Welcome to the digital age, television.

The Writer's Guild of America strike this past winter annoyed me. There, I've said it. As a creative mind and a writer, myself, I understand the WGA's position and I am never going to stand up and beat my chest about money-grubbing writers when I know far well that they do not get paid the wages they probably deserve. I will not, however, stroke the corporations behind these shows for standing their ground and throwing the television industry as we know it a monkey-wrench that destroyed the gears for the better part of a season.

My issue is with the internet.

Ah, yes. The internet. That mystical place where media is available at a single keystroke or click of a mouse. I'm not sure why it took until the tail end of 2007 for the internet to become a hot-button issue for television studios, producers, writers, and consumers. I have friends who have been using the internet--perhaps less legitimately than we would like--to view and collect television episodes and full movies since I was in high school. We're talking as early as 2000 here, folks.

But now, and for the first time, the year 2007 was the year of streaming full episodes, web-only content, AppleTV, and the iEverything. iPhones, iPod Touches, and even iPod Classics were able to hold gigabytes of visual media and play it through (rather than hold the gigabytes but only have three or four hours of viewing time). Every major network offered at least one of their major primetime hits as streaming media online with minimal commercial interruption. "Webisodes" (don't look at me; I didn't coin the term) popped up in just as many places. A few networks even piloted web-based shows. Entire television shows, available only online! I'm not making this up. Moreover, iTunes surged into its greatest popularity ever. American Idol (yeah, them again) hooked in with iTunes, and while NBC pulled all its content from the system, most other stations doubled and even tripled the content that was available to the public via the iTunes store. iTunes was actually lauded as saving a few "bubble" 2006-2007 television series--most notably the NBC comedy 30 Rock--because it gave viewers the opportunity to try on one-episode mid-season and decide if they were interested.

Factor in YouTube--which became a breeding ground for television clips that then companies like Viacom had to fight to be removed from the site--and you got a banner year for media, the internet, and our techno-savvy culture.

One of the touchstones of the strike was the fact that writers wanted to be given royalties for online and iTunes content. I suppose I understand this. If you're to be paid every time a rerun is shown, a streaming episode seems to count to me as a rerun. Whether it should be a flat rate or per viewer, I'm not sure. In the same way, an iTunes download should possibly count as a DVD purchase and not a rerun, but there's still the issue that the writers deserve their due. I'm not going to deny that.

But I have to wonder: how was this not anticipated at all in the last ten years? I'm all for crossing bridges when you come to them, but it seems that in 2007-2008, both the studios and the writers glanced down, realized they were on a bridge, and then went, "Oh no! We didn't discuss toll rates!" This volume of internet media is new, yes. The concept of internet media is not, and considering that You (and YouTube, to an extent) was Time magazine's "person of the year" in 2006, I would think television would have braced itself for this change.

I'm all for internet media. Personally, I'm an internet junkie. (Exhibit A: I have a blog.) But hand-in-hand with internet media comes anticipating the next step. In this entire process of the writer's strike, I often just felt that both sides--the networks and the writers--were being very short-sighted. Technology moves faster than a conversation penned by Aaron Sorkin. We need to be ready for it, or more than just our television series could crumble. After all, this is the digital age. Welcome to it.

(And if you don't get the Aaron Sorkin reference, I'm going to be sad.)

Bag Mags: A Theory on Forced Shame

It's a long story and involves many characters and plot twists, but I shall sum it up as thus: a year ago, and without really my express permission (but not so much so that I would describe it as "against my will"), I became a subscriber to both Out and The Advocate. I'm not sure they are magazines I would have ordered for myself if given the opportunity, half because of content ("and here is another straight person that we gays writing this like, so let us feature him or her instead of featuring a real-life homosexual") and half simply because I'm not a magazine reader. That said, I usually read at least some of the articles, and occasionally find things I really like. (Examples include the profile of The Arizona Republic's news editor, who is now the most powerful out gay man in journalism, and the issue of Out which featured a bio on John Barrowman and Scott Gill's first ever interview in the fifteen years they've been together. Let me repeat this, because I am a fangirl: Scott's first interview ever. Yeah, that's right. I kept that baby and I reread it.)

But this is not really about the fact that I subscribed unwittingly to two Big Gay Magazines. This is about their little plastic wrappers.

I do not know if any of you who may read this subscribes to or ever has subscribed to these magazines, but they arrive in an opaque gray plastic wrapper that has printed on it only your address and the return address. The return address, too, is listed by company name - LPI, for instance - and leaves no indication of what is in the wrap. The first time one arrived, I staggered to a stop because I had no idea what had been delivered in my mailbox. Visions of Playboy and Penthouse danced in my head. I thought I might have been the butt of a cruel joke, or that the previous renter of this apartment had an interesting taste in magazines.

Imagine my surprise - and confusion - when I discovered that, no, it was The Advocate.

All this leads me to the title in a way (not as interesting as a coming entry that I have already titled "Poptastic Danceibility"), because this is how I feel: forced to be ashamed of my reading choice.

