I Hate TV Now

Dallas. The Wire. Parks & Recreation. X-Files.

I used to love television. Not “it’s on in the background while I scroll through my phone” love. I mean real love. 

Appointment viewing. Microwave your food during commercials so you don’t miss a scene. Debate the episode the next day like it was a Supreme Court case. It was a huge deal!

Now? TV feels like it was designed by an algorithm that hates me personally.

Streaming was supposed to save us. 

• Freedom from commercials. 
• Entire seasons at our fingertips. 
• Prestige television. 

What we got instead is eight-episode “seasons” that feel like extended trailers. Just when you’re settling in, learning the characters, getting emotionally invested… boom. Season over. See you in 18-to-24 months.

Two years? For eight episodes?

By the time the next season drops, I need a "previously-on" recap, a YouTube explainer, and a support group just to remember who betrayed who. And let’s be honest, sometimes I’ve moved on. There’s a new show, a new app, a new mystery with moody lighting and a troubled detective staring out a rainy window.

Speaking of mysteries… when did every new show become a "whodunnit?"

There was a time when TV trends had range. Not these days. We survived the detective era. We endured the hospital drama invasion. Even the missing person(s) trend. Now, every trailer is ominous music, a dead body, and a cast of suspects who all look like they own at least three turtlenecks. I promise you, not every town in America is hiding a ritualistic murder conspiracy where everyone thinks the other person did it.

And can we talk about cancellations? I know that I'm jumping around a bit, but that's what you do in a rant. And I didn't want to forget this one.

Streamers and networks alike have the patience of a toddler in a checkout line. If a show doesn’t explode in the ratings or trend for 48 straight hours, it’s gone. No time to find its footing. No slow burn. No growth.

You fall in love with a show and the next thing you know, the network/streaming service gives you the old "It's not you. It's me." And just like a failed a relationship, you've wasted months of your life on something that was never seriously going to be seen through to the end.

That’s why I’ve developed trust issues with new shows. I sometimes won’t even commit until season two or three. I need proof of life. I’m not getting attached to characters who might disappear mid-cliffhanger because some network exec decided they weren’t profitable enough.

That’s not how great TV used to work.

Some of the best shows in history had rocky starts. They were allowed to breathe. Writers had time to get into a groove. Characters evolved. Stakes built gradually. Now plotlines sprint from twist to twist like they’re trying to impress someone in a pitch meeting.

And maybe that’s the real problem. Shows feel written for distraction instead of immersion.

You can tell when a series expects you to be half-paying attention. Dialogue gets repetitive. Plot points get spoon-fed. Scenes stretch just long enough for you to glance down at your phone and still know what’s happening when you look back up.

Here’s a wild idea: what if you created something compelling enough to make me put the phone down?

What if you gave a reason for your audience to focus? 

Okay, one more thing and then I'll stop rambling... (for today)

Sitcoms are another casualty. Network TV used to deliver jokes every 20-to-30 seconds. Rapid fire. Setup. Punchline. Tag. Repeat. The 70s and 80s sitcoms had timing like a metronome. Today, many so-called comedies are dramedies with one polite chuckle and a meaningful stare into the distance. Are comedians even writing sitcoms anymore?

Abbott Elementary is the exception though! That show understands the assignment. It’s funny on purpose. It respects rhythm. It remembers that comedy should actually make you laugh and continue to chuckle as you anticipate the next bit of humor.

Most others? If I laugh more than twice in 22 minutes, it’s a miracle. The bar has been lowered (almost to the floor).

Somewhere along the line, the focus shifted. It’s less about crafting the best possible show and more about maximizing subscriber growth, engagement metrics, and shareholder happiness. Profit first. Art second.

And listen, I get it. Television is a business. It always has been. But the golden eras happened when the people making the shows were obsessed with making something great, not just something that would spike a quarterly earnings call.

Now we have shorter seasons, longer waits, quicker cancellations, repetitive trends, and background-friendly storytelling. TV isn’t an experience anymore. It’s content. It fills silence. It autoplays.

I don’t hate television because I’ve outgrown it. I hate it because I know how good it once was.

We’ve seen better. We deserve better.

DEI is Dead!

So it finally happened. Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion has been escorted out of the building like a fired sitcom actor nobody wanted to admit was carrying the show.

Corporations, schools, and government offices are quietly shredding their DEI departments, pretending this was all just a “budget decision” and not a full-blown cultural reversal. But here’s the part they’re not advertising:

When DEI goes, the spotlight on minority history and cultural recognition goes with it.

That means Black History Month, Women’s History Month, Latino Heritage celebrations, and more are next on the chopping block. Not with a dramatic announcement. With a slow, polite fade into irrelevance.

