Latest news with #streamingservices
Gizmodo
07-07-2025
- Business
- Gizmodo
Amazon's Newest Fire TV Stick Is Going for Peanuts, Now 49% Off During Prime Day but Stock Is Limited
Streaming services are basically the new cable at this point. We've all been aware of that for a few years, but cable actually made it easy to switch between channels, while streaming services always ask a little bit more of you. They don't have to though, especially if you're willing to drop a little bit of cash on a good streaming device. As it happens, we just so happen to have found a great deal on a great streaming device today too. See at Amazon The Amazon Fire TV Stick HD is currently down to just $18, which is less than basically everything else you'll be picking up today, and it'll do a lot more than a couple of coffees as well. This is a 49% discount on the usual price of $35, but it's also a limited-time prime day deal on Amazon, so we're not expecting it to last for very long. The Fire TV Stick is an excellent choice for people who have a lot of streaming subscriptions, and they're sick of fumbling through them all just to find something to watch. The Stick plugs into your TV with ease, and then makes it absurdly simple to download and access all of your favorite streaming services in one place. This just streamlines the whole process, and it makes finding something to watch a lot more relaxed than it can be. Well, unless you've got a toddler shouting at you because they want to watch Blippi, nothing can help with that… sorry. Along with access to those services, it also lets you watch live TV, and get specific subscriptions to sports and news even. There's a lot of potential entertainment at your fingertips here. It can also be used to access Amazon Music, Spotify, and other music apps too, so it's even good if you're looking to just chill out to some music. Just remember to put a screensaver on or turn the screen off to avoid that horrible burn-in. Along with all of that, if you're someone who's building up a smart home with Alexa at its core, this can be a great way to control everything. As long as you've got the right tech installed, you can ask Alexa to dim your lights, check out different camera feeds, set reminders, and basically anything else. That's all easy to do thanks to the voice remote, which comes with the Fire TV Stick HD. That's not bad at all for just $18. See at Amazon
The Guardian
01-07-2025
- General
- The Guardian
I was getting lonely. Here's what happened when I tried to make new friends in my 30s
I am lucky enough to have some wonderful friends. But recently many of them have moved away because they can't afford, or simply can't be bothered, to live in a huge city like London any more. And when you're in your 30s, meaningfully connecting with new people is no mean feat. I'm not alone in feeling a little lonely: in 2023, the World Health Organization said that social isolation was becoming a 'global public health concern'. From the decline of the office to the rise of single-occupancy flats, our social lives are being leached away from us. Meanwhile, streaming services and food-delivery apps discourage us from going out, their ads extolling the safety and convenience of staying home and not seeing or talking to another human. It's almost as if they want to keep us single and friendless, with nothing to spend our money on but a disappointing chicken burger with a side of Deadpool & Wolverine. It wasn't always like this. Look at photos of city life in the 90s or 00s and you'll see cafes and nightclubs and buses and trains thronging with life and conversation. People danced with each other and looked at each other and spoke to each other and touched and kissed each other – in public! I've been wondering if I could bring at least some of that fun back into my own life. Here's what happened when I stepped out of my comfort zone and tried to make some new friends. If you go to a busy public place in the US – a bus, a restaurant, a bar, a sports event – it is an absolute cacophony. They talk to one another. Loudly, brashly and proudly, they talk. So I think: what better way to make social connections than to adopt Americans' wonderful, fearless way of socialising? That means striking up conversation at any given opportunity, rather than avoiding it, as many of us in the UK are prone to do. I try it out on everyone I meet, from neighbours and shopkeepers to hospitality workers and groups of strangers in cafes and pubs. The first person I get properly chatting to is a fellow resident of my little crescent. Let's call him Graham. A doorman at one of London's glossier hotels, he is as