247 The Dirtiest Job of all

2008-02-07T22:23:54Z

FADE FROM BLACK TO: A man in an expensive suit, straightening his tie and looking out a window at a line of people below. The people are marching back and forth in front of the building, holding picket signs that say different versions of "Writers on Strike." The man opens the window and heaves a bucket of water out at the line, then slams the window shut and turns to the camera. We can hear distant screams, and a car wreck.

CROWE: Hi, I'm Mick Crowe. And this is my job.

CUT TO: Opening sequence shows CROWE performing different disgusting jobs: sewage pumping, collecting soil samples in a swamp as an alligator approaches, greasing up competitive bodybuilders, working in a high school cafeteria, etc. Over this is the show logo: "FILTHY JOBS with Mick Crowe."

CROWE (V.O.): I travel the world to find hard-working men and women who do the jobs that make life easier for the rest of us. Now get ready... to get filthy.

CUT TO: CROWE walking through an elegantly-appointed hallway. He talks to the camera as we follow him past offices and busy employees.

CROWE: You may be noticing I look a little different today. Usually I'd be in old jeans, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap bearing the name of whatever hapless company whose productivity I would be ruining that day for our show. This job has a different dress code, but trust me, it's one of the filthiest jobs I've ever taken on.

CROWE arrives at a polished oak door. On it is a small gold sign: "MIGHTY MOGUL ENTERTAINMENT, CEO."

CROWE: Today, I'm a studio executive.

He walks through the door. Inside is a sumptuous office, filled with tasteful furniture and a small fountain. There is a string quartet playing soft music in one corner. At the far end is a desk the size of a Buick and a smiling, middle-aged man. The floor is littered with loose cash, which CROWE shuffles through like autumn leaves. Faint strike slogans can be heard from outside. CROWE stops and gestures to the man.

CROWE: This is Austin MacFeady, CEO of Mighty Mogul Entertainment here in Los Angeles. Mighty Mogul produces movies and television shows for the Gimme! Network, and ---

ASSISTANT: I'm sorry, sir. I'm Mr. MacFeady's assistant. He's in an executive meeting, but you can go right in.

CROWE: Oh, right. Thank you.

CUT TO: A magnificent boardroom. It's dark, lit only by the roaring fire in the middle that casts flickering lights on the heavy tapestries and assorted gold decorations on the walls. Six or seven men in suits are sprawled around the fire across silk pillows, laughing and yelling to each other. MACFEADY is seated above them. CROWE enters but is pushed aside by barely-clad reality show contestants bearing trays of fruit and a roasted ox.

CROWE: Hi, I'm Mick ---

STUDIO EXEC 1: (yelling) MacFeady! What is best in life?

MACFEADY: To crush the union, cancel their development deals and hear the lamentations of their strike leaders!

The STUDIO EXECS laugh uproariously and continue drinking.

MACFEADY: Mick! Glad you could join us. These are the heads of some of the other studios, we were just talking about the writers' strike.

CROWE: Let's get that out of the way. Why are the writers on strike, anyway?

MACFEADY: That's a very complicated matter, with valid points on both sides, that requires a great deal of explanation, Mick. But what it all boils down to is that they want to cripple the entertainment industry and the entire economy of California to serve their master, Satan.

The STUDIO EXECS all mutter and spit on the floor.

CROWE: I don't recall seeing that on any of their flyers, Austin.

MACFEADY: No, they talk about "residuals" and "New Media" and "percentages" and other words that no one's ever heard of. That's the thing with writers, they make stuff up. "Fair compensation," what's that?

CROWE: I believe they're asking that the 22-year-old residual rate for DVDs be increased, that they get a fair percentage of the profits from online broadcast and productions, and union jurisdiction over animation and reality shows. That sound about right?

MACFEADY: Probably. Who cares? C'mon, have a seat.

CROWE: I don't mean to interrupt, but why exactly can't you give the writers a percentage of the online profits? Isn't broadcasting their work online the same as broadcasting it on TV?

The STUDIO EXECS all laugh.

STUDIO EXEC 2: It's completely and totally different.

CROWE: How?

ALL THE STUDIO EXECS: When we rerun the show online we get to keep all the money.

They laugh again. Several deliver high fives.

STUDIO EXEC 2: No, seriously, when it's online it's not a rerun. It's promotional.

CROWE: An entire episode? If viewers can watch the whole show, what are you promoting?

STUDIO EXEC 4: Toyotas.

STUDIO EXEC 3: And since everything is moving towards online distribution, we're looking at a huge savings down the road.

CROWE: But doesn't that mean the writers will be seeing a drastic cut in their income?

STUDIO EXEC 2: Yeah, but that part's just funny.

MACFEADY: Enough talk. Mick? Time to get to work.

The reality show contestants begin to dance.

CUT TO: The administrator's office. MACFEADY and CROWE come out. Loud laughing and music can be heard before the door closes again.

CROWE: So, what do we do first?

MACFEADY: Well, our usual schedule has been changed because of the writers' strike, but I'm sure we can find something for you to do. (laughs heartily)

CROWE: This is where the magic happens, huh?

MACFEADY: Right here is where I make all of our shows and movies.

CROWE: You, personally?

MACFEADY: Couldn't happen without me. I pick and choose the projects and talent, and I guide them to successful releases. At heart, I'm an artist.

CROWE: When you say you guide them, what does that mean?

MACFEADY holds out his hand; his assistant slaps a script into it.

MACFEADY: Here's a spec script for a new series we stashed away before the strike started. It's an adventure series about an old guy who's tracking down the men who killed his wife 20 years ago, trying to get them all before he dies of cancer. Make it happen!

CROWE: Really? OK, I guess first I'd find a director with a distinctive style who can shoot both action and emotional scenes. Then I'd talk to him about the right actor, maybe someone in his 60s who would really sell it to the audience. Then I'd talk to the actor and the writer to start developing the story arc ...

MACFEADY: Whoa, no, no. The first thing you do is check the demographics.

CROWE: The what?

MACFEADY: You pick the advertisers you want, you find out which demographics they want to hit -- age, income, gender, whatever -- and you make a show that gives it to them. Who's looking for a show?

ASSISTANT: Apple.

MACFEADY: Apple? Forget the old guy. Old people don't buy Macs. Make him 20. And no cancer, cancer depresses people. Say he's got to find all those guys in a year and if he does, it brings his wife back to life.

CROWE: How?

MACFEADY: I'm a writer? Let them figure it out. Actually, let's make the guy a chick, action chicks are hot now. She'll need to be 18, though, 20's too old for a chick. And she has to find and kill all these guys in a year to get back her dead boyfriend. That gives us a season.

ASSISTANT: Money in the bank.

CROWE: What about next season?

MACFEADY: You kidding? It'll probably get cancelled long before that. If we need to we can always kill him again and start over. But we need a hook.

CROWE: Um, how about she tracks the guys down, but she falls in love with one of them? Then she'd be conflicted, and ---

MACFEADY: She's a stripper!

ASSISTANT: Perfect, Mr. M.!

CROWE: What?

MACFEADY: That's how she makes her money, traveling around to strip clubs, maybe with her blind twin sister and a dog. That way we get her half-naked most of the time, that's another 5 shares right there, we get the sensitivity points and the dog lovers, and at the end of the show viewers go to iTunes to buy the music she was stripping to. Apple will walk over their grandmothers to get this!

ADMINISTRATOR: Genius, Mr. M.

CROWE: Is there somewhere I can wash my hands? I feel a little ---

MACFEADY: Now we need the talent. And you know how we choose that, of course.

CROWE: Based on previous success and ability?

MACFEADY: Based on who we have development deals with. Pick a director, pick a star or two, just grab 'em at random. I use darts, myself. The best part is that whatever they did before, the media will be all "ooh, a new direction" and "a bold choice." But right now, of course, the strike is paralyzing us so we can't get any writers or actors to cross the picket lines. That means we have some hard work ahead of us.

CROWE: Ah, we're going to negotiate with the Writers Guild. I was hoping I'd get a chance to ---

MACFEADY: No, Mick. We have something far more important to do.

CUT TO: A large room full of desks, where people are feverishly typing. All of them look grim, many of them look as though they've been there for days at a time. Several are weeping as they type. One of them can be seen rubbing soap in his eyes, screaming and then bending back to his keyboard, enraged. CROWE and MACFEADY enter.

MACFEADY: This is the PR Pit, or the sock puppet room. Go on, give it a shot. Here, you'll want this bucket.

CROWE: Sure thing. Should I know what I'm doing? I don't usually (mugs to the camera), just thought I'd ask.

MACFEADY: This is where we tirelessly work to counteract the bad PR from the writers' strike by going to each and every article, forum or blog that's talking about the strike and posting comments.

CROWE: Comments that explain your position clearly and reasonably?

MACFEADY: Comments that accuse the Writers Guild of America of incompetence, malfeasance, and, when appropriate, necrobestiality. And we pretend to be writers ourselves, so people believe it.

