In that it was a rejection letter, it’s actually a second (most places don’t even bother). In that it was a rejection letter that someone took the time to print out, fold into thirds, signs, and write my address on the envelope, it was a first. Classy, but as always, it leaves me feeling like someone punched me in the stomach.

There was a marketing brochure lounging around on the office desk yesterday at work, with a note from Greg for Zebulon to read it. While, generally, I’ll go to just about any length to avoid reading marketing broc — um, “brainwashing” brochures — from the Franchise’s parent company, I was amused by the first page I flipped to, which stated that the company’s new official policy would be to have all drivers set their speed control three miles under the posted speed limit.

So, here’s what’s going to happen. Greg is going to remind me of the new policy, tell me not to exceed driving faster than three miles per hour under the posted speed limit, and then will yell at me when I don’t get back to the store fast enough and will threaten to cut my hours or staff more drivers to keep his service times consistent, because, suddenly, I’m not carrying the amount of business he needs me too. Meanwhile, he’ll keep telling me to “speed on my feet, not on the street.”

Or maybe this’ll be one of the many policies we pay lip service to, and then completely ignore. Because, 47mph on Jarrettsville Pike? That’s a recipe for a squashed Celica and a pancaked Snay.

Last night, for some reason, I decided to unplug and remove all of my electronics from my entertainment center (a nice two-shelf IKEA stand with a center divider and frosted glass doors) and then reorganize them and try to get some declutter action going on. Here is a complete list of what I had:

A Comcast cable box.
A 5-disc DVD player.
A DVD player that hasn’t worked since May because of lens cleaning issues (if you want it, it’s yours).
A laserdisc player that plays the 2nd Terminator II disc lodged inside but hasn’t been capable of opening the disc tray for four years.
A Playstation 2.
A Nintendo GameCube.
A Nintendo 64.
An original Nintendo that doesn’t even work (and yet is plugged in).

In addition, there were some cables (power cords, A/V stuff) that were at one point connected to something, but apparently, when I removed whatever it was they’d been connected to, I left the cords instead of trying to figure out which ones they were.

It took about fifteen minutes to unscrew, unplug, disconnect, blah-blah-blah, and remove everything from the unit. I found some chap stick from last year (or maybe the year before last) and am a little unsure as to whether or not it is safe to use (so for the time being, I put it somewhere safe, and have already forgotten where that is). After deciding to permanently remove the laserdisc player and the original Nintendo from the unit (I mean, it doesn’t work, so what’d be the effin’ point?), and cleaning out the dusty inside of the cabinet, I was able to put all the game systems on the lower left-shelf, and the cable box and DVD player on the upper left, freeing up the right-hand side for DVD and game storage.

All this took about an hour, and I had some fun screwing the cable connections back into place. When I had sound working for the cable, but no picture, I experimented for about ten minutes (thinking I’d screwed one of the cables into the wrong place) before I remembered that some times, when the cable box has been turned on, I’ll get sound but have to change the channel to get the picture up. Sure enough, I’d had it right the first time and couldn’t just hit Channel Up or Channel Down.

Long story short: the cabinet is a lot fuller, the remaining cords, while fewer, are still a cluttered clusterfuck mess, and, with the doors closed, everything looks exactly as it did before I decided to start messing with stuff. Now, if I can just find someone to fix the damn laserdisc player …

Malnurtured Snay, malnurtured snay! Parting is such sweet sorrow
That I shall say malnurtured snay till it be morrow.

Which work of Shakespeare was the original quote from?

Get your own quotes:

HT: Epiphany in Baltimore

Friday night I watched Mr. Brooks, the newest Kevin Costner film. Long story short, he’s a local award-winning businessman who talks to himself (embodied by William Hurt) and enjoys killing people. The film is pretty yada-yada, doesn’t do a particularly good job of setting up any suspense, and pretty much the only thing it has going for it are some unimaginative shoot-out sequences between Demi Moore and a thug who is so bitter about going to jail he wants to put a bullet in her brain. Also, casting peeps: Dane Cook. Really?

Not one of Costner’s best (then again, he’s got so few…)

And then I started thinking. If I were going to make a list of my favorite Kevin Costner films, what would they be? Here’s a shocker: only one on my list was made in the last fifteen years. And, in no particular order:

Silverado
Field of Dreams
The Untouchables
Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves
Thirteen Days

While I tossed about Dances With Wolves, the fact is, I’m just not a huge fan of that movie (and I haven’t seen Bull Durham, so nyah.) I could go through the next seventy years of my life never seeing DwW again, and I’d be totally cool with that.

