president’s disavowal of any blame.


Many voters may just be exhausted by the profusion of ridiculous statements and pronouncements from Trumplandia. The endless river of tweets. The growing line of women who claim he has assaulted them. His dismissive denunciations (“She’s not my type,” Trump said of E. Jean Carroll, his latest accuser) that betray such casual misogyny.


Of course, no Democratic candidate will ever pry loose the MAGA-hat-wearing adherents for whom Trump performs so obligingly at various rallies. These folks will never be converted.


And let’s be honest: Even lukewarm Trump supporters are not going to be won over by the Democratic party’s far-left-leaning proclivities — including voters who just went along to get along, so to speak, intrigued by Trump’s outsider status and badboy-dealmaker persona (one largely created by the ghostwriter of his autobiography, if those accounts are to be believed).



I felt a cold fist squeeze my heart during the debates, when candidate after candidate expressed support for a woman’s right to choose and universal healthcare. This is not because I don’t agree with them — I do — but because I knew how that message would play in living rooms across the Rust Belt.


But in Biden, Democrats have a candidate who can soft pedal aspects of the Democratic progressive ticket that are least appealing to Republicans. He speaks their primary language of economics fluently, which is a major job criterion.


His age, too, could be an asset to fringe voters. A candidate with one foot in the past, he is a convenient bridge between a moderate platform and the more assertive progressivism of Harris or Pete Buttigieg, who might be too threatening for Republicans looking for an escape route from Trump.


Even Biden’s assertiveness on Thursday night, which veered toward anger, is a more enlightened version of Trump’s egomania. All Biden’s flaws — the weird verbal peccadillos, the awkward grabbing and shoulder rubs, the occasional lapses into Aggrieved Old White Man Speak — could be counted as strengths not only among defecting Republicans but also older Democrats who feel other candidates have moved too far to the left.


“Better Than Trump and Still Comfortable” isn’t the most compelling campaign slogan, but it best captures Biden’s appeal.


What would be really fetching, albeit improbable, would be a Biden/Harris or Biden/Buttigieg ticket in 2020. Give Biden one term to serve as a stop gap after four years of insanity, and then set up a presidential bid by his VP.


Would I rather see either Harris or Buttigieg earn the Democratic nod? Personally, yes. But the nation simply cannot risk four more years of Trump, so Dems need to think strategically here.



Right now, that means Uncle Joe.


chris.schillig@yahoo.com


@cschillig on Twitter

Originally published July 5, 2019, in The Alliance Review. 

Americans Aren't Over the Moon for Further Lunar Trips

Americans are more united in their support of moon exploration than they are many other topics.

Which is to say, they are united by their lack of support.

Only 23 percent of Americans believe that returning astronauts to the moon is “very/extremely important,” according to a recent survey conducted by The Associated Press and the non-partisan and objective research organization NORC at the University of Chicago.

That’s depressingly similar to a survey from 1964. Then, only 26 percent of Americans said that the U.S. should try to beat Russia to the moon with a manned mission.

One myth about Apollo 11 noted in “One Giant Leap,” a new book by Charles Fishman excerpted in June’s Smithsonian magazine, is that the public widely and enthusiastically supported NASA in the years before Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin made their historic lunar visit. But that appears to be revisionist history. One is tempted to call it “fake” history.

Some of the same concerns heard today were used 50-plus years ago. We have enough problems without adding the moon to the list. Let’s solve poverty first. And hunger. And war.

I overheard a group of students kvetching about this topic recently. One said that the U.S. should be more focused on fixing the environment than going to the moon. Another said there were still plenty of unexplored regions on Earth, especially in our oceans.

Besides, what did going to the moon ever get us anyway?

Fishman has answers for that. He argues that Apollo’s legacy rests on more than just national pride in beating the Russians to the punch. According to him, the race to the moon ushered in the digital age, popularizing and standardizing integrated circuits. It also whetted our collective appetites for technology, including real-time computing that most of us take for granted today.

That means that we can, in part, thank NASA and Apollo for computers that crunch our income taxes and monitor our heartbeats — and for smartphones that allow us to tweet our breakfast photos to the world.

Fishman doesn’t mention it, but Apollo also popularized Tang, that great-tasting staple of baby-boomers’ diets.

And, despite the dismal lack of support for future moon landings, the American public does recognize the importance of space exploration in general. The AP-NORC poll indicates 42 percent of Americans support continued funding of the International Space Station, 47 percent want to continue to send robotic probes without human passengers into space, and a whopping 68 percent want the U.S. space program to “monitor objects including asteroids, comets, and other objects that could impact the Earth.”

The only two ideas in the survey that rank lower among Americans than returning to the moon are establishing a U.S. military presence in space and establishing a permanent human presence on other planets.

Readers often accuse me of having nothing nice to say about Donald Trump (and those readers are correct — I usually don’t), but let me go on record as saying I support his administration’s desire to send America back to the moon and into outer space faster than the current NASA timetable.

If the possible technological advances stemming from a new space race aren’t enough, consider this: At the rate we are destroying our planet and rolling back environmental regulations, we have every incentive needed to reach beyond the boundaries of our own world and at least lay the groundwork for expansion, even if it that concept is centuries away from being a reality.

In the musical “Hamilton,” legacy is described as “planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.” Space is our legacy. The moon, first visited by man 50 years ago, was our first step toward fulfilling it.

Going back should be our next step.

Originally published on June 27, 2019, in The Alliance Review.