I understand, of course, homophobia. I understand it the way I understand racism and bigotry. People are homophobic and, when it comes right down to it, can be unforgivably cruel to others. But I don't feel these bags are a protection from homophobia, or from the local mailcarrier, I don't know, leaving dog poop in a bag on your doorstep. I think it's forcing people who subscribe to be xenophobic, and fear what other people might think.

Isn't that the gist of it? "Hello, subscriber who may be GLBT. As the publisher of this magazine, I know that you are uncomfortable with your sexuality. I will protect you from all those bad heteros out there who may see this magazine when you remove it from your mailbox and come after you with torches and pitchforks. Also, did you know a lot of gay people like John Mayer? Trufax."

It's contrary to the mission of the magazines, creating solidarity and a culture for a group of people who, to date, rank as some of the world's most persecuted. How many articles that actually do feature gay artists, actors, or businesspeople stress the importance of being out and proud? And yet, the mostly-harmless covers of these magazines are hidden from the public eye when they arrive in the mail bin. I wouldn't even know any better were I a militant "all queers must die" homophobic. The first time I saw The Advocate, I assumed it was just another entertainment magazine, and it took until halfway through an article on the RENT movie that I realized no, no, I most certainly was mistaken.

How many people who are going to go out on the limb of ordering these magazines are really so deeply closeted that they fear what their postman or the guy who accidentally sees him pick up his mail thinks? The innocuousness of this is so silly. It's like the "yellow equals sign" of the Human Rights Campaign: unless you're "in the know", you truly have no idea what it is. I believe in the HRC mission but I am not sure I would put the bumper sticker on my car because it would only make people wonder. In the same way, I am curious to what my neighbors think of me toting around a bag-covered magazine when I leave the mailroom.

LPI, and also Out's publisher (the name escapes me), offers the option of "going bagless". I have yet to take them up on this, but perhaps I should, and come "out of the closet" as a subscriber. But at the same time, I am tempted not to save them these pennies because this should never have been the option. The option should be "would you like to have your magazine bagged?" when you sign up, not vice versa.

If we really want to build a better mousetrap (or in this case, build a better society), we should start by not fearing something as simple as the associations people might have with our magazine subscriptions. I am not saying that every LGBT individual should go march in a Pride Parade or wear a big rainbow jumpsuit. I'm saying that, if we're expected to accept everyone in society, then we should start with media. I'm more offended by half of what I see in Cosmo or Elle ("50 Ways to Please Him in Bed"? Puh-lease.) than I am in reading about Rufus Wainwright's "blackout" concert. (The cover story in this week's Advocate, in case you are curious.)

If we expect media to help change our world, we need to be willing to take the censor bars off it once in a while. Especially in our mailboxes.

And so it begins.

My friend Carrie and I were embroiled in a text-message psuedo-argument of epic proportions today not over anything of importance but over the character of Amber Volakis from the television show House when I came to a shocking realization: I like talking about media. I don't just like taking it in with popcorn and a Diet Dr Pepper, I don't just like letting it wash over me, I like the discussion and the discourse. Media, especially in the 21st century, is a unique beast; it is one-half reality in easily compartmentalized bits, but it is also one-half fantasy, the way the world could, should, or perhaps even someday will be. I often like to theorize that television, books, movies, and even video games offer a vision of a world that is somehow better, where the cops always arrest the badguys, the leaders of the free world make mistakes but are still good people, men and women fight for what they believe in even against all odds, and yes, the hapless character wins over his or her romantic interest.

Of course, by saying this, I run the risk of over-simplifying the entire world of media studies, but it's my blog (and I'll over-simplify if I want to; you would over-simplify too if it belonged to you). But the fact is that, for me, media is a reminder of both the good and evil things in our world, and, moreover, what brilliant minds can do when they sit down and consider it.

So, this is my blog. I will post episode reviews for my favorite programs (including, but never limited to, House, CSI, CSI:NY, Criminal Minds, American Idol, Hell's Kitchen, Top Chef, Dr Who, Torchwood, Psych, Law & Order, Law & Order: Criminal Intent, and probably others I am now forgetting to mention); thoughts on movies, books, magazines, and even the odd song; theories on sexuality, crime and punishment, law enforcement, romance, and relationships in the media; my thoughts on the painfully bad For Better or For Worse (you knew that was coming); and just general ramblings of a media persuasion. If you're well-behaved, I may mention video games, anime, and fanfiction. (Beware, Torchwood fan-writers, I'm coming for you.) All in one easily-accessed public dominion for everyone to see and enjoy.

Tomorrow, you'll recieve my "Tretise on Amber Volakis". I also have pending a series of entries on topics such as Ianto Jones' bisexuality (as presented in The Twilight Streets by Gary Russell; not, of course, that I bought and read a Torchwood novelization and loved it), the Goren/Eames partnership from Law & Order: Criminal Intent, all the reasons that American Idol has done the reality-TV equivalent of jumping the shark, and probably something else. Will it be CSI related, M*A*S*H related, or a look at the domination of male protagonists in Atari games? Only time will tell.

In the meantime, enjoy.