twinkly and kind as he is rough around the edges; if I were a casting director tasked with finding a quintessential London 'old boy', I would pick him immediately. We get chatting one day, while he is smoking on his doorstep, and when I tell him I am a writer, he says: 'My parents once told me, and I'll always remember this' – he pauses, taking a long drag on his rollie – 'words are to the mind what exercise is to the body.' Wise words indeed. Even just that brief chat has opened a channel and we still exchange friendly small talk every time I see him. The rest of my interaction experiments don't go so well. Lured into one of Gail's bakeries by the strong wifi and flaky treats, I walk over to the baker, who is in the corner shovelling croissants in and out of ovens. He has caught my eye a couple of times, although it's unclear whether in flirty interest or because he thinks I'm up to no good. I point upwards. 'Are you guys responsible for this playlist?' (You Oughta Know by Alanis Morissette is playing.) 'Yes.' 'Ah, great, love it!' He smiles thinly, shovelling his croissants. 'Wow, they're quite intricate, aren't they?' I say, leaning over the counter a bit. 'Layered.' He smiles thinly again and nods a polite 'goodbye', which everyone knows means: 'GO AWAY IMMEDIATELY, PLEASE.' When I was 15, I fell in love on a riverboat in Paris. I was on holiday from Devon with my parents; Marc was on holiday from Menlo Park, California. I ran over to him as the boat was pulling in to our stop and got his phone number, which he wrote on a crumpled bit of paper. We had a date the next day, on the steps of Sacré-Coeur, and dated long-distance for the next two years, with the help of Skype and two sets of remarkably open-minded parents. All of this sounds like a total lie. My friends at school certainly thought so, until, with great satisfaction at their dropped jaws, I introduced them all to my glossy-haired, gleaming-toothed, band-T-shirt-wearing, living, breathing American boyfriend when he came to visit one Christmas. We're completely different people now and there is a comfortable, affectionate lack of romance. We were children when it started and we look back on it with the same loving, nonsexual 00s nostalgia as you might T4 on the Beach or the Goosebumps books. But we still click. He and his boyfriend are visiting London, so I ask if they want to go for a drink. Anyone who has a significant ex will know this is not as simple and casual as it sounds. It takes a bit of mental gymnastics. It takes a bit of guts. I'm not going to lie: I pick my outfit out very carefully, desperately trying to look like I'm not trying. We have fish and chips at the Hawley Arms, the pub Amy Winehouse used to frequent and pull pints in. I choose it shamelessly, knowing it's just the right kind of touristy for cultured millennial Americans. I realise immediately that we have both grown up. We speak eruditely about our jobs, about the world and about politics. A change from the last time we had seen each other in person, when our main gripe had been about Megavideo no longer streaming our favourite TV show at the time, Weeds. The worst of our similarities have fallen away and the best remain. It feels a little like that epiphany you have, perhaps about 22 or 23 years old, when you realise you're an adult. We are both grownups and it is a rewarding and powerful conversation. I can certainly see that reconnecting with an ex might not be for everyone – God knows, there are some exes that absolutely should not be reconnected with. But if you grew apart for reasons geographical and practical, it might be worth dropping them a message. After all, there was something that drew you to them in the first place. Maybe that thing is still there, in a much more casual, unromantic, but still meaningful way. Book clubs aren't for me, and neither are film clubs. I get enough (often unsolicited) opinions about what to read or watch from my friends and family and strangers on social media, thank you very much. In the end, I plunge for the only exercise I have ever enjoyed – water sports. I grew up in Devon on the banks of the River Dart; it's one of the most lushly wending waterways in Europe. Locals are fond of saying that if you squint when the sun's out, it could be the Amazon. Regent's Canal could never be the Amazon, even if you were wearing a VR headset, but it is one of the capital's most precious assets – paddling or strolling along it takes you past sites including a floating Chinese restaurant, world-class wall art, floating bookshops and, as you pass through the zoo, warthogs, colobus monkeys and African hunting dogs. Regents