CROWE: Well, I'm here to get filthy. What do I do?

MACFEADY: Let's see ... here we go. Here's an article from a respected source about how what the WGA wants would cost us less than what we paid to get rid of a single disgraced CEO last year. Get in there and comment, Mick!

CROWE: Should I say I'm me, or ---

MACFEADY: No, no. Go with "Anonymous" or "Starving Writer with Leukemia." Here's some sample phrases, just mix and match.

CROWE: Right. "I can't believe anyone is buying this. I know every single writer in Hollywood personally and they all think the WGA negotiators are ignorant greedheads who step on babies. Give it up and go back to work. If the multizillionaire writers weren't so greedy we'd all be working now and animated birds would sing to us. Love, Anonymous." Is that ... is that ... ulp...

MACFEADY: Great!

CROWE leans over and throws up into the bucket. MACFEADY laughs.

MACFEADY: They all do that the first time, Mick, don't worry about it.

MACFEADY grabs CROWE's arm and drags him out of the room.

CUT TO: The hallway, where CROWE is wiping his mouth.

CROWE: And that helps?

MACFEADY: Every poll shows the viewing public is behind the writers, and we need to bring that down a bit. Good negotiating strategy, and we hired the best and most expensive public relations people in the business to do it.

CROWE: But why attacks? Why not just explain your side?

MACFEADY: Turns out that "we don't wanna" isn't really defensible. But we have our reasons.

CUT TO: Another large room, filled with hundred of massive tubes extending from the three-story-high ceiling. Money is spouting from the tubes into large bins with digital counters on the sides. MACFEADY walks up to one marked "NIGHTMARE EYES III."

MACFEADY: See this movie?

CROWE: "Nightmare Eyes"? Yeah, that was great. Didn't it make a couple hundred million last year?

MACFEADY: And here's what the writer gets.

MACFEADY reaches down to the coin dish on the side of the bin, where he scoops up some change.

MACFEADY: See? Perfectly fair.

MACFEADY walks to another door and opens it to reveal a man dressed in rags, shivering in the cold. Behind him are a woman and two children. One of the children sneezes. MACFEADY hands him the change, slams the door and turns back to CROWE.

MACFEADY: Now if we doubled it, I'd have to walk over there twice as often. Do I look like I have that kind of time, Mick?

CROWE: But studios heads make tens of millions of dollars a year in salary, target bonuses and stock options. Couldn't you take a smaller percentage of the profits yourself, leaving more money for the writers, actors, directors and production crews who make the shows and movies that are making you rich?

MACFEADY stares at him.

CROWE: OK, forget that. What about residuals for online broadcasts? I know you've said that the Web is too new and you can't predict how it will do, but all of you have bragged to your stockholders about the millions you've been making from online distribution. Wouldn't it be ethical to share that success with the people who made it possible?

MACFEADY stares at him.

CROWE: I see.

MACFEADY: I'm not sure you really... (his phone rings) Hang on. Yes? They did what? Seriously? Were hostages involved? Their children were threatened, was that it? Keep on it and keep me posted. (he hangs up) Damn! A strike development.

CROWE: Something bad?

MACFEADY: Yes. Something was negotiated, with the directors' guild. How could they have let that happen? We actually agreed on something! Someone over there is thinking long term and I don't like it one bit. Apparently some of the other studio heads have been going around being reasonable behind our backs. Gotta be Chernin and Iger, they had that look...

CROWE: Isn't this good? I mean, now you can work out a fair and equitable deal with the writers. Everyone wins, right?

MACFEADY: Yeah, probably. Fun while it lasts, though. It's, what, 10:30? C'mon, time for the scab fight.

CROWE: The--

MACFEADY: Picture it. Big arena. Thousands of screaming onlookers. Two desperate writers, armed only with G-2 Pro ballpoint pens, battling it out for supremacy. The survivor gets to work anonymously writing late night monologues. We're thinking of taping it and running it on Sunday nights. It's in Sound Stage 3, if we hurry we can see the ritual bloodletting!

CROWE: I'm Mick Crowe, with "Filthy Jobs." We'll be right back. Darsky? Guys? Can you help scrub this stuff off me? It's getting into my soul ...

MACFEADY: Afterwards you can hose their shattered dreams off the floor. Better hang on to that bucket.

Sci-fi cons, where fans become fantastic

2008-01-25T22:21:08Z

The event we’ve been waiting for all year has finally arrived! This weekend will be filled with partying, thousands of large people in similar T-shirts, autograph hunting, the purchasing of many collectibles, a certain amount of beer, and the eager fascination in seeing celebrities up close.

What? No, not the Rolex 24. I’ll be over at FX Show 2008, the science fiction/horror convention in Orlando, where my inner geek can breathe freely. (My inner geek looks exactly like my outer geek, but with more movie tie-in buttons.)

Science-fiction conventions or "cons" are not just for social outcasts or dangerously introverted 37-year-old bachelors, of course. That's just a cliche perpetuated by people who have gone to a convention. It’s very much like a trade show when the trade in question is imagination, and scantily clad alien girls. It’s a place where fans of TV, movies, books, and comics can gather together with the people who create them, along with a massive roomful of fellow fans who share their interests and are ready to violently argue about them in an entertaining manner.

If you've never been to a con, here's a quick rundown of what you can expect.

Before you go

Plan your packing. Some fans will go unencumbered, the better to move about without stress. But most fans will want to take items to be signed, or water bottles, or some food so they can avoid the dreaded, wallet-draining food court, or some cool thing they made that they absolutely have to show to their favorite actor to establish their position as Your Absolute Number One Fan, and yes, that’s just as creepy as it sounds. FX attracts thousands of people every year and all of them are going to want to get right in your way so dress and pack accordingly.

Get there early. Parking fills up quickly, which means you’ll need to use one of the parking garages near I-4, which means you get to pay for the privilege of riding in a bus next to some kid dressed as Optimus Prime. Also, the lines to check in, even if you’ve prepaid for your ticket, stretch long enough that you start to suspect after the first half hour that there’s a Red Cross station at the end. Get there early.

Once you arrive, get your bearings. Find out where the bathrooms are, reconnoiter the autograph section and plan your assault, figure out early on which dealer booths you’ll want to hit. If you have friends with you, establish meeting places in case you split up and get chased by Scooby Doo villains, which is actually possible here. Do not assume you’ll be able to hear your cell phone, or someone screaming at you from more than three feet away. Once you feel comfortable and ready, it’s time to meet:

The Guests

Most cons feature at least one recognizable media star, keeping in mind the very relative definitions of "recognizable," "media," and "star." Most cons get the "also starring" ranks of actors, your Stephen Fursts, your Walter Koenigs, your "third Stormtrooper from the left in the cloud city scene from Jedi, and at least one original Lost in Space cast member as required by federal law. These are the actors who need extra income or intense hero worship, or both. Fortunately FX is notable for getting a cubic dumpload of top tier stars every year, along with the lesser known actors who nevertheless have a devoted cult following.

This year FX plays host to Nathan Fillion (Firefly); Greg Grunberg, Stephen Tobolowsky and George Takei (Heroes); Brad Beyer (Jericho); Nicholas Brendon (Buffy); Laura Vandervoort and Helen Slater (Smallville); Jake Lloyd, Ray Park and Orli Shoshan (Star Wars) and many more, including personal favorites Adam West (Batman, and half the cartoons on TV today); Elisabeth Rohm (Angel), Ellen Muth (Dead Like Me), Jeremy London (T.S. from Mallrats), Marilyn Ghigliotti (Veronica from Clerks), and William B. Davis (The Smoking Man from X-Files).

Also lots of voice actors, a couple of Power Rangers, three different women who, at one time, Apparently Wanted To Be a Superhero, Erik Estrada for some reason, the guy who did funny sounds in the Police Academy movies, and the Soup Nazi. On the creators’ side, there’s fantasy artist Brom, comics people Brian Azzarello, Jill Thompson, and Brian Wood, and about 30 others of varying degrees of fame.

FX handles their autograph lines by handing out tickets for scheduled signings, so you won’t have to wait three hours to get Captain Mal’s signature on your whatever. There will be photos available, because celebrities know you want a memento of this day, which they will happily sign for $20 or so a pop, because celebrities need to eat. Smart fans have their books and comics open, their pictures ready, and their posters unfurled to speed things up. Smarter fans with oddly-spelled names will stick Post-It notes on the items to avoid the “No, no, it’s Wilhumeena, with a ‘u,’ like unicorn, you know?” scenes that always end in heartbreak.

While the star is signing you’re welcome to take that moment to gush, compliment, rave, or just thank the star for whatever it is he or she does. It helps to know for sure what that is ahead of time (important safety tip!). Try to avoid complimenting the star on his or her recent rehab visit, currently tanking movie, or publicly disastrous relationship. Some stars will pose for candid photos, but always ask, especially if they’re in the bathroom at the time.