Friday night, I channel surfed over to ABC, where I sat through an episode of “Men in Trees” while taking a break from answering interview questions. Really, I can’t imagine why I sat through the episode (apparently I needed some mind-numbing from my previous activity), but it took about five minutes before I realized I’d seen the show before (and I still didn’t reach for the remote because I am that lazy.) Except, the last time I saw it, it was called “Northern Exposure” and set in Cicely, Alaska. “Men in Trees” is set in Elmo, Alaska. Aside for various cosmetic differences (that being one of them), “Men in Trees” is a near duplicate of the extraordinarily superior “Northern Exposure.”

1. Both shows feature lead characters who are transplanted from New York to bumfuck Alaska (Northern Exposure‘s Rob Morrow, Men in Trees’ Anne Heche.)

2. Both shows feature January/April romances (Northern Exposure’s Holling & Shelley, MiT’s old black guy & crazy Asian chick*.)

3. Both shows feature a bush pilot as a regular member of the cast. And a bartender. And a radio show host (Northern Exposure’s far superior philosopher-disc jockey John Corbett.)

Oh, wait! Men in Trees’ opening sequence doesn’t feature a moose walking through downtown. Also, Northern Exposure doesn’t feature narration (unless you count Chris Stevens’ radio monologues). Both shows are quirky (rather, N.E. is and MiT tries to be.)

I don’t know what the pitch to ABC for this show was. “It’ll be like Northern Exposure … except on ABC!” And, also, unlike Northern Exposure, it’ll be … not good and not original.

*Sorry, couldn’t figure out their characters’ names.

Tres:

1.) I’m considering purchasing a laptop connect card for my Dell XPS. I work two day shifts at the Franchise, and the low work load at this time of year would make an ideal time to surf the ‘net and, in particular, career sites. Unfortunately, internet access is very limited and requires thieving wi-fi access from a mortgage company next to us. Not that I particularly mind — we do give them a discount on food — but mortgage companies being mortgage companies, they’ll probably be out of business pretty soon (plus, even though they’re right next door, the connection is always “low”, and I rarely am able to stay connected for more than ten minutes without being dropped). Any recommendations on cards? (I’d like to get something with Cingular, as I already have an account.) The cons are actually getting it installed. Whatdayamean I gotta take apart my laptop?

2.) 100 Interview Questions. On the advice of a friend who has been coaching me, I’ve created a hypothetical job in my head and am answering the questions based on having hypothetically applied for the job and scheduled an interview. Got any questions to add to that list? E-mail, baby. (Or … comment!)

This is the really important thing:

3.) Come the first Monday of January (the 7th), if I haven’t found anything, I’m going to go to a temp agency.

The last time there was a writers’ strike, the producers of a fledgling spin-off sci-fi show in its second season had to raid the archives for scripts to the first proposed spin-off of the mother show, a proposed spin-off which eventually became Star Trek: The Motion Picture. Some of those scripts, (notably “The Child”) originally written for Star Trek Phase Two, became episodes of Star Trek The Next Generation’s second season. This is also the reason for the season finale “Shades of Grey”, a dreaded clip show.

Personally, I don’t see what’s quite so outrageous about the demands of the writers’ guild. With a pie growing remarkeably larger and larger with the increase of DVD revenue, the writers’ cut has failed to grow. Although I can’t find a link, I remember a story told about the promotion for Battlestar Galactica’s third season. A series of short episodes (two minutes or so each), telling the story of those left behind on New Caprica, was written and filmed as a “bridge” between the second-season finale and the third-season premiere. After it was all over, in a responde to whether or not the episodes would be on the DVD release, Ron Moore commented on the fight he had getting the Sci-Fi Channel to pony up the cash in royalties to pay the non-actors who’d worked on the short episodes. Or something.

Anyway, the point is, as the pie of royalties and whatever-other-cash associated with the continually growing home entertainment market grows, the studios remain as greedy as ever, and those who work in Hollywood must fight for what should be theirs.

My hope is that the strike is quickly resolved. What I’ve really enjoyed in the last few years has been the return of episodic drama to television following that glut of reality programming: Lost, Veronica Mars, Heroes, etcetra etcetra. I like scripted televison far more than I like reality crap like Survivor or American Idol or America’s Favorite Whore or any fucking game show. And yet, with shows like The Office shut down (the cast has refused to cross the picket lines), and Heroes filming an alternate ending to one of its episodes in case a prolonged strike forces an early season finale, what we’re most likely to see in television programming are more reality shows.

So. Here’s to a quick end of the strike. May the writers get what they deserve, may the studios get back to producing our favorite TV shows, and may we all win in the end.