Canoe Club costs £90 for a year's membership, meeting on Monday and Thursday nights to strike out on to the canal in kayaks and canoes. Equipment is provided and, once you are a member, there is no need to book ahead – you just show up. In this economy, in one of the most expensive cities in the world, that's pretty good. I rock up to the induction evening wearing Ed Hardy jeans, a sparkly unicorn T-shirt and lots of jewellery and immediately feel like Cameron Diaz in heels dragging her suitcase down that snowy country lane in The Holiday. The rest of the group are mostly affable, confident, outdoorsy women sporting sturdy shoes, thick leggings and chic haircuts. Ruth, a longtime member, shows me a video on her phone of her roiling over rapids on the Zambezi. 'We didn't worry about crocodiles,' she says breezily. 'The big ones don't come near the rapids, so it's just the little ones.' 'This is the most fun you can have while sitting down,' says Alex, after helping Ruth give us a comprehensive but entertaining health-and-safety induction. I open my mouth to make an off‑colour joke, then remembered I'm not in my usual company of easily amused gay men. As we clatter the kayaks out of their racks, I get a surge of serotonin, fuelled by nostalgia – the sounds and the smells evoking childhood – and a feeling of discovering the holy grail: a cheap, non-alcohol-focused, low-stress, low-effort social activity in London. Perhaps my unicorn T-shirt was appropriate after all. There are always those ships in the night you met once or twice. Perhaps they are a friend of a friend, someone you encountered in passing at a party or a festival, a visiting colleague from another section of your company … you clicked, both thought: 'We're going to be the best of friends,' then never saw each other again. It's time to pluck up the courage to contact them. Shrug off that fear of rejection, stop overthinking that cringe thing you may or may not have said, that they may or may not have misinterpreted, and just bloody message them. A wonderful advantage – arguably the only advantage – of social media is that this is now possible. In the 90s, you would just have never seen them again, but now, as long as you've got their first name and a vague notion of where they live or what they do for a job, the chances are you can track them down. I don't even have to do this – I had exchanged details with Amber and Elliot in the short time we were together. It was when I was in Oxford for the weekend a few years ago. One night, thinking I didn't go to gay bars by myself enough, I decided to check out the delightful Jolly Farmers, which describes itself as 'Oxford's oldest and oddest LGBTQ+ venue'. It certainly matched the description, with its heady melange of a few old timers almost literally propping up a slightly lopsided bar, bubbly cob walls and disco lights. Amber and Elliot were sitting in a corner playing Guess Who? and they beckoned me over so immediately and beamingly that at first I thought we already knew each other. They were wearing matching dangly earrings in the shape of poppers bottles and were about 5,000 times cooler than anyone in a 10-mile radius. Within minutes of meeting them, I would have died for them. Guess Who? quickly forgotten, we talked and talked about their experiences as queer Oxford students, pop music, my life in London and more. The next thing I knew, I was at a halls party drinking something aniseedy from a cracked plastic cup. We said our goodbyes under some strobe-lit brick arches at about 4am and stayed in touch, laugh-reacting to the odd shared meme. Now, about three years after we met, I see that Amber has moved to London. I message her asking if she would like to get together for a drink. Elliot is in town, too, and we all meet at an insultingly chic pub in Stoke Newington and reminisce about our mad night in Oxford. We also, just like everyone else in the crowded beer garden, lament our jobs and lambast life. Next, it's time for a flat party, where I bring my boyfriend and we play what I'm fairly sure was Murder in the Dark (but can't quite remember). It teaches me that you don't necessarily need complicated tactics or new hobbies or psychological instruction to improve your social life. Sometimes, like Italian food, it's best to keep it simple: quality ingredients and quick, easy techniques are all you need to craft that most elusive of dishes – a beautiful new friendship. Do you have an opinion on the issues raised in this article? If you would like to submit a response of up to 300 words by email to be considered for publication in our letters section, please click here.