Costumes

Many fans show up just for the chance to wear their homemade Cylon costume in public without getting Baker-acted. There's a wonderfully liberating freedom that comes with living out a fantasy, and there's an equally liberating freedom that comes with watching someone else do it. This is most noticeably evident during the costume contest, which will have lots of earnest contestants but will be won by either a) the costume that cost the most to make, or b) the woman with the largest breasts.

If you want to dress up but don't want to be turned away at a good restaurant later, wear pointy ears, the blue jeans of the fan world. They're subtle, easy to hide or remove, and suddenly you're an elf, Yoda, a hobbit, a Vulcan, a fairy, or whatever meets your immediate needs.

Dealers room

Looking for that rare, hard-to-find collectible? It's here, somewhere, for almost exactly twice what you're willing to spend. You can find autographed pictures (real and fake), toys and posters and videos and books of all sorts, and the largest collection of bootleg DVDs outside of Taiwan. Don't go in there unless you've placed a hold on your credit card and you have enough money to get home stashed in your shoe.

Everything else

There's also live role-playing (like war games, but with plastic swords and laser water pistols), filking (singing fantasy or science-fiction parody lyrics to familiar tunes), discussion panels (where fans can hear professionals obsess for a change), nonstop cult movie watching, art shows, and a whole lot more. Everything that has some bearing on science fiction that can be done in public is here, somewhere, and it’s all aimed at pleasing you. It's an experience that shouldn't be missed.

Not sure if you'll fit in? Here's a quick test:

If you stopped while reading this column and muttered, Idiot, the cloud city scene was in Empire, I'll meet you in the Dealer's Room. I'll be the one wearing the pointy ears.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Get more details at the FX Show Web site.

Cloverfield revealed? Nah

2008-01-18T23:14:05Z

Tonight, after six months of insanely secretive hints and clues and bewildering teasers, the mysteries of J.J. Abrams’ movie Cloverfield will be unveiled.

Frankly, I’m not interested.

Not because I think the movie will be bad, far from it. I have high opinions of Abrams, director Matt Reeves and writer Drew Goddard, the cast seems able enough, and the concept (a monster movie told from the viewpoint of the frightened citizens) is an excellent one.

But could it possibly be better than the hype? I really doubt it. And I find I prefer the uncertainty of the hype.

First there was the way it was announced. Quietly, with no fanfare, in front of the Transformers movie. A simple little untitled teaser trailer that depicted a Gen-Y party that was interrupted by explosions and what turned out (after multiple viewings and by turning the brightness on our computer monitors way up) to be the decapitated head of the Statue of Liberty fueled rumors galore. It was a Godzilla movie! It was a H.R. Lovecraft movie! It was a mutated 40-foot H.P. Lovecraft vs Godzilla movie!

And the name of it kept changing. Many movies use fake names during production to thwart spoiler-hunting fanboys who want to get their names into AintItCoolNews, and Abrams’ movie has been, at times, Cloverfield, Slusho, Cheese, 1-18-08, Monkey, and The Simpsons Movie before finally settling on the shocking choice of… Cloverfield.

Then the viral marketing began. And, like all good viral marketing, it didn’t explain a damn thing.

There was a Web site for the make-believe Slusho cola. There’s the Web site for the make-believe company Tagruato, the Japanese company that owns Slusho and also has deep sea drilling concerns (which is only fair; I have some deep sea drilling concerns myself). There were “commercials” that popped up all around the Web from international “news” sites, all reporting on the same clips. There is T.I.D.O. Wave, the make-believe environmental group fighting against the make-believe corporation Tagruato. There is JamieLovesTeddy.com, a Website set up by make-believe character Jamie to post increasingly crazy videos to her make-believe boyfriend, Teddy. There are MySpace pages for most of the main make-believe characters. There’s a Japanese manga (comic book) with familiar looking make-believe deep sea ships. And every one of them has clues that reveal a little more of the setting, the people, the relationships, and the disaster to come, enough to keep obsessive fans (a.k.a. “fans”) busy piecing things together for months. And they did.

So with this huge buildup, this agonizingly slow inching towards release that is the movie premiere, what if the actual movie doesn’t live up to our imagined potential? I mean, I've spent months poring over these sites to piece together clues. Why was part of this explosion blurred out? Why was Slusho cola mentioned on the show Heroes? Is there a connection? What's with the stuffed bears, anyway? If I wanted to just know, I'd have waited for the movie to come out. What fun is that?

I think I've gotten close. Here's what I've come up with so far, based on the clues I've found:

New York is attacked by an amorphous blob that seems to really, really hate tourist attractions.

New York is attacked by the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters, back for bloody revenge.

New York is attacked by a 40-foot Nathan Lane.

New York is attacked by all the monster movies of the last 50 years, all at the same time.

New York is attacked by a 40-foot Ashton Kutcher, who put on a rubber monster suit to mess with everybody’s heads.

New York is attacked by the disembodied wrath of millions of movie fans, still reeling from Who’s Your Caddy?

New York is attacked by a 40-foot Rudy Giuliani as a whistle stop before the primaries.

New York is attacked by Cthulhu, one of the Great Old Ones, who plans to rampage across the city until it flamed with a holocaust of ecstasy and freedom, but quits and leaves quietly after he realizes that the residents are way ahead of him.

New York is attacked by a 40-foot J.J. Abrams.

How can the reality compare with any of those?

Sorry, Mr. Abrams. I’m going to continue digging into the viral sites and viral videos and viral viruses to discover the secret, inner truth of Cloverfield. Seeing the movie is just too easy, and I think I've almost got it...

Summer time, and the terminating is easy

2008-01-12T01:07:36Z

Hey kids! Look! It’s another great new show that brings back a beloved pop culture icon from years past and revitalizes it into something new and cool and wow!

So far we seem to be batting about .250 on beloved pop culture remakes. Planet of the Apes should have stuck with the first 30 movies and avoided the recent version. The first two Addams Family movies worked, the third was just sad. The King Kong remake in 1976 was a joke* but Peter Jackson’s 2005 remake was pretty good. Almost every movie based on a classic TV show -- Bewitched, Starsky and Hutch, I Spy -- has been, and I’m being kind, vomitous. In comics, the remake of Spider-Man as a kid again in the alternate universe “Ultimate Spider-Man” comic was a huge success, while last week’s revamp of his main book so that he’s younger, carefree, and somehow never married despite 22 years of continuity has angry fans ready to storm Manhattan and web Spidey editor Joe Quesada’s head to a lamp post. Battlestar Galactica totally worked. And this year The Bionic Woman burst on the scene and dynamically failed to catch on, just in time for this Sunday’s premiere of a new TV show based on the Terminator franchise, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. Should we bother watching?

Yes.

Because so far the creators are doing everything they should be doing. And what is that? (WARNING: Spoilers ahead, if you haven’t seen the Terminator movies or haven’t seen any ads for the new show or haven’t been near a computer in six months)

HONOR THE ORIGINAL

The Sarah Connor Chronicles picks up right where the second movie, Terminator 2: Judgment Day, left off. Sarah Connor is still protecting her son, John, who was originally fated to become a guerilla leader who would win the war against the killer robots in the future and who now, since they blew everything up in the movie, is probably fated to become a fry chef at Steak ‘n’ Shake. Plot points from the movies are mentioned, previous actions come back to haunt them, and there are no major contradictions yet. And the balance between action, drama, and tension-relieving comedy we remember from the movies is there in full force.

The Bionic Woman, on the other hand, has no connections with the previous 1976 show at all besides the name. The new Jaime is not a tennis player, schoolteacher, or a blonde. And she doesn’t even have the dit-dit-dit bionic sound, which was a deal-breaker for me. Steve Austin, Oscar Goldman, and Dr. Rudy Wells have not and likely will not be mentioned (a different company owns the rights to those characters). The government agency that rebuilt her is shadowy and morally ambiguous, as all modern TV government agencies must be. The OSI from 1976 looked more like a downtown advertising agency, from the days before the government discovered the joys of concrete bunkers and insufficient lighting.

HAVE LIKEABLE CHARACTERS

You’d be surprised how many shows ignore this simple rule. Fans have not, by and large, taken to the new Jaime Sommers, played by Brit actor Michelle Ryan. She’s strident, whiny, and saddled with a network-designed younger sister (“Make her a computer hacker! All them kids are computer hackers, right?”) Who Can Never Know Her Secret. Yawn.

There’s a supporting cast, but honestly I’ve never watched the show long enough to tell them apart. They could be the supporting cast from Star Trek: Enterprise, for all I know.

Back at the terminating ranch we have Sarah Connor, played by Brit actor Lena Headey (whose American accent is way better than the Bionic Woman’s American accent, but not nearly as good as House actor Hugh Laurie’s American accent). She’s tough and weary but still has a sense of humor. Overprotective, but she kinda would be. John is played by Thomas Dekker, who is inexplicably not British. And surprise! He’s a computer hacker, but at least we knew that going in and someone in training to fight robots would need to know this stuff. And there’s an FBI guy on her tail who is shaping up to be my second-favorite character.

