From rabbit ears to rabbit holes

By Lethbridge Herald on March 21, 2026.

Morning Joe- Joe Manio Lethbridge Herald

Once upon a time…when I was a child growing up in the San Francisco Bay Area during the 70s, “streaming options” meant adjusting the rabbit-ear antenna and hoping for the best. We had three main channels—ABC, CBS and NBC; plus a local station, KTVU, and my favourite…public television station KQED because it had Sesame Street and Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.

It was a much simpler time.

Across the street lived my neighbour, Lou Lewen, a colourful character who was a retired merchant marine turned university shop instructor; who didn’t own a television at all.which I found that incomprehensible at the time. No TV? Not even cartoons? 

Lou just shrugged and called it “the idiot box.” I never forgot that.

Then came the cable TV revolution of the 1980s. Suddenly, television promised everything, all in one place, for a monthly fee. And for a brief, glorious window, it delivered.

Then came streaming… cable 2.0 with a better user interface.

It was simple at first. You signed up for Netflix, and maybe one other service if you were feeling extravagant, and suddenly the world of entertainment was at your fingertips. Thousands of shows. Endless movies. Freedom. Choice.

Or at least the illusion of choice.

What no one tells you is that having everything to watch often means having nothing to watch. I can’t recall how many times I have spent 15–20 minutes scrolling through menus before giving up and choosing something I’ve already seen (usually just for background noise).

It’s like wandering through a massive buffet, plate in hand, only to leave hungry because nothing looks quite right.

This is where the modern streaming ecosystem starts feeling like the old magazine subscriptions. Glossy covers, niche topics, tempting headlines…and you’d maybe subscribe to one or two because, realistically, how many can one person justify?

There are simply too many streaming services now; each demanding a monthly fee. And sure– $30 (on average) doesn’t sound like much until you do the math. Multiply that by 12 months. Then add any additional services you’re juggling.

Suddenly, you’re a serf to multiple media fiefdoms. .

And just when you think you can keep it under control, along comes the great content land grab. Studios pull their shows from shared platforms and tuck them behind their own paywalls.

Want to watch South Park or revisit Star Trek? That’s another subscription. One more monthly tribute. One more “it’s only 20 bucks” decision.

Individually, each service promises “all this!” for a low price. Collectively, they resemble a coordinated shakedown.

Of course, there are “free” alternatives like Tubi…but free always comes at a price. That price is commercials. Sorry, “sponsored ads,” because apparently rebranding makes them less annoying.

There’s something almost poetic about that. We’ve come full circle. I’m now streaming movies (with ads) on a service I sought out to avoid ads.

I’m old enough to remember when cable’s big selling point was “No commercials!” That was the dream.Now, here we are, paying for the privilege of watching ads again. Progress is a funny thing.

It all reminds me of the old line: water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink. There’s more content available than ever, yet finding something appealing feels harder than it should. Not because it doesn’t exist, but because it’s scattered across a dozen platforms.

At least in George Orwell’s dystopian novel Nineteen Eighty-Four, the telescreen was unavoidable. These days, we’ve voluntarily filled our homes with them and pay monthly for the privilege.

So lately, I’ve found myself drifting back to something more… old fashioned.

CDs. DVDs. Even the occasional Blu-ray. And yes, actual books—the paper kind. No buffering. No monthly fee. No algorithm trying to convince me that because I watched one documentary three years ago, I’m now deeply interested in Icelandic sheep farming.

Just press play or open the cover…simple.

I occasionally think back to Lou—my colourful neighbour across the street;  a sailor who spent long stretches at sea with no television…just books, magazines, music, and radio. Entertainment wasn’t something you scrolled through. It was something you chose and stuck with.

When Lou called television “the idiot box” it wasn’t just a throwaway line but a verdict.

Nearly half a century later…staring at a screen full of options and finding nothing I actually want to watch, I think to myself: “Lou, you called this one!”