The Guardian
01-07-2025
- General
- The Guardian
I was getting lonely. Here's what happened when I tried to make new friends in my 30s
I am lucky enough to have some wonderful friends. But recently many of them have moved away because they can't afford, or simply can't be bothered, to live in a huge city like London any more. And when you're in your 30s, meaningfully connecting with new people is no mean feat. I'm not alone in feeling a little lonely: in 2023, the World Health Organization said that social isolation was becoming a 'global public health concern'. From the decline of the office to the rise of single-occupancy flats, our social lives are being leached away from us. Meanwhile, streaming services and food-delivery apps discourage us from going out, their ads extolling the safety and convenience of staying home and not seeing or talking to another human. It's almost as if they want to keep us single and friendless, with nothing to spend our money on but a disappointing chicken burger with a side of Deadpool & Wolverine. It wasn't always like this. Look at photos of city life in the 90s or 00s and you'll see cafes and nightclubs and buses and trains thronging with life and conversation. People danced with each other and looked at each other and spoke to each other and touched and kissed each other – in public! I've been wondering if I could bring at least some of that fun back into my own life. Here's what happened when I stepped out of my comfort zone and tried to make some new friends. If you go to a busy public place in the US – a bus, a restaurant, a bar, a sports event – it is an absolute cacophony. They talk to one another. Loudly, brashly and proudly, they talk. So I think: what better way to make social connections than to adopt Americans' wonderful, fearless way of socialising? That means striking up conversation at any given opportunity, rather than avoiding it, as many of us in the UK are prone to do. I try it out on everyone I meet, from neighbours and shopkeepers to hospitality workers and groups of strangers in cafes and pubs. The first person I get properly chatting to is a fellow resident of my little crescent. Let's call him Graham. A doorman at one of London's glossier hotels, he is as twinkly and kind as he is rough around the edges; if I were a casting director tasked with finding a quintessential London 'old boy', I would pick him immediately. We get chatting one day, while he is smoking on his doorstep, and when I tell him I am a writer, he says: 'My parents once told me, and I'll always remember this' – he pauses, taking a long drag on his rollie – 'words are to the mind what exercise is to the body.' Wise words indeed. Even just that brief chat has opened a channel and we still exchange friendly small talk every time I see him. The rest of my interaction experiments don't go so well. Lured into one of Gail's bakeries by the strong wifi and flaky treats, I walk over to the baker, who is in the corner shovelling croissants in and out of ovens. He has caught my eye a couple of times, although it's unclear whether in flirty interest or because he thinks I'm up to no good. I point upwards. 'Are you guys responsible for this playlist?' (You Oughta Know by Alanis Morissette is playing.) 'Yes.' 'Ah, great, love it!' He smiles thinly, shovelling his croissants. 'Wow, they're quite intricate, aren't they?' I say, leaning over the counter a bit. 'Layered.' He smiles thinly again and nods a polite 'goodbye', which everyone knows means: 'GO AWAY IMMEDIATELY, PLEASE.' When I was 15, I fell in love on a riverboat in Paris. I was on holiday from Devon with my parents; Marc was on holiday from Menlo Park, California. I ran over to him as the boat was pulling in to our stop and got his phone number, which he wrote on a crumpled bit of paper. We had a date the next day, on the steps of Sacré-Coeur, and dated long-distance for the next two years, with the help of Skype and two sets of remarkably open-minded parents. All of this sounds like a total lie. My friends at school certainly thought so, until, with great satisfaction at their dropped jaws, I introduced them all to my glossy-haired, gleaming-toothed, band-T-shirt-wearing, living, breathing American boyfriend when he came to visit one Christmas. We're completely different people now and there is a comfortable, affectionate lack of romance. We were children when it started and we look back on it with the same loving, nonsexual 00s nostalgia as you might T4 on the Beach or the Goosebumps books. But we still click. He and his