TV Watching : Entertainment or Accomplishment?

“We are living in a golden age of TV,” says pretty much everyone you know who has a Netflix account. And they’re right. There is a glut of shows that are not only watchable, but they consistently achieve the highest form of entertainment being produced today. And these uber-shows are so available! They are so immediately available that sometimes it takes me an hour to figure out which one of the many listed on my queue (is it even called a queue anymore?) that I’m going to commit to next. I have found myself wracked with anxiety as the credits of the final episode of a show I have been watching start to roll, knowing that I have to decide which show to commit to next. Because I have so many that I HAVE to watch. Yes. I HAVE to.

When did watching television evolve from being an entertainment to being an accomplishment? “Hi, my name is Jay, I have a BFA from Emerson College and I’m all caught up on Peaky Blinders.” It’s true!! (Well, not the Peaky Blinders part! Only on season 2! Don't tell me what happens!!) I can envision that being my quick intro for some panel of experts that I will be sitting on in an imaginary future where people might care about what I have to say. Or if I weren’t married (I am though, sorry ladies) [(and gents)], I could see this being on my Tindr profile: “I’m a Libra, I have a cat and I just finished Orange Is The New Black. I’m only three episodes in on Justified, however, so spoilers need not apply!! [fingers in ears] LALALALALALALA!” 

TV shows have become such current events in the lives of my friends that I’ve noticed a few times they’re the only things we talk about. And I don’t even mean that in a “my friends and I have lost the ability to talk” kind of way. It’s just so literally on our minds because we are all “doing our best” to finish these shows. We are all forging ahead with the same goal: to accomplish the watching of all of them. I sometimes feel more judged on which shows I’ve CHOSEN to watch than I do on whom I’m supporting for president (don’t worry, HC). “Oh, you hate Sleepy Hollow huh? This from the guy who can’t stop watching, Gotham!?”

So my DVR has become, not a variety of options for those times when I’m in the mood for entertainment, but a “To Do” list.  When items wind up on a “To Do” list, they inherently become a chore, something that HAS to get done. And you know what? When I check something off of that list, when I erase it from the list? It feels good. Just like when I cross off “laundry” from a regular “To Do” list, it feels like an accomplishment. It feels like I got something done.

But did I actually accomplish anything? By watching a TV show from beginning to end, did I improve my life? Do I really want to answer that question? Honestly, who gives a shit? These new shows are often well crafted pieces of art that give you that same feeling upon finishing that you might get from a great book. They spark your imagination and keep you wanting more and, if done right, will create an ending that you’ll discuss for years to come. I think it’s worth it.  

But when does it end? It used to be that you would hear of a new TV show for months before it aired and the anticipation would be electric. Now, when I drive down the same streets I drive down every week, I see a new billboard each time, advertising yet another new show from Netflix that I’ve never heard a whisper of, and most of the time it’ll be available in a few days thereafter. And so I’ll pull over (because I’m not an asshole), tap on my Netflix app and add it to my Queue. Because I’ve now come to trust Netflix, as I do HBO, in that, if they produce something, I am going to give it a shot. They have proven that they are smart, competent and interested in making good TV over making profitable TV.

And now that Hulu, Amazon, TV LAND for Christ’s sake (Chrissake? Christssake?) have jumped on the content bandwagon with this same mantra of making excellent entertainment, it’s really starting to become too much. These studios are becoming too prolific. For example, I just watched the season 2 cliffhanger-finale of Pan Handle on Epix. If you know what I’m talking about, then you’re a liar because that show doesn’t exist but just for a second, you thought it did. Because it’s conceivable there are a variety of shows out there that you’ve never heard of that are way better Gotham (Just stop watching it, JAY!).

Anyway, this is a happy problem. I don’t want to seem like I’m ranting about something I dislike. I think I’m actually ranting about something that I’m afraid that I don’t dislike. As you may recall from a previous post, I worry about wasting time (fuck you Candy Crush), time that I could be spending on more productive ventures and adventures. This worry leads me down a worry hole that bottoms out at parenting. I want to set a great example for my kid so he grows up looking for things to discover and explore, not on the couch, but in the world. The other day, I found myself lamenting this very fact and was appalled after I pondered how much TV my kid watches. I explained this to my cousin who now recently has had a kid of her own. I was just talking about how I was worried that he would grow up and watch too much TV as an adult, because of the amount that I’ve let him watch as a young child, to which she replied, “who cares? That’s what I do!” And I found myself completely unable to argue with that point because as it turns out that is also, as I’m discovering, in this “golden age” of TV, what I do as well.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get going because I have 9 episodes of Penny Dreadful to accomplish.

Candy Crush-ed

          Last year (in May of 2015), I flew home and spent two weeks helping my mother rehab her body after she went through quadruple bi-pass and valve replacement surgeries. I know it sounds like a ton of emotional and physical work, but let me tell you, those 2 weeks as it turned out, represented the longest stretch in 5 years that I had spent away from raising my son. So, needless to say, I was looking forward to the break! I mean, she had a nurse coming to her house every day and my mom could barely get out of the chair. It’s not like I had to make sure she didn’t fall down the stairs, eat a marble or run into the street on a whim. Once the incredibly intense and terrifying surgeries were successfully performed, I just had to sit around and cook meals and provide entertainment. CAKE!

As you might expect from this dream scenario (in a not-having-to-care-for-an-infant way), there was a plethora of downtime; lots of napping, binge-watching Broadchurch (highly recommended) and reading books (remember those!?). My good buddy, Matt Hamill, a sometimes wine-drinking comrade of my mom’s, graciously donated his old iPad to her recovery so she was also looking for things to do and games to play on her new device. As an avid Scrabble player, she jumped right on board with my suggestion of Words With Friends. My Uncle (Happy birthday, Uncle Pete!), who had been with my mom during the surgery and who had been basically doing my job for me while I was recovering from the flu in LA, off-handedly suggested getting her “Candy Crush or something.” So I did.