One of my coworkers — spoiled brat of rich parents — has an iPhone. He just let me look at it for a few minutes and play around with its internet browser, and while I’d never get one, I’ve gotta say it’s a pretty nifty device, even if only because it has a better internet connection than I’m getting on my laptop (albeit, there’s only one “free” wi-fi I’m in range of here).

I’ll hold out for the Google Phone.

PSA? Public Service Announcement? Oh, aren’t you cute. Nope, Public Snay Announcement.

Because I don’t pay attention to such trivial matters, Robin and I had a running discussion tonight at work regarding when we set our clocks back for Daylight Savings Time. The conversation was settled when we found a copy of the weekend edition of USA Today with a front-page reminder that, indeed, at 2am, to set your clocks back an hour (god help the idiots who stay up until 2am to set their clocks back, then set them back again an hour later, then again an hour later, et cetera ad naseum).

Anyway, because I’m hoping to be sound asleep by 2am, dreaming of a D.C. apartment and a beautiful woman sawing logs next to me in bed, I’ve gone ahead and set all my clocks back an hour.

Holy shit! I’m supposed to be at work for another forty minutes!!!

Oh, be still my heart.

While I didn’t have much to drink last night (y’know, driving home, didn’t want to sleep in my car, yada yida yada), I did have a really lousy night’s sleep, and did a considerable amount of tossing, and turning, and watching infomercials from 3:30am – 6 and spending way too long finishing a post about Veronica Mars’ disappointing final season. It was one of those nights where, when I finally fell asleep, I dreamed I was awake and tossing and turning in bed. That’s the only explanation I have for how non-tired and relatively-rested I feel today.

So, Charissa anointed me “honorary archivist” for Baltimore Blogger Happy Hours, so I’ll give it a shot. Clearly, if I’ve forgotten to list you, I’m just being an “elite” blogger and snubbing you. (No, actually, I just forgot, so shoot me an e-mail or leave a comment and I’ll get it all fixed-a-roonie.)

So, the attendees (and in no particular order):

Confessions of a Drama Duchess
Live From Bawlmer
Box 89e
Technology & MSG
JWER
Broadsheet
Anger Hangover
A Grin Without A Cat
Johnny Dollar (with Ball Und Chain)
Zenchick
Baltimoremick
SumSumSummertime (with Chain Und Ball)
Baltimore Snacker
Anonymous Coworker (with Ball Und Chain plus Mokiejovie with Ball Und Chain)
Wagner’s House (who I may or may not have convinced the male half of not to get a cat which will claw his feet, destroy his furniture, and rid the residence of rodents).
Ancestral Pile (with oft-mentioned, rarely seen not-yet-legally Chain Und Ball)
Berlow’s Freak Show
Your Neighborhood Librarian
Standing Cheese
Chain und Ball Neckbone with Ball Und Chain islendingabull
Atlanta Social (with Chain Und Ball)
Plus, former blogger Angie & friend Donna.

Great time was had by all, I would hope, although aging business majors screaming “LET THE DOGS OUT HOO HOO” from the front of the bar made one either want to cry or grab a baseball bat and start swinging.

I’m a fan of the now-cancelled TV series “Veronica Mars”, starring Kristen Bell as a high-school-age P.I., learning the trade from her ex-Sheriff dad, in Neptune, California, home to ridiculously wealthy folks and their ridiculously spoiled brats.

As a mystery show, each of the first two seasons featured season-long arcs revolving around one large mystery (in season one, “Who Killed Lilly Kane?” Season two, “Who blew up the school bus?”), while each episode featured a smaller mystery (“Who is distributing fake IDs at the school?”), which sometimes illuminated clues which pointed to the culprit of the season-mystery.

The show was slightly revamped for the third season (as Veronica moves from high-school student to college student), in that the one large mystery episode arc was eliminated in favor of smaller arcs: “Who is the campus rapist?” “Who killed Dean O’Dell?”, yada-yada.

Unfortunatly, Season Three proved the same thing Buffy’s fourth did: when great shows set in high school move their settings to college, they get crappy. (As opposed to, say, Beverly Hills 90210, which as best as I could ever tell, was always crappy). I suppose it’s a good thing Veronica Mars got canceled before it was “reimagined” as “Veronica in the FBI” for a proposed fourth season.

Meanwhile, the ever smoochable Kristen Bell moved over to NBC’s “Heroes”, providing, one would think, that final excuse for me to finally get into the show (because very few shows have my name written all over them as much as that one, yet, aside for a handful of season one episodes, I remain blissfully ignorant).