boyfriend are visiting London, so I ask if they want to go for a drink. Anyone who has a significant ex will know this is not as simple and casual as it sounds. It takes a bit of mental gymnastics. It takes a bit of guts. I'm not going to lie: I pick my outfit out very carefully, desperately trying to look like I'm not trying. We have fish and chips at the Hawley Arms, the pub Amy Winehouse used to frequent and pull pints in. I choose it shamelessly, knowing it's just the right kind of touristy for cultured millennial Americans. I realise immediately that we have both grown up. We speak eruditely about our jobs, about the world and about politics. A change from the last time we had seen each other in person, when our main gripe had been about Megavideo no longer streaming our favourite TV show at the time, Weeds. The worst of our similarities have fallen away and the best remain. It feels a little like that epiphany you have, perhaps about 22 or 23 years old, when you realise you're an adult. We are both grownups and it is a rewarding and powerful conversation. I can certainly see that reconnecting with an ex might not be for everyone – God knows, there are some exes that absolutely should not be reconnected with. But if you grew apart for reasons geographical and practical, it might be worth dropping them a message. After all, there was something that drew you to them in the first place. Maybe that thing is still there, in a much more casual, unromantic, but still meaningful way. Book clubs aren't for me, and neither are film clubs. I get enough (often unsolicited) opinions about what to read or watch from my friends and family and strangers on social media, thank you very much. In the end, I plunge for the only exercise I have ever enjoyed – water sports. I grew up in Devon on the banks of the River Dart; it's one of the most lushly wending waterways in Europe. Locals are fond of saying that if you squint when the sun's out, it could be the Amazon. Regent's Canal could never be the Amazon, even if you were wearing a VR headset, but it is one of the capital's most precious assets – paddling or strolling along it takes you past sites including a floating Chinese restaurant, world-class wall art, floating bookshops and, as you pass through the zoo, warthogs, colobus monkeys and African hunting dogs. Regents Canoe Club costs £90 for a year's membership, meeting on Monday and Thursday nights to strike out on to the canal in kayaks and canoes. Equipment is provided and, once you are a member, there is no need to book ahead – you just show up. In this economy, in one of the most expensive cities in the world, that's pretty good. I rock up to the induction evening wearing Ed Hardy jeans, a sparkly unicorn T-shirt and lots of jewellery and immediately feel like Cameron Diaz in heels dragging her suitcase down that snowy country lane in The Holiday. The rest of the group are mostly affable, confident, outdoorsy women sporting sturdy shoes, thick leggings and chic haircuts. Ruth, a longtime member, shows me a video on her phone of her roiling over rapids on the Zambezi. 'We didn't worry about crocodiles,' she says breezily. 'The big ones don't come near the rapids, so it's just the little ones.' 'This is the most fun you can have while sitting down,' says Alex, after helping Ruth give us a comprehensive but entertaining health-and-safety induction. I open my mouth to make an off‑colour joke, then remembered I'm not in my usual company of easily amused gay men. As we clatter the kayaks out of their racks, I get a surge of serotonin, fuelled by nostalgia – the sounds and the smells evoking childhood – and a feeling of discovering the holy grail: a cheap, non-alcohol-focused, low-stress, low-effort social activity in London. Perhaps my unicorn T-shirt was appropriate after all. There are always those ships in the night you met once or twice. Perhaps they are a friend of a friend, someone you encountered in passing at a party or a festival, a visiting colleague from another section of your company … you clicked, both thought: 'We're going to be the best of friends,' then never saw each other again. It's time to pluck up the courage to contact them. Shrug off that fear of rejection, stop overthinking that cringe thing you may or may not have said, that they may or may not have misinterpreted, and just bloody message them. A wonderful advantage – arguably the only advantage – of social media is that this is now possible. In the 90s, you would just have never seen them again, but now, as long as you've got their