The addiction began in earnest on the day I left my only-in-a-slightly-better-state mother to return to Los Angeles (I bought her a ton of frozen meals, I’m not a monster). In the few days leading up to my departure, I had dabbled with the game on her iPad while she was sleeping and I found it to be mind-numbing and ridiculous. Perfect for filling gaps in between movies and books on a 6-hour flight across the country. So I downloaded the game to my phone and the downward spiral began. At first it was just what I wanted, a harmless time-killer, something to pass the time while waiting in the terminal to board my plane.

I have never had a heroin problem, or an afterschool special vodka-guzzling affliction, but I can imagine, with the help of all of those tropes from TV and Movies, that those kind of addictions start in the same way. A harmless needle here and there with friends. A couple sips of Tito’s right from the bottle instead of making a Moscow Mule. No big deal. But then, as the addiction grows stronger, and you start to HIDE your consumption of the drug from your loved ones because you know THEY will THINK you have a problem, then you know it has become something bigger, even though you might try to deny that fact to yourself.

Well, as with heroin, so with Candy Crush. I found myself sneaking away just to get a game in, staying in the bathroom longer so that I could finish the game I was already playing, choosing to sit and play the game for fifteen minutes instead of writing or playing the guitar, telling my son he could watch another TV show instead of stopping my game and playing with him myself. In terms of time-management, creative productivity and fun parenting, I had become a complete failure.

            One year and 4 months later I found myself on the floor of my bedroom, curled up in a sweaty ball, shaking and shivering, trying to just beat one last level while my son, who was trapped under a bookshelf that he had knocked over days earlier, was screaming for food that I had neglected to even buy for him. Exaggeration for the sake of dramatic intrigue or not, I found myself sitting on the couch while my son was at school thinking about how I was no further along in my creative pursuits than I had been at the inception of this phase of my life. I started to calculate all of the lost seconds, minutes and hours that I had dedicated to strategizing how to best move similarly colored candy shapes into rows of 3, 4 and 5 so I could “acquire” striped pieces and color bombs and outsmart the computer program that had become my nemesis so that I could…what? Beat it? Finish the game? Yes, I think what I was aiming for in my 80s-video-game-wired brain was to “finish” the game. Or to “flip” it as we used to say. But here’s the thing about these games we play now on our phones. Most of them have NO END. They just keep generating new levels and new ways to get you to pay for “items” that you “need” in the game. It is an infinite hole and after finishing level 500 (!?), I looked deep into that hole and my default online frog avatar swooned.  

500 levels. What good did I do for my kid, my wife or my career in those 500 levels? How have I grown after beating those 500 levels? What will I accomplish by beating the next 500 levels? The answer to all of those questions is nothing (or a version of nothing that fits with the text and context of the question). Not one goddamned thing was accomplished. So, with great resolve, while the Candy Crush clock counted the seconds until I could play my next round, I did the unthinkable. I quit.

I’m not a quitter by trade. I hate quitting anything. At no time in my life has quitting something felt like the right choice. OK, I quit baseball when I was at the top of my game in The Babe Ruth League because I wanted to be an actor. I had been pitching no hitters in Little League and I was on my way to great things, but I wanted to be in Grease so I quit. BUT, that decision to quit came from wanting to pursue my ultimate dream and, much to many people’s chagrin, I have yet to quit on that pursuit. My point here is that quitting has never been something that I see as a positive.

But in the case of the quitting of my tumultuous relationship with Candy Crush, it was the best thing I have ever done. In the 4 weeks since, I have written 6 sketches, started a blog, had 3 auditions (seemingly unrelated but still) and have spent little blocks of 10 or more minutes organizing things in my house which ultimately adds to the overall de-cluttering of my brain, allowing me to focus on what it is I need to focus on. Like how not to end a sentence with a preposition. Like I just did.

I’m still learning. But at least I don’t have Candy Crush pulling my brain into its evil land of sugar and manipulation, thus stunting my growth as an artist. Nay, as a person.

In conclusion, I want to be clear about something. Games are great. I love games. And every game doesn’t have to lead to a life accomplishment. I do a crossword puzzle everyday because I’m a word nerd and I get enjoyment out of it and sure, maybe it makes my brain work 1% better, but it’s still a game. Games are awesome.

But this fucking Candy Crush is a life killer. Just like heroin.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to see what this Pokemon Go is all about. 

Maiden Blog Post

Blogging. What the hell is it? I have no idea. Is it journaling? Is it journaling for others to read? Which would perhaps be the opposite of journaling? According to Wikipedia, the source of all of my knowledge:

“A blog (a truncation of the expression weblog)^[1] is a discussion or informational website published on the World Wide Web consisting of discrete, often informal diary-style text entries ("posts")”

OK. So, that’s what it is. And if that’s what it is, then that’s what you’ll get. Nothing but discrete, often informal diary-style text entries written by me once a week(ish) for a number of reasons, none of which I seem to quite be able to grasp at the moment. But maybe, together, as a team unit, writer and reader, typer and typee, journaler and journalee, we can figure this out. And if you happen to figure it out before I do, feel free to share your discovery with me, as I am lost as to what the fuck I’m doing. It’s like that game 52 Pick-Up. I’ll throw the cards of a deck up in the air and you tell me how much you hate playing this game. It’ll be fun. For one of us. But maybe, just MAYBE, you’ll have more fun picking up those 52 cards than you had first anticipated. And maybe I’ll have even more fun throwing them.