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I’ve never seen Star Wars.

(My friends dragged me to The Phantom Menace in 1999, which I mostly slept through, so I’m not counting that.)

So when my 5yo and I stopped by our 8yo neighbor’s Jedi-themed birthday party last week, we were not exactly the target audience.

They served “Yoda Soda” and “Wookie Cookies” and turned their backyard into a Jedi training facility, complete with light sabers made out of pool noodles and duct tape. It was very cute.

(My 5yo called it a “light saver,” also very cute.)

My son and I did some “target practice” with a NERF dart gun aimed at a pyramid made of white Solo cups with storm trooper faces glued to them. It was the first time he’s ever played with a toy gun of any kind.

At the end of the party, we were sent home with our own light saber (and one for his 2yo sister). After smacking the walls with his, my son was banished to the backyard, where he proceeded to fight an imaginary “Dark Vader.”

I’ve generally not been one to blame violent movies or video games for real violence in society. But, I can’t help but notice that a kid who was calling Starburst candy “Star Wars” last Halloween (adorable!) was now seemingly ready to go all-in on the franchise – starting with killing its biggest villain in our backyard.

Perhaps the real insight here for me as a parent isn’t the growing influence (and violence) of Star Wars – but the beginning of my slowly-but-surely shrinking influence with my child, who will be entering kindergarten in a few short months.

I’m learning as I go, and I’m willing to lean into my son’s interests – even Star Wars – but I’m not drinking any Yoda Soda!

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I was bummed to see Nick Kyrgios knocked out of the 2022 US Open.

Besides the longshot bet I made on him to win it all (31 to 1), I was rooting for him after seeing how he played during Wimbledon en route to a defeat in the final to Novak Djokovic.

The knock on Nick has been his lack of commitment to his craft. He seemed content to coast through his career, travel the world, make a few bucks, and retire without having made his mark on the sport.

Normally no one would care except for the fact that, in my opinion, he is quite possibly the most physically gifted and talented player on the men’s tour.

But it seemed that something clicked at Wimbledon. Maybe he realized that he was good enough to play and beat anyone on any day if he committed himself fully. Not just during the matches, but the day-in, day-out fitness and preparation that it takes to win grand slam tournaments.

From the outside (I of course don’t know Nick), it seems that what clicked is that he cares now. He wants to win, and he’s willing to do what it takes to put himself in the best position to do so.

Though his reaction to losing last night (smashing his racquet to pieces) was not “gentlemanly,” I loved it, as I did his post-match comments where he talked about being devastated and letting the people around him down.

I thought this was the major where he made his run after blowing the #1 seed, Daniil Medvedev, off the court – and looking like he knew he was the better player, maybe the best player in the world.

But maybe it’s next year, having sat with the devastation for an entire offseason ahead of his home major, the Australian Open.

My money’s on Nick to win a major in 2023. What about you?

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The other night I played softball for the first time in about six weeks.

There was a time in my life when my whole week revolved around the two hours I played softball.

Nowadays, I can only get out to the late games that take place after my young kids’ bedtime. And of course, I’m fine with that.

When I got out there, the game felt familiar but also different.

Our manager stuck me in at leadoff despite having missed so much time this season. I walked to start the game and came around to score.

When I trotted out to my familiar position, left centerfield, I got the sense that some of the newer guys on the team were questioning why this old guy who hasn’t been here in six weeks is taking up space in the outfield normally occupied by one of them.

But I reassured them I’d relinquish LCF next week when the schedule called for an early game.

I also recognized the zeal of the younger guys, which I used to have. One was advocating for crazy defensive shifts. Another was complaining that he was batting too low in the order. One guy was jawing with the opposing pitcher over nonsense.

I used to do all of those things; now I do (mostly) none of them.

It was good to get out there and contribute to a win. Being away made me appreciate it a little more. I’m not sure I “need” softball the way I used to, but I’m glad to know it’s still there when I do.