The “We Don’t See Color” Era Is Back!

Remember when people claimed they “don’t see color”? Cool. Now institutions are doing the same thing with history.

DEI programs were part of the reason cultural months had funding, visibility, and official recognition. Without them, those events become optional, underfunded, and easy to cancel.

No DEI team means:

• No organized heritage events

• No educational programming

• No cultural outreach

• No reason for leadership to care

History doesn’t vanish. It just stops getting invited to the cookout.

Let’s not pretend this is about “unity” or “fairness” because it isn't. This is about changing the narrative and pretending like no one in this country ever struggled. We were always equal and had the same ability to be successful in life as others.

Miss me with that.

Black History Month used to be about certain school programs, parades, museum visits, corporate recognition of minority leaders, and general conversations.

Now? You may get a LinkedIn post and a dusty poster in the breakroom if you're lucky.

Without DEI teams pushing education and awareness, Black history becomes a trivia question instead of a national conversation.

Women’s History Month: “You Can Vote Already. Isn’t That Enough?”

Women’s History Month was never about flowers and hashtags. It was about reminding people that women had to fight for rights that now get treated like default settings. Without DEI you'll miss out on those leadership spotlights. There will be little-to-no historical education. And ultimately, no pressure to acknowledge gender gaps that still exist in Corporate America.

The message becomes: “You’re here now and that's all that matters. Stop talking about how hard it was for you to get here. You're making us feel bad.”

Latino Heritage Celebrations: Culture Without a Budget

Latino Heritage Month relied heavily on DEI support for:

• Community events

• Cultural education

• Representation initiatives

Remove DEI, and suddenly there’s “no funding this year.” Funny how that works. Culture doesn’t disappear. It just gets ignored. But in all honesty, that's probably the least of Latino worries at the moment with ICE pulling kick-doors in various neighborhoods across the country. They're trying to get rid of the culture and the people.

Stripping DEI isn’t about fairness.

It’s about convenience. It’s easier to manage a workplace that doesn’t talk about race, gender, or history. It’s cheaper to avoid cultural programming. It’s more comfortable to pretend everything is equal now.

But pretending doesn’t make it true. It just makes it quieter.

When history isn’t taught, celebrated, or discussed, it doesn’t inspire anyone. It doesn’t challenge power. It doesn’t remind people how change happened and how to continue to make change happen.

And that’s the point. A society that forgets is easier to manage than one that remembers.

DEI didn’t create cultural history months. It protected them. Without it, Black History Month, Women’s History Month, and Latino celebrations won’t vanish overnight.

They’ll just slowly fade into the background, replaced by “neutrality,” silence, and a calendar that suddenly feels very… empty.

And somehow, that’s being sold as progress.

Times Didn’t Change. People Did. And That’s the Problem.

“We live in different times now.”

That sentence gets tossed around like a moral hall pass. As if the calendar flipped and suddenly integrity expired. As if respect went out of style. As if accountability was a limited-time offer that quietly ended while everyone was distracted by trends, timelines, and hot takes.

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: time doesn’t change morals. People do.

Why have values disappeared?

Values aren’t seasonal. They don’t evolve because an algorithm shifted or because public opinion found a new favorite thing. Right and wrong don’t need software updates. The standard didn't change, but the willingness to live up to it has.

Integrity still matters. Respect still matters. Accountability still matters.

They matter when it’s inconvenient. They matter when it costs you social standing. They matter when nobody’s clapping.

Values have been replaced with "vibes". Vibes feel good. Values hold firm. Vibes shift with the room. Values stand on its own. 

What happened to accountability?

Accountability is another casualty of the “times have changed” excuse. Everyone demands it for others, but almost no one wants it for themselves. Mistakes are reframed as misunderstandings. Bad behavior gets rebranded as growth. Apologies come with excuses and a reminder that criticizing them is somehow worse than what they did.

That’s not accountability. That’s public relations.

Does respect still exist?

And respect? Respect now gets confused with agreement. If you disagree, you’re a “hater.” If you question someone's opinion/idea, you’re “toxic.” If you don’t clap on cue, you're side-eyed. Somewhere along the way, respecting people turned into obeying narratives.

Healthy societies don’t work like that. Neither do strong individuals.

Here's the truth: Your character shines the brightest when you have something to lose.

When standing on principle means standing alone. When telling the truth risks backlash. When doing the right thing doesn’t come with applause.

Times didn’t change morals. They just exposed who had them—and who was borrowing them.

I know that I'm sometimes too nostalgic for the past, but I am also realistic about the present.