HAVE THEM DO SMART THINGS

In the first episode of The Sarah Connor Chronicles, I counted exactly one time when I thought something dumb was missed, only to see if explained moments later. We really don’t want to go there with The Bionic Woman, do we?

HAVE A FAN FAVORITE ACTOR

In The Bionic Woman, this was a previous bionic-woman-gone-maybe-bad played by fan favorite Katee Sackoff from Battlestar Galactica. This was a great move and got them a lot of attention, but there’s a problem. She is way cooler than Jaime, the lead character. I was starting to watch for her scenes and going back to my Sudoku when she wasn’t onscreen. Her performance just pointed out how weak the rest of the show is. When the audience is rooting for the bad guy to win, it just doesn’t spell “second season” to me.

In The Sarah Connor Chronicles we have the new “good” Terminator named Cameron, played by Summer Glau (Firefly, The 4400). Younger, cuter, and more graceful than Arnie, she nails the role perfectly, replicating human feelings and throwing evildoers around left and right. She doesn’t oppose the main characters, she’s one of them and they have to deal with her and all the advantages and disadvantages of having a hot, young, emotionless Terminator on their side.

In fact, you know what? Forget everything I just said and watch it for Summer. I will be. Sarah Connor will probably get on my nerves after a while and if John doesn’t start doing something leader-y to justify all the trouble everyone has gone through for him I’m going to start hoping he does get terminated, preferably with an olive fork.

The Bionic Woman has lots of problems, but their biggest mistake, like so many shows before them, was in not having Summer Glau. If I'm going to watch a slim, young girl beat up men and city buses alike with style and grace, it should be Summer. The combination of innocent beauty and rampaging power is one she's particularly good at, and I should know. I've been following her career with... let's say "enthusiasm."

I've had my Summer Glau computer wallpaper in place for six months now. Got my poster of Summer's "topless and really bottomless" Terminator-under-construction picture that FOX has been pushing all over the Web that manages to be really disturbing and kinda cute at the same time. I'm poised, like so many other Summer Glau fans, to obsess over everything she does. She wants to be a traffic cop with a mysterious past? We'd be there. She wants to be a single mom with wacky 20-something friends and an amusing body tic? We'd be there, because she's talented enough to make it interesting. She wants to read the phone book in front of the camera? She would blow everybody away, possibly literally. She wants to be a Terminator?

Watch it for Summer. She’ll be back.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* There was a sequel called King Kong Lives in 1986, where Kong gets a coronary transfusion and, later, a massive gorilla wife named Hot Mamma Kong. Seriously. Did you know that? How could I have missed that?

Predicting my resolutions for 2008

2008-01-03T23:01:07Z

Happy New Year! It’s that magical time of year when the witty columnist dives deep into his or her own personal pool of boiling creativity and emerges, dripping, with one of exactly two of the only possible column topics available: resolutions for the new year, or predictions for the new year. It’s enough to make you long for February to come, just to get past them all.

I, however, am far more imaginative than that, and so I’m going with the third topic: predicting what will happen with my resolutions. Ready? Let’s go!

GET IN SHAPE

Little vague for a resolution, really. I already have a shape -- that of a Bartlett pear -- and it serves me well. I am difficult to abduct, I wobble back to an upright position no matter how far I am tipped, and when sitting I always have a useful table in front of me to hold snacks and beverages. Why change?

START A DAILY EXERCISE REGIMEN

That’s more like it. Healthy, smart, forward-thinking. I’ll actually do it too – assuming “daily exercise regimen” translates to “feebly work out with awkward, barely-remembered exercises from junior high gym for nine days before oversleeping once and then never exercising ever again.”

EAT HEALTHIER AND HEART-SMART

Oatmeal! Fruit with every meal! Lean meat! No fat, no sugar, no white bread! Death to carbs! This will last until mid-February, when I’ll begin twitching within 20 feet of a Cheese Doodle. By the 21st I’ll be getting up at 3 a.m. for a few stolen spoonfuls of bacon grease, and on March 15 I will ceremonially eat my last salad of 2008 (except for one Caesar’s salad snarfed next December to help me pretend I kept at it).

SPEND MORE TIME WITH THE KIDS

My kids, anyway. The rest of them kinda creep me out, they’re like shrunken adults with self-control probl… they’re like shrunken adults.

For the first few weeks of January I’ll be hanging around with my 15-year-old spending time together and doing everything we can think of, which means watching him play his video games, listening to his stories about video games and going with him on father-son trips to buy more video games. By the 17th I’ll snap and secretly join World of Warcraft myself specifically to hire mercenaries – probably a team of merciless 12-year-olds from Dubuque -- to kill his character so the stories will stop, stop, blessedly stop.

The 22-year-old is tougher, since he took off for college, but for the next several months I’ll recapture our relationship by showing up at random, inconvenient times to crash on his couch, mooch his food and leave unidentifiable stains behind his TV, along with my laundry. I’ll finally stop after the court order in June, but the hearings will give us some nice quality time together through the summer.

SPEND MORE TIME WITH MY WIFE

She’s a lovely lady, and there’s no one I’d rather spend time with. Just need to finish checking my e-mail, updating some pages, cleaning out the extra files on my hard drive, cleaning my car, building those shelves, finishing that book, and then I’ll be right there, honey!

No, wait. Bad! Instead I’ll learn to reprioritize and put all that aside, working on it in the late night or early morning when she’s asleep so we can spend more time together. We’ll be inseparable! Whenever she wants to go anywhere, do anything, eat anything, watch anything, I’ll be right there with her. If she takes a step, I’ll finish it for her. We will be two halves of the same body again, just like we were in the beginning.

By April 5 she’ll have installed deadbolts on the bedroom to get some peace and quiet, and hung an emergency ladder out the window so she can eat a meal without me staring soulfully at her for five damn minutes. I’ll console myself by making a Web site about her, which works better for me anyway.

READ THE GREAT WORKS OF LITERATURE

Won’t even get past the first week with this one. Sorry, Dickens. Forget it, Bronte sisters. Not a chance, any Russian writer at all. As soon as the first hint of multi-layered prose hits my forebrain I’m outta there. I will, however, make a greater effort to watch more movies based on great works of literature.

That effort will fade away by mid-May, to be replaced with a half-hearted resolution to watch more "Simpsons" episodes that reference great works of literature.

HELP THE LESS FORTUNATE

This one’s trickier, as for the most part I don’t like the less fortunate. Many of them seem to be aware that my presence on the more fortunate side of the equation is through sheer unwarranted luck and, worse, easily remedied.

Instead I shall start the year off by giving to charities with easily accessible Web sites. I don't know, somehow knowing that my clicking is going to help someone just gives my finger a warm feeling inside. I will also try to help make my fellow man’s life a little easier by washing my clothes before I throw them out, and by wasting my food in clean, sealable containers.

In July, I’ll volunteer to help in a food kitchen but only after telling my attractive 30-something friends that I’m really going on a hot date. Then, when they show up there, I’ll have to resort to zany hijinks to get out of that sticky situation.

BE MORE RESPONSIBLE WITH MY MONEY

Do I really need a third stone gargoyle? (Answer: yes.) It’s time to buckle down and start making my money work for me, instead of running away from me screaming the way it does now. I’ll invest heavily in whatever stocks the popular stocks Web sites tell me to, so that when the market crashes in August (spoiler alert!) my fate will be intertwined with theirs.

Although not, for some reason, with the people who write for the stocks sites, who will miraculously escape financial ruin, although they will be hunted down for sport in September by destitute mobs.

WRITE COLUMNS ON TIME

I’ve already blown this one, so never mind. Maybe the pH balance is off on my pool of boiling creativity…

What to give when it is too late to shop, or care

2007-12-24T19:35:18Z

So Christmas is coming fast. And you haven’t shopped. And your loved ones will recognize, from painful experience, anything from the somewhat limited gift selections available at your corner gas station. What to do, what to do?

You can try pulling off the old “Christmas has become too commercialized so I’m donating to charity in my friends’ names at the very last minute instead” routine, but it doesn’t work for everyone, especially when the charity listed is mostly famous for its happy hour and all-you-can-eat wings.

Instead, try performing some useful, thoughtful kindnesses for your friends and family that they’ve put off, never knew about, or would never consider. Show that you're really thinking about your friends' well-being by making their lives easier and less stressful in some small way. Some examples:

Do their laundry. Take away your friends' tired feeling of dread of looming household chores by sneaking over to their house to wash, dry, and fold all of their clothes. Take them out to a laundry service if you need to. Wouldn’t that be great to come home to? Especially if your friends have never had anything dry-cleaned before, and you just know that some of those delicate items you found stashed in secret places in their closets will need careful attention. Fold their clothes, add a touch of lilac, and get them back by Christmas morning for a delightful and unexpected surprise.