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Bangers

“These bangers are ruining pickleball!”

You might hear that sentiment in certain pickleball circles.

While pickleball is largely a finesse game – which is why it’s great for players of nearly any age, strength, or mobility – a new segment of players has emerged: Bangers.

These are ex-tennis players who’ve brought their hard-hitting style of play onto the much smaller pickleball court.

And not everyone welcomes this new style of play.

(Ironically, many tennis players scoff at pickleball, especially when they can’t find a local court because the pickleballers have already claimed them all.)

The recalcitrance toward bangers is understandable but ultimately unproductive. There is no “right” way to play any game (as long as no rules are being broken), so it’s up to traditionalists (non-bangers) to either figure out how to beat the bangers – or bang back.

In Major League Baseball, we’ve seen the predominance of The Shift, where the defense shifts over to one side of the field because the batter almost always hits it that way. The batters hate it because there’s less space to hit, but it’s not illegal.

MLB has decided after five years or so of this – during which batting averages have plummeted – players apparently aren’t capable of “hitting it where they ain’t,” so they’re outlawing The Shift next year for the good of the game.

But since you can’t outlaw how hard someone can hit a pickleball, the traditionalists will have to find another way.

If you think about The Shift another way, the defense may have thought it “unfair” that batters could hit it to the same part of the field every time and the field was simply too big to cover. So they made an adjustment.

Can pickleballers do the same?

This dude is totally a banger. (Credit: Venti Views on Upsplash)

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Reason to Root

I’ve been a bad Yankee fan this year.

This season I’ve watched, maybe, 2 innings a week. I have two young kids, and of all the things I could (should) spend my time doing, watching a baseball game for 3+ hours is pretty low on the list.

When I have watched, the game is increasingly unrecognizable from the one I grew up with. (Get off my lawn alert!) The game’s “three true outcomes,” walks, strikeouts, and home runs, aren’t all that interesting to me.

All season long, I’ve kept an eye on the box scores, hoping I’d start to feel something for a team that was once the center of my 16-year-old universe.

And then, on Saturday afternoon, it happened.

Over the last three years I’ve casually introduced baseball and the Yankees to my son. On Saturday, a meaningful 4 pm game against the Red Sox, we planned to wear our Yankee shirts and watch the game together (with my wife and infant daughter) after naptime.

The game was mostly ho-hum, and we skipped a few innings to eat dinner outside, before coming back inside to watch the last few innings before bedtime.

My son is obsessed with The Green Monster, the massive green-painted wall in left field of Fenway Park. So when Giancarlo Stanton crushed a 452-foot grand slam to give the Yankees the lead – a home run he literally hit out of the stadium – my son and I went nuts, high-fiving each other and my wife as we watched replay after replay.

Now I have my reason to root for the Yankees to make and go deep into the playoffs, maybe even win the World Series: to recreate that moment of excitement and connecting I shared with my family. What better reason could there be?

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Editor’s note: This article was originally published on LinkedIn; but since I haven’t published anything on 250SFV in over a year, I’d figured I’d put it here, too–just in case anyone was wondering if I’m alive. (I am.) If the article sounds sales-y, you can literally blame it on my day job (I’m in sales).

Shortly after I turned 18, I received a package in the mail from Gillette.

Inside was a Mach 3 razor, Gillette’s newest model, equipped with a three-blade technology I’d heard about in their commercials.

I tossed aside the electric razor I’d been borrowing from my stepdad and, with my new state-of-the-art Mach 3 in hand, I began a regular shaving routine. And even as I experimented with a 5 o’clock shadow, unnecessarily long (and bushy) sideburns, and, in college, some awkward growth on my chin that led my family to start calling me Shaggy (from Scooby-Doo), I continued to re-up on Gillette replacement blades.

Over and over again. And I still use Gillette razors today.

