Forced Obsolescence

In the ’50s and ’60s, American automakers became famous for implementing an approach known as “planned obsolescence.” The idea was to roll out new features and appearance changes every year–adding a bigger tailfin here, a new hood ornament there, an FM radio option, an increase in horsepower, and perhaps a new form of power steering–so that a hapless person who bought a new car three years ago would look at their perfectly adequate vehicle with a sense of embarrassment and decide that they needed to buy a new one just to keep up with the times.

The new tech companies have gone one step beyond planned obsolescence, into the realm of forced obsolescence. That’s what happens when the tech companies just stop supporting the old tech that seems to work just fine, requiring you to purchase and switch to new tech. You don’t just want to change to keep up with the Joneses, you have to change if you want your device to work at all.

This is what happened with our Roku device, which is probably more than five years old. It has worked like a charm. Several months ago, however, we started to get messages when we tried one of the streaming service channels advising us that the channel was no longer available on our antique Roku device, At first I resisted doing anything about it, figuring that one less streaming service is not that big a deal. But now other services have started to drop off, too–so I’ve knuckled under and bought a new Roku device that hopefully will get us back to full streaming capabilities.

It’s irritating, but what are you going to do about it? The tech companies will tell you that they had to stop supporting the old device because of security risks, so the switch to the newer, faster, safer device is really for your own good. But his forced obsolescence approach also happens to provide a lot more certainty for tech company bottom lines, because the switch to the new product is no longer dependent on unpredictable consumer tastes and decisions. The tech companies figure that if they’ve got the ability to eliminate the X factor, why not do it?

Savoring The Small Stuff

So much of what goes on in the world these days is vast and sweeping and far beyond the capability of normal people to control. It can make people feel overwhelmed and helpless.

That’s why I think it’s important for us to step back and focus on the small stuff. We may not be able to determine when the coronavirus pandemic will end, but there are bound to be little things that we can change to make our lives incrementally better. If we focus on those little adjustments, we can accomplish something that we can feel good about.

Here’s an example of what I mean. We use a Roku device to get access to Netflix and Amazon and other streaming services. It worked like a charm . . . until one day a service called Crackle appeared on the Roku menu and immediately made using Roku an unpleasant annoyance. Ever time we tried to access Netflix or one of the other services, we’d hear a “bee doop” sound and the screen would take us to Crackle —which we didn’t want and will never, ever want. Whether by glitch or design, we were unwillingly routed to Crackle multiple times every time we tried to use Roku. It made what was supposed to be the pleasant diversion of watching TV into a frustrating exercise in high blood pressure irritation.

This week I decided to take action. I actually watched a Roku tutorial to see how to delete a channel, followed the instructions, and successfully deleted Crackle. Obviously, I should have done that long ago. But last night, we were able to use Roku and watch shows without seeing the hated Crackle logo or feeling the blood pressure soar. It made for a very pleasant evening.

It’s a small victory, but I’ll savor it nevertheless. And I’ll be on the lookout for more of that small stuff to change.

Breaking Badathon

Kish and I admittedly have been derelict in our hot TV show watching.  We have never watched Mad Men, or Dexter, or the vast majority of the other shows that have dominated the national conversation and shifted the zeitgeist over the past decade or so.

That includes Breaking Bad.  And our out-of-itness meant that, for years, when one of our friends would ask what we thought of the latest episode, we could only shrug and say we don’t watch the show — a response that was typically greeted with a puzzled look and then a heartfelt “You’ve got to watch it!”  But somehow, with everything else on our plates, we just never got around to it . . . until now.

We’ve decided to do a crash course in cultural catch-up.  With AT&T U-Verse as the platform, we’ve subscribed to Netflix, installed Roku, and started our studies.  Breaking Bad is the first class on the schedule, and each night after I return home from work we’ve become immersed in the weird world of Walter White and his pal Jesse and his crooked lawyer and watched mini-marathons of episodes.  We’re now nearing the end of season 3, and things just seem to be getting worse, big picture, for the ever-rationalizing OCD cancer-battling chemistry teacher turned bad-ass meth cook.

Some people argue that Breaking Bad is the best show that has ever been broadcast on TV.  Based on what we’ve seen so far, I would say it is a superior show, although I’m not sure that it is quite at the level of The Sopranos or The Wire.  Still, it’s got all of the elements of a great show — fascinating characters that you care about, great acting, evil, unexpected violence, stone-cold criminals, difficult moral choices, and little touches that just make the show a bit more interesting, like a character who always wears purple.

But here’s my problem:  I simply can’t watch too much non-sports TV programming without dozing off.  I don’t care how good a show is, and whether Hank is in mortal peril — there’s something about sitting on a couch and watching hours of TV that makes me nod off.  Three episodes is about my limit, and that’s OK by me.  I prefer to parcel out and savor the episodes of a great show, rather than watching them all in one big gush.