Why stop with laundry? Vacuum, straighten, do the dishes, groom the dog. No point changing the bed linens since those are still at the Laundromat, but you can scrub and sweep and dust. Imagine the look on your friends’ faces when they come home to find their lives made easier and all of their cherished belongings just a tiny bit out of place!

Don't neglect the outdoors. Mow the lawn, trim the hedges, weed the flower bed. Again, if you’re pressed for time you can hire a lawn care service to do it. But don’t let them do it during the day, your friends might find out. You’ll have to pay a little extra, but get the lawn service to come by at night and work silently in the yard. Be sure to instruct them to avoid eye contact or visible lights and to run away immediately if spotted. Don’t want to spoil the surprise!

Have your friends' photos enlarged and framed. This is a very personal, very practical gift that will bring back some heart-stirring memories. Don’t take entire photo albums, that’s too obvious. Just remove any distinctive photos of family members that will look good in a frame, especially nice, clear photos of their children. Also good: those “special” photos you found hidden in the underwear drawer will make a great photo montage. You can always sneak the originals back later, now that you have the spare set of keys they kept in a kitchen drawer.

Help them out with their children. Holiday planning is bad enough but now the kids are out of school and they want to go places all the time. Moms and dads have no time to think, much less get anything done! Take that problem away by dropping by when your friends are away, possibly filling out reports somewhere, and giving their kids rides to anywhere they’d like to go; movies, parties, unannounced sleepovers at friends’ houses. The kids will love knowing they’re doing something great for their parents, who have been looking a little upset recently. Although that just may be from wearing the same clothes several days in a row.

Get their car fixed. Or maybe not fixed, that’s a little extravagant for a present, but you can get the oil changed. Just borrow the car – or use the spare key you have – and run it over to Jiffy Lube. A fairly inexpensive and thoughtful gift that will cheer your friends up, and it’s not like they’ll need to go anywhere since they seem to spend all their time in the house, looking out through the curtains and hugging each other.

Have food sent to your friends’ house. Prepaid, of course, from one of the several excellent full-meal services in the area. Don’t send pizza, send something extravagant you know they haven’t tried before. No one needs extra pressure at Christmas, and receiving surprise late-night deliveries of food from unfamiliar delivery people can really help soothe the spirit. Besides, it’s not like they can go get takeout, what with their car gone. Be sure to send extra for the news crews.

Everyone sends cards, usually generic ones bought at the same stores. Be original and call your friends’ house to sing Christmas carols to them. Disguise your voice, you don’t want them guessing who you are yet! Call at all times – morning, noon, 4 a.m. – to keep them guessing. But remember, it’s rude to keep people on the phone for too long, so don’t sing for more than a minute and 45 seconds. Your reward will be the tears of love and helpless affection you hear on the other end.

And then, on Christmas morning, when you show up with their freshly folded laundry in the back of their smoothly running car, with their children singing Christmas songs in the front seat, you’ll be able to see the expressions on your friends’ faces when they finally realize all you’ve done for them. They’ll be so worked up, I bet they’ll hardly be able to speak.

You might want to have your own car ready nearby, possibly already running, so you can get out before their gratitude gets too emotional.

Or violent.

Merry Christmas!

Update - You have joined the DISMAL FUTURE application

2007-12-03T21:37:54Z

“Paul, I have to say your review doesn’t look so good this year.”

“What? Mr. Jenkins, you’ve never complained about my work before.”

“Your job performance is fine, Paul, that’s not the problem.”

“Our company won awards for my work this year!”

“No, Paul, it seems the problem lies in your people skills.”

“What?”

“It’s here in your file. There have been issues with how you deal with those around you, and we take that sort of thing seriously at this company.”

“Someone complained about me? Who complained about me?”

“I really can’t divulge—“

“Just tell me. Was it Lucille? Did she complain about me? Anyone could have dropped the mustard bucket on her at the picnic, it was just dumb luck I happened to be—“

“No, it wasn’t Lucille, I can tell you that much.”

“Then who?”

“Let’s just say there are people in your network who are unhappy with how you deal with them.”

“How I—I barely deal with anybody, I usually stay to myself. Heh, about the only time I see anyone I recognize is on my Facebook page…”

“Yes, well.”

“…You’re kidding me.”

“I did say in your network.”

“Someone has complained about how I treat them on Facebook?”

“Apparently you’re a bit more open with your feelings on that odd little social connection Web site you've joined.”

“Right. So, without giving me names, can you tell me just what horrible crime I’ve committed?”

“Let’s see.. you, ah… yes, here it is. You, ahem, ‘served a bowl of pain to his Zombie Mogul’ on numerous occasions. He’s claiming grievous persecution and discrimination.”

“What?”

“He appended a printout of your mini-feed, demonstrating that you attacked him disproportionately to your other friends.”

“But that’s how you play, you go after the people you know you can beat to get the points. I wanted to get my Slayer to Undead Assassin level.”

“Quite.”

“What has that got to do with—“

“It also appears that even though, via Facebook, you allegedly consider this person to be a friend, you have never sent that ‘friend’ virtual gift, hug, smooch, flower, or cake.”

“But I—

“Somewhat antisocial for a social Web site, wouldn’t you say, Paul?”

“I don’t get into all that. I joined Facebook to keep track of my friends and coworders, not to pass around silly notes like kids in school!”

“And yet you don’t have a problem attacking your friends’ innocent vampires over and over again, do you, Paul?”

“Yeah, but that’s just…”

“I also note that your movie tastes do not align with any of your so-called ‘friends,’ nor do your political beliefs or joke preferences.”

“But—“

“Nor have you ever commented on your friends’ pictures, no matter how adorable or provocative. You have not left comments on anyone’s Wall, or sent any personal messages as far as can be determined. You join no groups. And you take insulting lengths of time to add new friends, even friends who are close to you, important in your life, and who would be distinguished additions to your network.”

“But… wait a minute, Mr. Jenkins. Did you file the complaint against me?”

“No, of course not. That’s absurd—“

“Was it because I didn’t add you right away, or was it because I wouldn’t join your “Mr. Jenkins is the Best Boss, Ever” group?”

“All I did was invite you, it was in no way obligatory.”

“You invited me every day for a month!”

“I wanted to make sure you knew about it.”

“Everyone knew about it, you put flyers for it in the paychecks. And someone kept calling my house at 2 in the morning and telling me I should join if I was a good American.”

“It’s really a fun group. We have meetings. And our own app that shows how high in my esteem you are at any given moment. And there’s a special avatar icon you can use.”

“You used a fake accent, but I could tell—“

“It’s much better than my last group, ‘Bow Before Mr. Jenkins, Your God.’ Although that one had way better T-shirts.”

“Mr. Jenkins, does my participation in your Facebook experience actually affect my job review?”

“Officially and legally, not in the slightest.”

“And unofficially?”

“If you reach around my desk to my keyboard, you can log in and join. Just click… there. Excellent! I’m sure you’ll be one of ‘Jenkins’ Jokers’ in no time!”

“Great. So, my review?”

“Yes, well, that brings up another issue.”

“Does it.”

“Oh, yes. This section of your employment record marked ‘MySpace’…”

It is very likely that I am quite possibly Beowulf

2007-11-20T05:24:48Z

I have seen Robert Zemecki's movie "Beowulf," a motion-captured, computer-generated movie with Ray Winstone, Anthony Hopkins, and Angelina Jolie, et al, acting out the script by Neil Gaiman and Roger Avery based on the classic Old English epic tale, coincidentally also called "Beowulf" (after the video game). And I am here to declare my impressions for all to hear and take wisdom thereby, for mine is a tale of miraculous visions and a decent plot. Be wary, for there are surely spoilers within that will ensnare the untested moviegoer and drag him deep to a watery grave of ruined surprises.

Right off, you'll notice -- as so many Beowulf purists have -- that the original epic has been changed. This version includes trailers.

The animation is, in many cases, absolutely stunning and I've heard that the 3D IMAX version, which I have not seen, is even better. (The fact that it was intended to be 3D explains why so many axes, arrows, fists, and body parts are flung directly at the screen; I had Three Stooges flashbacks of Moe throwing a pie at me on a sadly visible wire.) During closeups, or when only silent expressions are needed, the faces and bodies are outstanding. Very real, even better than real (especially in the case of Ray Winstone's abs). It's when the characters talk that something seems... off. Not the "dead eyes" seen in "Polar Express" that still haunt but something's missing. Characters also look much better in darkness or subdued lighting. Bright -- well, bright-ish -- sunlight makes them look washed out. The attention to detail was amazing, though, I found myself counting freckles and moles.

I did think that Queen Wealtheow looked especially wooden, but then I remembered she was mo-capped from Robin Wright Penn who, while a fine actress, has a fairly limited supply of expressions herself. Well done, CG guys.