By sending me one free razor when I turned 18, Gillette acquired me as a customer and established a pattern of behavior—regularly shaving, and rebuying their blades—that has lasted through my 36th birthday (earlier this year). I’ve been a Gillette customer for half my life.

If you’re tasked with customer acquisition for a company like Harry’s, a men’s shaving and grooming brand that launched in 2013 to challenge Big Razor, your job is to convince me to break an 18-year relationship with Gillette in favor of your brand, with which I’m barely familiar.

That’s not impossible, but it’s certainly not easy. And whether you’re Panera trying to lure casual diners away from McDonald’s, Under Armour trying to make a dent in Nike’s sales, or Lyft trying to keep pace with Uber, the earlier you can establish a relationship between your brand and a potential consumer, the easier it’ll be to acquire them as a customer.

As a sales guy for Ypulse, a youth research company that focuses on Generation Z (born 2001-2018) and Millennials (born 1982-2000), I’ve thought a lot about what made Gillette’s strategy to target me at age 18 so effective. They didn’t invent free trials or product samples. But what they figured out was just the right time to send me that razor: when I was young.

Presumably Gillette bought a database that included my name, address, and birthday, and waited until I entered the “Adults 18+” demographic to put their product into my hand (and on my face). Moreover, Gillette effectively cued me to start shaving more regularly because, after all, I now owned the best new razor on the market, with not one, not two, but three blades!

As a teenager I was open to messaging from razor brands because I hadn’t yet established a purchase pattern for that particular product category. (I was, ostensibly, just as open to messaging from shaving cream and aftershave brands.) I imagine the average 16- to 18-year-old in 2018 has not yet written his favorite razor brand in stone—but he’s probably seeing lots of targeted ads from Gillette, Harry’s, Dollar Shave Club, and any number of other brands. Whichever of those brands wins his business today will have a tremendous advantage—if they continue to provide a quality product at a competitive cost—leaving the others to play catch-up, like Harry’s is doing now with me.

In January 2018, Ypulse launched Ybrands, a brand tracker that surveys 6,000 young people (ages 13-36) a month, collecting data about their relationships with, and perceptions of, 150 brands across multiple product categories. In other words, Ybrands was built to tell our brand clients what young people think about them when it comes to their brands’ Personality, Relevance, Influence, and Momentum.

Ybrands is in-field continuously—conducting 200 interviews every single day—so yes, if a certain social media company or retailer or quick service restaurant catches hell in the press for a customer-facing miscue, our data will reflect the before-and-after of it. But more importantly, we can tell our clients where their brands stand with young people at this very moment, and which levers they need to move up or down to appeal to Generation Z and Millennials moving forward.

At 36 I’m not “old,” per say—Ypulse keeps me around as their resident O.A.M., old-ass Millennial—but I’m far less receptive to marketing messages than I used to be. While now might be the right time to tell me about your financial brand that will help me save for retirement, or your auto brand that will keep my child safe, it’ll be really tough to change my mind about which brands of running shoes (Saucony) or face wash (Kiehl’s) or jeans (Levi’s) I buy from now until I’m 100. Again: not impossible, but not easy, either.

What is your brand doing to establish a relationship with young consumers? Are young people familiar with your brand, and if so, do they think it’s true to itself, or that helps them express who they are? Ybrands can help you start to address these questions today, so you’re not playing catch-up tomorrow.

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Spoiler Alert: Lots and lots of spoilers! If you haven’t listened to the S-Town podcast, and don’t want major details of the story ruined for you, please avoid reading this post. You’ve been warned. Seriously though this will totally ruin it for you so don’t read it.

Over the weekend my wife and I devoured all seven simultaneously-released episodes of S-Town, the new podcast from Serial and This American Life which launched on March 28.

The following hastily-written-and-probably-too-long blog post encapsulates my initial reaction after listening to all seven episodes straight through over three days. It’s not an episode recap; I haven’t spoken to anyone else about S-Town except for my wife; and I haven’t looked up anything about what critics or fans have said about it so far. As a result, I may get some of the details wrong, but these are some of the questions I thought about over and over again after finishing S-Town.