first name and a vague notion of where they live or what they do for a job, the chances are you can track them down. I don't even have to do this – I had exchanged details with Amber and Elliot in the short time we were together. It was when I was in Oxford for the weekend a few years ago. One night, thinking I didn't go to gay bars by myself enough, I decided to check out the delightful Jolly Farmers, which describes itself as 'Oxford's oldest and oddest LGBTQ+ venue'. It certainly matched the description, with its heady melange of a few old timers almost literally propping up a slightly lopsided bar, bubbly cob walls and disco lights. Amber and Elliot were sitting in a corner playing Guess Who? and they beckoned me over so immediately and beamingly that at first I thought we already knew each other. They were wearing matching dangly earrings in the shape of poppers bottles and were about 5,000 times cooler than anyone in a 10-mile radius. Within minutes of meeting them, I would have died for them. Guess Who? quickly forgotten, we talked and talked about their experiences as queer Oxford students, pop music, my life in London and more. The next thing I knew, I was at a halls party drinking something aniseedy from a cracked plastic cup. We said our goodbyes under some strobe-lit brick arches at about 4am and stayed in touch, laugh-reacting to the odd shared meme. Now, about three years after we met, I see that Amber has moved to London. I message her asking if she would like to get together for a drink. Elliot is in town, too, and we all meet at an insultingly chic pub in Stoke Newington and reminisce about our mad night in Oxford. We also, just like everyone else in the crowded beer garden, lament our jobs and lambast life. Next, it's time for a flat party, where I bring my boyfriend and we play what I'm fairly sure was Murder in the Dark (but can't quite remember). It teaches me that you don't necessarily need complicated tactics or new hobbies or psychological instruction to improve your social life. Sometimes, like Italian food, it's best to keep it simple: quality ingredients and quick, easy techniques are all you need to craft that most elusive of dishes – a beautiful new friendship. Do you have an opinion on the issues raised in this article? If you would like to submit a response of up to 300 words by email to be considered for publication in our letters section, please click here.
The Verge
26-06-2025
- Business
- The Verge
The BBC is launching a paywall in the US
The BBC wants to make people in the US pay for its content. The public broadcaster announced on Thursday that it will start offering US-based users an $8.99 per month (or $49.99 per year) subscription for 'unlimited' access to news stories, feature reports, and the BBC News channel livestream. Users in the US will still get free access to 'select' breaking news stories, BBC Radio 4 and BBC World Service radio livestreams, BBC World Service sites, as well as newsletters and podcasts. will use a 'dynamic pay model' to show paywalls to certain readers depending on how much they read and how long they're on the site. 'This approach allows casual readers to explore freely, while offering our most engaged users the opportunity to unlock even more,' the BBC writes in its announcement. 'By opting to pay, readers gain unlimited access to all the site's content.' The BBC says its website reaches 60 million users in the US alone. The move is meant to help the BBC drum up more revenue as the money collected from yearly license fees in the UK — which people are required to purchase to watch live TV or use BBC iPlayer — continues to tumble. Last year, around 500,000 households in the UK canceled their license fee as more people turned to streaming services like Netflix. The UK government has considered trying new methods to support the BBC, including extending license fees to streaming-only users and radio listeners, as well as rolling out ads on the BBC and taxing streamers, according to Bloomberg. In the future, the BBC's subscription will include ad-free documentary series, films, and podcasts, along with access to exclusive newsletters and other content. It notes that users based in the UK won't experience any changes to how they access the BBC, as will flag users based on their device's geolocation. UK users who travel to the US can also continue to read or stream BBC content uninterrupted by accessing it through the BBC News app. The BBC notes that it currently doesn't have plans to launch a subscription outside of North America.
