I should now probably mention—seeing this is essential to your understanding of the rest of the story that I’m about to unfold—that the basement is the one place in the world that has been designated as my own space. I write in the basement, and I watch sports on the flatscreen in the basement. All of my books are in bookcases in the basement, and all of my sports paraphernalia, movie posters and the motley art that hangs in my basement.
In lockstep—or maybe the better term is “goose step”—with President Donald Trump’s disdain for anything intellectual, New Hampshire House Republicans recently voted to pass a proposal, introduced by Rep. Joseph Sweeney (R-Salem), to eliminate the Division of the Arts.
There is such a man, and he goes by the name of Herman McDerman. But I must also mention to you that Herman McDerman is not a man, rather an eraser and a character that I created when I was in the fifth grade.
Almost nightly now, for months, I’ve been vicariously living through the characters in the show, arguably one of the most successful sitcoms of all-time. There is something about “Cheers,” more than three decades after the series concluded in 1992, that still speaks to our collective understanding of comradity, conviviality and community.
So when Netflix dropped the docuseries “The Clubhouse: A Year with the Red Sox” on April 8, I couldn’t wait to dive into it. Not only have I been a Red Sox fan since birth, but—as aforementioned—I’m “a fan of the game.”
For the young male, there have always been multiple warring factions within him, raging hormones battle with the dictates to be kind and respectful; a certainty in his own omniscience faces off with his ignorance; his dreams try to thrive while reality smacks him in the face.
A few weeks ago, a colleague stopped me in the hallway and asked if I had watched “Adolescence,” a new Netflix series that premiered on March 13.
Next week, I turn 50 years old, completing a half-century of spinning around the sun. And I’ve noticed that many of the things that once shined bright in my youth have lost their luster. Many of the things that I valued and enjoyed—some of which I masochistically enjoyed—are no longer that important, or that much fun.
I never fathomed that I would teach George Orwell’s novel “1984” in a media course. Published in 1949, the novel certainly has its merits as a deeply imaginative work of dystopian fiction, but what could it possibly teach about our contemporary media landscape?
O P I N I O N NOT THAT PROFOUND By Nathan Graziano Here is a personal secret: I have