Why did Serial and This American Life launch the series the way they did?
I had no idea S-Town was even coming out. I may have read some rumblings about a season 3 of Serial at some point, but when my wife told me she just found out the third season had just been released, I didn’t believe her. It turns out she was right–sort of.

S-Town was apparently produced by Serial and This American Life, but was not being billed as Serial s3. Instead, S-Town is its own free-standing, seven-episode podcast. Here’s the description of S-Town from its official website:

John despises his Alabama town and decides to do something about it. He asks a reporter to investigate the son of a wealthy family who’s allegedly been bragging that he got away with murder. But then someone else ends up dead, sparking a nasty feud, a hunt for hidden treasure, and an unearthing of the mysteries of one man’s life.

I subscribe to about 20 podcasts, many of them produced by NPR, so it was hard to believe a new podcast like S-Town, with public radio pedigree, would have flown under my radar.

Was this intentional?
Part of what made Serial’s first season so successful–besides that awesome Mail Chimp sponsorship–was that it came out of nowhere. Most listeners didn’t know anything about the story of Adnan Syed, they likely hadn’t heard of Sarah Koenig, and some probably hadn’t ever listened to a podcast before. Then Serial punched us in the face with some of the best storytelling you’ll find in any medium, and we were blown away.

On the heels of a great season 1, season 2 had high expectations. Some fans, including myself, even donated money to NPR/Serial to help Koenig make season 2. Without getting into detail about why season 2 was disappointing, suffice it to say it was a letdown for most fans expecting as compelling and labyrinthine a story as we got in season 1.

For those reasons, perhaps, Serial and TAL decided to keep a low profile, and release S-Town as own entity, with little fanfare and only a loose connection to Serial–allowing fans like me to go in with tempered expectations. To borrow a five-dollar word from S-Town’s subject, John Brooks McLemore, I’m guessing producers saw what happened with s2 and took a proleptic* approach to S-Town’s release to guard against such high expectations and let S-Town be judged on its own merit.

*Prolepsis: a rhetorical tool in which one anticipates possible objections in order to answer them in advance. John B uses this word in the first episode; Brian admits he had to look it up.

And why all seven episodes at once?
I go back to the failure of s2 of Serial again on this one. The reporting of the story as they learned it was what made Serial s1 so great, but s2 felt like it was poorly planned, with the cadence of new episodes changing from one week to two, as they were simultaneously updating us (and then not updating us) on the story from s1. I believe they released all seven episodes of S-Town to “prove” that the story had been fully reported on and was now a completed season we could consume all at once or spaced out however we want. This isn’t a new tactic; Netflix does this all the time with its original content. I wouldn’t be surprised if they realized Serial s3 the same way.

What was the actual timeline for the events that take place in S-Town?
From what I recall, John B first contacted Brian in 2014, they had a phone call a few months later, and eventually Brian went to visit John B in Alabama. I believe the first visit was at some point in 2015.

S1 of Serial ran from October to December 2014. Did John B contact NPR, or Serial, during that season or after? Did the reporters and/or producers involved think they might use John B’s alleged claim about an unreported murder as a season of Serial? If not, it seems strange that Brian would even bother to investigate John B’s story–though when I heard John B and Brian’s first phone call, I assumed he was providing accurate information.

And how deep into the story did Brian decide that John B’s story was podcast-worthy? And how did he decide to continue reporting after John B’s claims had been proven false? Why did he decide to continue reporting after John B died? Did he wait until he had everything he needed before deciding how to organize the information and tell the story across seven “chapters”?