CNET
18-06-2025
- Business
- CNET
Watching TV Felt Like a Chore Until I Dumped All the Extra Subscriptions
With summer break in full swing, chances are you're streaming more than usual. But if your monthly charges are starting to creep uncomfortably high, you're not imagining it. Subscription fees keep rising, account sharing now comes with penalties, and it feels like every new show requires a whole new app. Streaming is starting to look a lot like the cable bill we all tried to escape. Even bundle deals, which promise more value, often end up adding extra logins, overlapping content, and more confusion. If your streaming setup feels more frustrating than fun, you're not alone. The good news is that a few smart changes can help you cut back on costs without missing the content you actually care about. Here's how to spend less and enjoy your shows a lot more. CNET's latest survey found that on average, we're spending more than $200 a year on subscriptions we're not even using. You've got to start asking yourself the tough questions: Are you actually watching everything you're paying for? Or are your subscriptions just piling up while your money quietly disappears? If you're holding onto five different subscriptions just to keep up with a couple of shows, it might be time to rethink your setup. You don't have to cancel everything -- just get strategic. Here's the simple system I use to cut down my streaming costs without sacrificing the shows I love. It's low-effort, high-reward, and your bank account will thank you. Rotate your streaming subscriptions Some of you may not have cut the cable cord yet and still stream, but if you're thinking of moving from cable exclusively to streaming, it can help save dough. With monthly plans, it's easy to subscribe to a streaming service and cancel if prices rise or the content becomes uninteresting. According to Deloitte's 2025 Media Trends report, the average US household spends $69 monthly on four streaming services. People cancel their streaming subscriptions mainly due to price and availability -- or lack of -- engaging content. Media companies call this behavior "churn." We're calling this the rotation method, and you should try it. The incentive? You save your coin and avoid content droughts. Let's say a series like Andor or Poker Face is set to premiere on a streaming service. Find the total episode count and wait until they're all available at once on a platform. You cancel Netflix, Hulu, Disney Plus, or other services and then resubscribe once all the episodes are available to catch up. Alternatively, you can start streaming a show midseason to cut costs. My monthly guide on which streaming services to cancel can help you keep up. The downside? You won't have immediate access to every show you want to watch and will have to wait until the full season airs. And since many streaming services release new episodes weekly, you might not be caught up at the same time as your friends. If you're someone who prefers to watch episodes immediately when they drop, you may decide it's worth it to have multiple subscriptions at a time. If you have patience, however, you can save some money. The strategy can also work if you have a live TV streaming service to watch a particular sport or major event like the WrestleMania or Super Bowl. Once the season wraps, cancel the service or move to a cheaper platform with fewer channels, like Sling TV. Need help figuring out the best way to rotate? Follow the tips below to learn how to churn streaming platforms until your wallet feels content. Now Playing: How to Get Hulu and Max for Free With Food Delivery Memberships 01:07 Tip No. 1: Cancel your subscription before getting charged Set calendar reminders for your billing cycle and upcoming TV show or movie release dates. Give yourself enough warning to begin or end a subscription. Apps such as JustWatch, TV Time and Hobi help you track when and where TV shows and movies appear on a streaming service. And JustWatch added a tracker specifically for sports. If you have a smart home device from Google or Amazon, you can set reminders for specific dates and allow a voice assistant like Alexa to notify you of an upcoming bill or streaming release date. Tip No. 2: Sign up for streaming service deals Look for discounts on streaming services. For example, Starz regularly offers months-long deals that slash its $11-per-month price. You can also take advantage of the Disney Bundle, which provides access to Disney Plus, Hulu and ESPN Plus in a single package for a reduced price. And eligible Hulu subscribers can add on Disney Plus for $2. Lastly, be sure to look for student discounts and check with your mobile carrier to see which ones offer free or discounted streaming subscriptions. Tip No. 3: Pick one or two default streaming services Subscribe to one or two must-have services for the year, and select only one or two more options to fit your monthly budget. Rotate the bonus service(s) according to what you want to watch, ensuring you don't miss your favorite shows while sticking to your monthly spending cap. Tip No. 4: Use monthly billing only Avoid annual subscriptions and pay attention to your auto-renewal payment dates, even if it means using one of these tracking apps. Your billing cycle can help determine when it's the best time to quit a service, even if you've only signed up for a free trial. The only advantage to signing up for an annual plan is when the price is drastically cut down. Tip No. 5: Don't cancel your subscription, pause it Hulu allows you to pause your subscription for up to 12 weeks, and Sling has a similar option with stipulations. Check with your streaming provider to see if you can take a temporary break without canceling. Give it a shot, and if you don't like it you can always resubscribe. For more excellent tips on streaming TV, check out this guide to Netflix's hidden tricks and our tips on the best VPNs.