And they haven't quite gotten the hang of flowing clothing yet, so everyone is wearing tight outfits close to the skin or clothes that look like plastic tubes. Very noticeable in distant shots, when everyone looks like a video game warrior or a Shrek townsperson.

But the landscapes, the wind and water, the inanimate objects, and the monsters are wonderfully done. Also, the animators have apparently been paying particular attention to breasts.

Kudos to the screenwriters and Zemeckis for keeping Heorot and the Danish mead hall suitably grim and desolate and not Hollywooding it up. This was not a fairy princess kind of kingdom.

If they were going to spend all that time and energy remastering Ray Winstone's Beowulf to look like Sean Bean, why not just get Sean Bean?

While I do not advocate violent dismemberment as a general rule, I do sympathize with Grendel regarding the mead hall partying. Many's the time I myself have considered leaping over to my neighbor's house at 2 a.m. on a Saturday night and rending him and his merry-making guests limb from bloody limb just to receive blessed surcease from yet another full-volume rendition of "Crank That."

The monster Grendel is fun to watch and a reason to see the movie all by himself. Where else can you see a hideously disfigured Crispin Glover perform a drawn out death scene while gibbering in Old English?

Wait a minute, that might be a trick question.

Interesting watching Beowulf go all Spider-Man on the monster. But if they wanted to make him naked -- the original just had him stripping off his armor, not his skivvies -- they should have gone ahead and shown his stuff. The constant need to cover him was way too cutesy and Austin Powerish; I kept waiting for one of the Geat warriors to thrust out a convenient bundle of flowers.

I love the constant boasting. "I AM BEOWULF!" This tale clearly demonstrates that grandstanding for the paparazzi is not the new invention of drunken starlets and pants-forgetting pop stars.

Hmm. Maybe the pants-forgetting part is required, I'll have to ask a historian. I wonder if Britney was on her way to slay a demon that night?

I think we should bring back public boasting. And the long names. They bring an air of dignity and majesty to life, something that is sorely missed. "This radiator, accursed by the gods though it is, will be given new life by the morrow's first light, else I die! I, Rodney, son of Mick the Merciless, son of Nathan Beerkiller, tireless slayer of engine knock and mighty rebuilder of carbuerators, have sworn it, by Odin's beard!"

That's another thing we've lost: creative cursing. No one puts any thought into their cursing anymore. Next time your ex-boyfriend shows up to borrow money, again, curse that thieving wastrel to the lowest circle of pitiless hell where famed Heimdall himself, he who never sleeps and can see a leaf falling on the other end of the world, couldn't find him with a map and two guesses. Then slam the door on him.

Loved John Malkovich's Unferth. Pure, distilled sarcasm in human form. You just know if this was a Disney movie his crippled and much-kicked manservant ultimately would find the inner strength and courage to rise up and become his own man, earning Unferth's grudging respect by the end of the movie, possibly with his own catchy song. This is not a Disney movie.

Ah, Angelina Jolie, the star of this picture no matter what the credits say. Golden and nude and more evil-looking than usual. I assume other things were on the screen when she was but someone will have to fill me in, I was busy watching gold drip. You just know the CG guys spent a lot of time getting this sequence j-u-u-u-u-u-st right. They don't get out much, these CG guys.

While I was watching her stalk and seduce Beowulf with promises of glorious sex and eternal fame, I had one overriding thought: Is this what happened with Brad Pitt?

And what is it with her wanting more babies all the time?

You know, she looked more like a Barbie than an actual nekkid woman. Maybe all the creative hiding was to conceal the fact Beowulf was built like a Ken doll. It would explain the violence, and the need for overcompensation. "I AM BEOWULF!"

Yes, the plot was changed. Fortunately only the people who read the original all the way to the end will notice, and that's, what, 20? 30 people, tops? Get over it, people. It happens in movies. I had to adjust to the Joker killing Michael Keaton's parents and Quasimodo getting a happy ending, you can deal with this.

I wonder how many high school Beowulf essays will forever after focus on how Grendel's mom was a babe.

Dragon fight. Got to have a dragon fight. The lack of a dragon fight is why "Lions for Lambs" tanked.

One possible problem with the movie: you don't leave in a good mood. The ending is dramatic, and tragic, and will leave you wondering what happened next. Not the sort of thing to make you want to go right back in. My sons and I found ourselves screaming "I AM BEOWULF!" a lot, though, which startled a few people in the parking lot at Steak N Shake. It was oddly satisfying.

Although I will need to see it again, just to catch the parts I missed when Angelina Jolie was onscreen.

"I AM BEOWULF!"

Writers Strike - Who needs writers, anyway

2007-11-02T22:03:53Z

As early as next Monday, television – the one-eyed babysitter that has raised generations of us without ever asking for anything back, aside from all of our consumer dollars – could be under attack. Networks must act now to preserve this hallowed, lucrative media before all is lost.

The culprit? Writers. Dirty, filthy writers who have the nerve to demand more money when their shows or movies are released on DVDs or online, just because such things might be catching on a little. Imagine! Just because consumers will spend an estimated $16.4 billion on DVDs this year, and studios look to glean something like $158 million from selling movies and about $194 million from selling TV shows over the Web, suddenly everyone wants their “fair share.”

Well, let me remind these scribblers that thanks to the last royalty agreement crafted just two short decades ago, writers already receive a princely 4 cents on every $20 DVD of their work. Now they want more? The networks have already patiently explained how releasing shows online is merely promotional, so it would be like paying a writer royalties for a billboard advertising his show… if the billboard somehow displayed the entire show, uncut, with commercials.

Heedless of these economic realities, last night the Writers Guild met and decided to go on strike in the next few days. Last night, television went on hiatus.

Most scripted shows will coast for a while since they've been hustling to stockpile scripts like hurricane supplies. But we’ve already seen how even normal hiatus periods in serialized shows like “Lost” and “Heroes” can drain away the viewers, and besides that, now we’ll have to wait frickin’ forever for Hiro to get out of feudal Japan. Late night shows like “David Letterman,” the “Tonight Show,” and the “Daily Show” that rely on steady supplies of funny will be struck wordless immediately.

It’s time for the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers to do the right thing.

What? No, of course they shouldn’t give in. Never bargain with terrorists, even when your industry utterly relies on them. No, I mean studios need to fill that valuable airtime left terrifyingly empty by the writers’ walkout. Here are some suggestions.

Three words: user submitted content. Think of it as “TV 2.0.” Your only problem will be having no one to write the convivial host’s snappy patter, but you can just reuse the jokes from “America’s Funniest Videos” and the last five Oscars, no one paid attention to them anyway.

Keep The Daily Show going by simply running CSPAN and adding an overlay of Jon Stewart reacting to what’s happening on the floor. Or just follow him around, he’s a funny guy.

Need to fill more time? Open up the archives and pull out every show that you’ve ever cancelled early or treated poorly by moving the schedule around, running out of order, or pre-empting for local sports, and finally give them their night on the air. Let’s see “The Nine” and “The Black Donnellys” and “Drive” and “The Inside” and “Wonderfalls” and “Firefly” and every other show that has unaired episodes and a cult following. If nothing else it’ll be advertising for the DVD sets, for which the writers will get 3 cents each, so you’ll have that to chuckle about.

If you run out of movie scripts -- and how could you, they fall out of the sky in LA -- start remaking old movies. Not reimagining them or updating them for the new year or changing the dialogue in any way, remake them. Exactly. Think about it: Rob Schnieder and Jessica Simpson in "Gone With the Wind." Will Ferrell and Lindsey Lohan in "North by Northwest." Adam Sandler in any Jerry Lewis movie. Tell me you're not tingling just thinking about it.

Maybe the characters in your sitcoms suddenly feel like acting out Shakespearian plays. Add a laugh track and who’ll know?

Or place cameras at the writers’ picket line and create a new sitcom about a writer on a picket line. Surround him with some quirky friends, add some madcap mixups and his signature line “Get away from me, I’m not writing for you!” and you’re golden.

In fact, buy every camera you can grab and mount ‘em everywhere. Reality shows aren’t (officially) scripted in any formal manner, so they can be cranked out by the greasy trunkful. Let’s see “Border Patrol Bloopers” and “AmsterCam” and “Who Wants to Survive Ebola” and “Survivor: DMV” and “The Slaughterhouse’s Funniest Animals” and “The Corner of Clyde Morris and LPGA Where All the Cars Wreck” and “Celebrity Upskirts.” Let’s turn on the paparazzi cameras and follow drunken teen actresses and pop stars morning, noon and night. Let’s run “American Idol” nonstop until the judges snap from exhaustion and Simon just starts punching contestants one after the other. That's some good TV, there.

And then, once your viewing audience has been reduced to the viewers who would stare at paint drying if you put a channel logo on it, you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you didn’t back down. You stuck to your guns against the pressure, the unreasonable ethics, the crippling consequences to your business, and your own financial failure.

Hey, maybe someday someone will make a movie about it.