I guess the question I’m really asking is…

Did Brian just get really lucky that John B–in life and in death–was as interesting as he was? Or does Brian–and the people who sign his checks–deserve credit for sticking with the story?
Like any other successful endeavor in life, it seems like this was a combination of luck and skill. Brian’s reporting of this story is tremendous, but the story of John B. McLemore was delivered on a silver platter. But give him credit for seeing that silver platter under a ratty Benjamin Moore t-shirt.

Did John B really call Faye as he was committing suicide? 
Maybe Serial s1 trained me to question everything, but without a call log or audio of John B calling Faye, I’m not 100% convinced he did. Faye doesn’t really give us a reason to doubt her, except that she didn’t get in touch with the first seven people on John B’s contact list–which he hand-delivered to her for this very reason–to let them know John B had died. Was this forgetfulness or laziness on her part? Was John’s lawyer, Boozer Downs, involved somehow in some sort of cover-up?

Or is the more logical explanation simply that Faye unintentionally let the task of calling John B’s contacts fall through the cracks? Given how much John B entrusted Faye to carry out his posthumous requests, I just can’t get past this error, but the idea that it was part of a greater conspiracy to steal from him seems far-fetched.

Did Tyler steal the gold? Was there any gold? What did he tell Brian off the record in the final episode?
I kept going back and forth about whether there was any buried treasure, but if anyone knew about it besides Faye (who said it John B had gold bars wrapped in a towel in the freezer) I figured it would be Tyler. Did he take it when he went to the house to gather John B’s valuables so the Florida cousins couldn’t get to them?

When Brian asks Tyler if he ever found the buried treasure, and Tyler asks him to turn off the recorder before answering, it’s implied that he found something. I’d almost rather not know this conversation took place if I can’t know what was said!

Was Tyler a con-man? Was he feigning affection for John B, knowing he could take advantage of the situation? Did Tyler egg John B on to kill himself while he was drunk, as Rita (the Florida cousin) suggested?
I don’t think Tyler was there when John B killed himself, and I think he may even be telling the truth when he said he refused to go over to John B’s the night he killed himself, even after John B told Tyler he was going to commit suicide.

I do wonder if Tyler was fed up with John B after we learned about John B’s “church” ritual of asking Tyler to mutilate his body with tattoos, piercings, and later whippings. If I’m Tyler, I might have taken a little something for my trouble after John B had passed away, knowing I’d more than enough to earn it.

So are we just assuming John B’s depression was brought on by mercury poisoning from his unsafe practice of fire-gilding over 30+ years?
It certainly seems that way, but I can’t help but wonder if Brian asked five other doctors, he might find a few who would say John B was just depressed, and they couldn’t conclude with certainty that it was related to the mercury. Of course it doesn’t really matter except to add yet another layer of complexity to an already complex character.

How should we take the information delivered in Brian’s coda?
After we hear an excerpt from John B’s suicide note, we assume the series is over. But then Brian layers one remaining piece of information that may or may not color our view of John B, Shit Town, and really the whole story we just heard.

When Brian tells us that John B’s great-grandfather built his fortune on the backs of the neighbors he stole from, he’s implying, in my view, that John B’s expansive patch of land, his home, his garden maze, and every material possession he has–including, perhaps, some hidden gold–was ill-gotten.

Does Brian want us to think John B is a hypocrite, that for all his rants about his town’s state of dysfunction, it was people like his own great-grandfather that made it this way? Or does this answer the question of why John B, for as much as he hates Shit Town, has never left? Or why he’s driven to right all the perceived wrongs of his fellow man, including those in his town, as a way of canceling out the evil deeds of his family?

I agree with the decision to save this information for later in the story, so that it doesn’t bias us against John B and we’re free to form our own opinion of him regardless of what his family did three generations before. But I might have liked some more detail around his family history. I wonder if Brian found this information too late to add it somewhere else in the story, so he stuck it at the end.

What was S-Town? And was it good
Genres are tricky sometimes. People starting calling Serial a “true crime” podcast, and it was, but the real-time nature of it, the way the story evolve as Sarah Koenig told it, made it something special.