Gearing up for a novel experience

2007-10-19T22:14:32Z

October is zipping along, and that means only one thing: Christmas decorations in Wal-Mart! Also Biketoberfest, Halloween, Breast Cancer Awareness… OK, October means a lot of things. But mostly it means that very soon it’ll be November, time to crank out another novel for National Novel Writing Month, and that means preparation.

Not preparation for the novel itself, of course. That would startle my creativity, which is a timid creature that must be coaxed and wheedled out into the open like a tiny fawn. Sudden movements startle my creativity, causing it to bound back into my mental bushes and hide, cowering, behind my Christina Ricci fantasies. No, I need to prepare my Writing Environment.

Competing in National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo, demands that you expel a 50,000 word novel in 30 days of excruciating, brain-bashing authorship, leaving behind such diversions as accuracy, grammar, first-run movies, or sleep. NaNoWriMo -- an annual event that started in 1999 with 21 people and kept growing, movie-monster-like, until 79.000 participants joined in last year -- is designed to force you to get up off your butt and sit back down on your butt and write something. Wanted to write a novel one day but didn’t think you could? In November, you’ll have to if you want the peer pressure to stop. It’s a wonderful, exhilarating time during which you’ll push yourself to the limit of your endurance and discover your hidden writer within.

And towards that end, you’ll need supplies. There’s the obvious items, like something to write on, something to write with, and 300 cases of highly caffeinated beverages. But that’s just getting started.

If you’re going digital, you’ll need a word processor. Any one will do, but let me recommend Q10, a program seemingly designed for breakneck writing. It runs only in a full-screen mode, so no other IM or e-mail windows can intrude. The info bar at the bottom can keep track of how many words you’ve written and how many you have left to go. Plus it makes your keyboard sound like a typewriter, which is just cool. This is a small, fast program created to make you spit out words faster than an auctioneer with hiccups. Future versions may actually yell at you if you stop typing too often.

If you’re writing by hand, invest in an expensive pen, perhaps something in an oak or steel that will bring some heft with it. Let the sensuousness of it seduce you into finding more time to write, just to enjoy the way it feels gliding across the page. And buy a pack of pencils for when you lose the pen.

You’ll also need notebooks in every room of your house, in your car, and at your place of employment so you’ll never miss the chance to jot down more dialogue. Otherwise you have to yell it at people as you drive by and hope they remember it for when you track them down later.

Remember, you can make notes with anything on anything. Lipstick, blood, fruit juice, fingernails, carefully thrown eggs, just about anything can help you retain that great plot idea you just had at the stoplight. And after you’ve been pulled over for trying to write a new character’s name in the intersection with tire skid marks, be sure to ask the policeman to add it to your ticket. Otherwise you just know you’ll lose it, happens every time.

For the actual novel-writing, be sure to shut off your phone, mail service, cable TV, and Internet for the month of November. Heave your cell phone into the back of an operating cement mixer that's heading out of town. Post large, angry signs in your yard, and invest in really mean-looking dogs that won’t require a lot of hands-on maintenance or emotional attachment. Send the kids to camp, ideally one that won’t complain that they’re not open in the fall. Pack your spouse off to an in-law. Pack your in-laws off to another state. The point here is the reduction of distraction. Consider thick clothing, possibly made of insulation, to dampen your own heartbeat and digestive functions.

If you can’t dispose of your family in a mutually acceptable and legal manner, remove yourself. Go to a motel or a friend’s place or a nearby shantytown. Find someplace private enough that you can get some real writing done. I suggest highway underpasses, the tops of water towers (but not during Homecoming), and the car trunks of total strangers. Not only will no one think to look for you there, but you’ll get a lot of ideas for storylines, often involving the tire jack murder of a total stranger who keeps hitting speed bumps.

If removing yourself is impractical, establish your Writing Environment in your home and warn your family to avoid you at all costs, something they may already be doing by this point anyway. Find a private room, set up your writing materials, and lock yourself in. Meals can be passed under the door – beef jerky, thin steaks, and spaghetti are all good for this – and bathroom needs can be managed via window.

Oh, and lock and board up the window.

Only then, finally, can you settle down at midnight-oh-one on November 1st and begin to write your novel in peace and without interruption.

And then, thanks to all of your planning and foresight in creating the perfect Writing Environment, when you suddenly realize you have absolutely no clue what to write about since you haven’t planned any sort of plot or outline or anything, no one will be able to hear you whimper.

------------------------

For some somewhat more useful information, check out my NaNoWriMo article. And don't miss my interview with NaNoWriMo founder Chris Baty.

Do not blink - The 1-Second Film is coming to your town

2007-10-12T21:40:32Z

Turns out there’s a lot more work than I would have expected to produce a movie, even a very, very, very short one. I blame the Indie Movie Work Ethic. You’d think putting actual plots in their movies all the time would wear them out.

I’m talking of course about the 1-Second Film, a project begun seven years ago by Nirvan Mullick when he was a student at the California Institute of the Arts. (I know you know all about it because I told you last year.) Quick version: It's a non-profit, community-building, awareness-raising artistic collaboration between (so far) 8,100 people. Mullick and his peeps will create a one-second movie composed of images of 12 different paintings (two frames each) that were themselves painted in one very colorful day by students, faculty, and anyone else wandering past. It’s rumored that one hapless pizza-delivery guy was mistakenly painted over in #9 after he leaned against it to tie his shoes, but the eternal torment of his unfortunate soul has not been independently verified and anyway it really adds depth to the piece.

Mullick began funding his idea by going up to celebrities and offering to sell them producer screen credits for $1, a canny combination of stalking and panhandling that really paid off. He received donations from stars like Kiefer Sutherland, Stephen Colbert, Kevin Bacon, Christina Ricci, Seth Green, Samuel L. Jackson, and many more, some of them kicking in more than a buck and a few getting into smack-talking bidding wars for top billing.

Regular citizens also got in on the act - I’m in for $23.23, but then I’ve always supported any arts that will get me a screen credit – and the 1-Second Film began taking off. At the Web site you’ll find a community building itself, all focused on creating the perfect 1-second film and, more to the point, talking about it. As I write this there are currently 8,153 producers on this movie and more coming in every hour, wriging blogs, making their own film crews, being all social with each other. If this movie wins any awards they’re gonna be cranking out little statues for months.

But this experiment in funky, fleeting art still needs more publicity, and that’s where their latest event comes in: The Road to Oprah.

If you want people to know about your movie, be it about neo-Nazis looking for love in a liberal arts college, animated penguins looking for love in the harsh and bewildering Sahara, or about Ben Stiller looking for love in an uncaring box office, you want to get on Oprah. Her award-winning show and consequent pipeline to a bazillion people is unparalled, and so the 1-Second folks bought an old bus, converted it to biodiesel, and loaded up for a 10,000-mile cross-country journey to meet Oprah and ask her for a dollar.

Why do I tell you this? Besides the general insanity of it all, I mean? Because they’re coming here. Next Wednesday, Oct. 17, you can hear a performance by the film’s director and the band The Evangenitals (“hillbilly love punk alternative country psychedelic healthy hippie dirty rock”) while getting the chance to empty out the change in your car ashtray and become a movie producer. Filming for the movie’s documentary will also occur – the documentary will ultimately play alongside the 1-Second Film’s estimated 90 minutes of credits – so brush your hair first. They’ll be playing at the City Park Amphitheater in Port Orange from 6 p.m. to 8 p.m., and the next morning they’ll be giving an unplugged concert at the Emory L. Bennett Veterans Memorial Nursing Home in Daytona Beach.

(If Oprah is aware of this movement, she hasn’t said. Maybe when they get there they should knock first.)

All proceeds from the movie and the auction of the original paintings will go to the Global Fund for Women. It’s a wonderfully bizarre chance to become part of something that’s been planned meticulously for months to ultimately end in a brief colorful display that you’ll miss if you blink, and since you weren’t there for my honeymoon this is the closest you’ll get.

And if you remember the general quality of the movies Hollywood put out this summer, a dollar to create something original is the best deal you’ll ever find. Even if it won’t get you the good table at Sardi’s.

Yet.

My car is dead, long live my car

2007-10-06T02:20:20Z

I’ve always been amused at the notion of trading in your car. People actually do that, I’m told, cleaning and painting and fixing up their existing vehicle to get a little money toward the new car they’re eyeing, even though the dealer most likely gauged the worth of their wreck as soon as they pulled into the lot and mentally adjusted his invoices to match before ever strapping on his smile.

Trading in a car, for me, would be an exercise in futility, and I hate exercise. I shed them instead, casting them aside only after I’ve wrung every last ounce of usefulness out of them. Something like a hermit crab whose previous home started smoking and stalling at stoplights.

I’ve rarely stuck with a specific type of vehicle; when you buy based on an immediate need and whatever’s in your pocket by looking over the ads while sitting in your half-ton, still-pinging paperweight, the choice of make, model, or color rarely enters into your figuring. A wheel on at least three corners and some way to make it go and stop more or less on demand would be the high bar, with anything else an optional extra.