Was S-Town simply a biography of an unusual man started when he was alive and finished after he died? Was it an obituary? Or was it simply an experiment in storytelling, in audio journalism?

I kind of don’t care what it was. And I don’t care that we don’t really have a resolution about John’s hidden treasure, or Tyler, or Faye, or the cousins, or even John’s mother, Mary Grace, who was supposedly flourishing once she was out of John B’s care.

Having been trained by Serial to follow a story so closely for months, only to be deprived of the closure I knew all along I wouldn’t get, I didn’t expect closure with S-Town, either. But I went along for the ride anyway, and I was glad I did.

What did you think?

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Remember Jeremy Lin?

In April 2012 I wrote a blog post about the excitement surrounding the emergence of Lin, the Asian-American Harvard graduate turned starting point guard for the New York Knicks.

By then the “Linsanity” that had overtaken New York City and the basketball world for a few months over the winter had all but died down. Lin would miss the rest of the season with a knee injury and later eventually sign with another team, where he performed well below Linsanity levels.

I got to thinking about Jeremy Lin as I was thinking about the upcoming final episode of Serial, the country’s most popular podcast about a 1999 murder. Serial’s final episode will be available for download on Thursday morning.

The series has elevated the audio format, and has generated interest of all kinds. Besides the Reddit community and others like it, who have no shortage of theories, we have others debating whether Serial is ethical. Whether it’s technically journalism. Whether it should exist at all. (Also, whether it’s okay for a brand to joke about it on Twitter.)

From what I’ve been reading online, most listeners believe there will be no real closure to the story. Serial’s host Sarah Koenig will likely end the show’s first season having accomplished nothing—i.e., nothing but entertain her audience for the last three months.

(Speaking of the end of Serial, here’s my own crackpot theory: Jay had a far bigger role in the murder than he admitted to police, and quite possibly framed Adnan knowing Adnan was an easy target. I say easy target because Adnan was Muslim in a mostly non-Muslim Maryland area—which was clearly a factor for some of the jurorsand Adnan was the victim’s ex-boyfriend. Also, Jay could count on the state’s star witness—himself—to push the investigation away from himself and towards Adnan, meanwhile getting himself a plea deal (and free lawyer) for cooperating with the state. Not crackpot-y enough for ya? I also feel like the popularity of the Scream movies back in the late 1990s somehow played into the idea of this real life 1999 high school murder where someone else may have been framed for the crime.)

Like Jeremy Lin, Serial will go on to play another season. (Thanks to listener donations the show can fund another Serial story—that is, if Sarah Koenig can ever recover from the first one.)

Jeremy Lin hasn’t come close to approximating the excitement he created in New York in 2012; he’s been extremely average as a basketball player. For Serial’s part, I think a second season with an equally specious story—maybe another intriguing cold case, maybe something else entirely—could be great. Will it be great as the first season? Maybe—but probably not.

Perhaps Serial’s legacy, more than its Linsanity-like excitement in the fall of 2014, will be that it opens the door for other would-be podcasters to create long-form, high quality, episodic, intellectual content that people will actual listen to, without producers having to worry about trying to sell audiences on a new (if not recycled) concept. “It’s gonna be the next Serial,” would be their oft-repeated—if slightly exaggerated—mantra.

As for the last episode of Serial’s first season, I haven’t been as pumped for a finale since Breaking Bad’s last episode in 2013. Serial won’t be wrapped up as neatly as I’d like it to be, i.e. Adnan is clearly guilty or clearly innocent based on new evidence Koenig has been holding back from us.

But that’s not really the point anymore.

Got a Serial theory? Let’s hear it.

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If you’re a frequent visitor to this blog you may start to notice a couple of changes to the site, which I’d like to quickly address.

URL
I recently purchased the URL 250squarefeet.com. I know bobbycalise.wordpress.com has such a nice ring to it, but I figured I’d mix it up a bit. As I mention in the About This Blog section, this is a reference to the size of my first apartment in Manhattan.

Ads
I’m experimenting with some advertising on the site. I don’t expect it to be too intrusive or take away from the reading experience overall.

Content
While I still plan to publish personal essays like “The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade Tradition” and “I Will Never Run the New York City Marathon,” I am shifting my focus a bit to concentrate more on small business. I will profile small businesses, and write about experiences I have had with small businesses from the customer POV. Additionally, I will be doing more TV episode recaps of shows like Shark Tank and The Profit. I realize these sorts of posts may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but that’s where I’m headed.

Aesthetics
If I haven’t done so already by the time you read this, I am planning to change the look of the blog just to freshen things up.

For everyone who’s been following my blog up to this point, I thank you tremendously. It’s hardly a get-rich-quick scheme, but I love doing it when I have time and something to say. As always, you’re welcome to respond in the comments section.

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A few weeks back I blogged about my latest audio obsession, the new Taylor Swift album the Serial podcast.

At that time I made a couple of predictions about the podcast, which have since come true.

My first prediction was “plot” driven—with plot in quotes because this is actually a real-life murder, not a prime time procedural. (It’s also WAY more provocative than the average prime time procedural.) I said that the story Serial’s Sarah Koenig is telling would evolve as people familiar with and/or involved in the case hear the podcast and reach out to her with their input. Sure enough, in episode #9, this happened.

A former classmate of the then-teenagers involved in the case contacted Koenig to refute, with confidence, the prosecutor’s timeline for the murder. This “witness” coming forward was a direct result of her hearing the podcast and wanted to contribute some information she believed Koenig (and the police) didn’t already have.

For the man who sits in jail convicted of murder, Adnan Sayed, it’s not clear whether these out of court testimonies 15 years later will ultimately help or hurt his case, but I suppose they can’t make things much worse for him.

(I also recently came across an article about the complicated ethics of Serial that’s definitely worth a read for fans–even if, like me, you disagree with it.)

The second prediction I made was about the business side of Serial. Serial is a free podcast whose first season has been funded by This American Life, a syndicated public radio show that relies on donations and scant advertising partners (Mail Kimp, anyone?) to keep itself on the air. (Serial is a spin-off of This American Life and debuted its pilot episode on TAL.)

I predicted/suggested that Serial would/should charge something—anything!—for downloads of its episodes. What better time to do it than now, when Serial is the #1 podcast on iTunes? People are clearly into the show, and the mainstream media (plus my blog!) is taking notice.

But rather than charging for episode downloads–now that they have us completely at the mercy of Sarah Koenig’s storytelling (including those bits and pieces she undoubtedly knows but has yet to share)–Serial is doing what public radio usually does: they have asked, rather than required, listeners to contribute money to fund a second season of the show. The suggested donation is $10, which can be done by simply texting SERIAL to 25383.

With the constant debates about how much is too much to pay for content—the cable bundle debate in particular—I think $10 to help fund a show of Serial’s quality is a steal. So far I’ve listened to about five hours of Serial content (all nine episodes of the show) and Koenig has yet to set a final end date or number of episodes for season 1.

Last year I opted not to give money to Zach Braff’s Kickstarter campaign to fund his movie I Wish I Was Here, which was eventually funded without me and made into a pretty good movie. The basis for my decision was that it isn’t my job as the potential consumer to fund the making of creative endeavor such as a film; instead it’s my job to decide, based on trailers, reviews, as well as the creator’s previous body of work (in this case one of my favorite films, Garden State, whether to pay to see the film once it’s made. And that’s what I did.

Serial has given us nine free episodes. Fans have heard enough to know just how good it is. Now it’s on us, by donating a few bucks, to see how good it can be in season two.

Are you a fan of the show? Do you plan to help fund a second season of Serial? Why or why not?

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