On the plus side, I almost always get more from my cars than even their manufacturers thought possible.

Who says you need 4-wheel drive to get up a 40-degree incline? You just need speed, determination, a complete lack of sense or personal safety, and an ’82 Chevette. I regularly drove through hip-high waves on the beach without getting stuck, smacked a shopping cart head-on at 60 mph on John Anderson (self-defense), drove backwards through neighborhoods to see if it would bring my odometer down, and my Chevette took it all with a smile and surprisingly little fluid. I added “FUMES” under the “E” on my gas gauge with Letraset letters and the needle could drop to the “U” before I got concerned. I think it actually managed to strain nutrients from the air.

After a completely necessary collision with a garbage truck it was replaced with a massive Oldsmobile-something my dad gave me, large enough to house a family of four and their horses. That one lasted a year after several mechanics assured me it was on its last legs, and then only because I was waiting to turn onto my parents’ street in Ormond Beach and a distracted guy in a truck carrying 1,000 lbs of salt blocks plowed into me at full speed. (I drove home anyway; his truck was totaled. Buy American!)

(Although that was beaten by my wife’s car, an ’83 Cadillac DeVille, which was once lightly rear-ended at a stoplight in DeLand and we didn’t notice. When the frantic woman behind us came up to knock on our window and make sure no one had been killed we just thought she wanted a dollar.)

My ’80 Chevy Malibu survived catching on fire on I-4 (even after the flames leaped out from under the hood, still we heroically went back to rescue the cassettes) and losing most of its suspension system to the point where I started keeping bus money on me since it was obvious I could become a pedestrian at any moment. It died a peaceful death, and I moved on with my life.

My ’76 Toyota Corolla dropped at just under 200k, and the car I was driving until last week, a ’92 Toyota Tercel, crossed the 205k mark -- the last 5,000 miles on 2 and ½ cylinders -- and my brother-in-law plans to get it running again anyway just out of dogged persistence.

There are certain techniques to this style of car-wringing – buy from someone you trust, pay in full, oil everything religiously, and most importantly, give up on keeping your car showroom-fresh. I’ll keep the interior clean because that’s the part I see, and I’ll keep the engine clean and lubricated because that’s what keeps me from walking, but I prefer my cars to look a little junky outside. I don’t need to pick up women and who cares what other drivers think? My cars run forever and never get broken into or stolen. My ideal car would be a Lexus interior stuffed into a heap of rust.

So now I’m off to begin running my “new” car into the ground. Judging from experience, it should take me another six or seven years, so I’d better get started. These things don’t abuse themselves, you know…

On the road with half of Best Buy

2007-09-24T21:52:34Z

I've always prided myself on being a minimalist traveler. Going away for a month? Give me a pair of pants and two shirts -- three, if formal wear is required -- and I’m good. I'll take only as many shoes as I can comfortably wear at one time, and whatever necessary toiletries that cannot easily be gleaned from a motel bathroom, 7-11 or local shelter. I want to travel light and, short of losing weight, this is the best way about it.

There are many excellent reasons to limit your encumbrances to one bag. Packing is faster. Getting through security is almost trivial, as is getting out of the airport. You have fewer things to accidentally leave behind and startle the housekeeping staff. It’s suddenly much easier to be caught up in an exciting cross-country web of intrigue since you won't have to ask the mysterious blonde stranger to wait while you find your garment bag and collection of multi-colored totes. There’s a quiet satisfaction to be had, knowing you can stand up and go anywhere at a moment's notice.

And it’s a satisfaction I relished, before the electronic age. Now I’m finding I may have one or two extra things to haul along.

I have to have my cell phone, obviously. Not only is it exponentially cheaper than the motel phone and more dependable than the decrepit work of tortured and possibly dripping street art that was once a public phone, but now if I get lost I can connect to the Web, access Google Maps, and quickly find out exactly which cross street I'm about to get mugged at while I'm walking around waving a cell phone.

And a cell phone means a cell phone charger, so toss that in the bag too.

I need my Palm Pilot because it's useful and handy and because if I get more than 15 feet away from it I start twitching. I’m lost without my address book and calendar and my games and my photos and a couple dozen ebooks and a few hundred songs and copies of everything I’ve ever written and notes on everything else to write, because without them I... I….. I wouldn't have them. You can see my dilemma.

Add another charger, because electronics companies have entire departments dedicated to designing new plugs that are guaranteed to be utterly incompatible with anything that has ever existed in solid form, ever.

I’ll also need my folding keyboard so I can sit in coffee shops and write down whatever strikes my brain while simultaneously impressing everyone around me that I am a Real Live Writer, something I have no doubt they’d admire if they’d ever look up from typing into their laptops. Writing and acting pretentious is what coffee shops are for. Right now I am in a Starbucks in Chapel Hill, NC, and this is my environment: three different people are writing in their journals (the third one seems to be scribbling furiously while glaring at the other two); the apron-clad people behind the counter are fighting to the death with frappuchino mixers over the comparative merits of Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holliday; a small group of college students seem to be earnestly solving the world’s problems one after the other, and one confused tourist came in and attempted -- get this -- to buy a cup of coffee before leaving, defeated. My folding keyboard is my shield against public mediocrity, so in the bag it goes.

The Palm only holds a few hundred songs so I have my MP3 player to pick up the slack, for those situations where I need 420 hours of uninterrupted music, which happens more often than you'd think. No charger for this one -- ha! -- but I bring headphone and extra batteries.

Because the Palm can connect to the Web, I don’t really need to bring my laptop. I agonize over the laptop. It’s bulky. It’s heavy and, using the sort of physics you only get out near collapsed stars, somehow it will get heavier with every step I take until I begin leaving footprints in the blacktop. It’s expensive and so it must be jealously guarded at all times. During one New York City visit I slept curled around it, just in case, with a shoelace connecting it to my wrist. Laptops are a pain to keep with you and it’s not like I’ll suddenly need to Photoshop anything, so it’s an easy decision to leave it behind this one time.

And then I take it anyway, along with (say it with me) the charger. And some DVDs, because why not. And the USB hub so I can plug in my mouse and keyboard and clip-on light and heat-absorbing pad and heat-generating coffee coaster and some extra memory cards so I can bring along some more movies and some portable programs and every episode of “Firefly,” just in case, along with an extra card for my camera.

Did I mention the camera? I've got a camera.

Hardly takes up any room at all, honestly, even with the extra batteries. And the mini-tripod. And the case. Even with it in there I rarely remember to actually take any photos of whatever I’m doing while I’m doing it, unfortunately, until I get home and unpack and bring out my pristine, unused camera, but should I ever suddenly remember to stop what I’m doing and take a record of me not currently doing it, I'll be ready. Of course my cell phone takes wonderful pictures all by itself, which could save me bringing an extra device, and I could even look into one of the smartphones that could replace most of this list, but that would just be silly.

But, by dint of careful space management and reprioritization I’ve managed to adapt my packing and traveling ways to accommodate these new additions: I no longer bring the clothing.

Except for my shoes. I’ll need the laces.

Britney? Gimme less, please

2007-09-14T21:36:06Z

Britney, Britney, Britney.

By now you’ve heard all the blowback from your… spectacular… comeback performance at the MTV Video Music Awards, and I’m guessing you haven’t been pleased. When the preponderance of critical articles, even the positive ones, include the word “trainwreck” in the first paragraph, things are not looking good.

And there are many elements of blame that led inexorably to you stumping around the stage in a leather bikini lip-syncing very nearly all of the words to your new hit song, “Gimme More.” The New York Times has reported you were rushed into doing the show by your management. There were problems with your hair. You may have had relationship issues with Criss Angel weighing on your mind. One fan has gone all Zapruder and produced a slo-mo video to prove that your heel was broken throughout the show (although the possibility of a second broken heel working with the CIA has yet to be documented).

And the ocean of mean-spirited comments about your weight can safely be ignored. No, you don’t look like your toned teenage self. But you do look better than just about everybody who was making fun of you, although to be fair most of them don’t try wearing outfits like that. Or at least not in public. Or at least not sober.

But the bulk of the blame has to rest on your newly spray-tanned shoulders. As I see it – from my vantage point of personally knowing nothing about the music business, performing in front of thousands of people, or even most of your career – you’re trying to be too many things at the same time. Pop star, all-night party girl, single mom, business brand, respected artist, unpaid Cointreau spokesperson… the list goes on. And that’s a lot to juggle, especially when the audience is throwing things.

Now that some time has passed and you may be ready to start trying to stop the train before it takes out another neighborhood, here’s some suggestions.

GO NUTS. If you plan to continue with the same crash-and-burn career path, amp it up. Release any sex tapes you have lying around, work your way through every actor (male and female) in “High School Musical 3,” drink your way to success. Notoriety is almost as good as fame, accidental nudity photos are always entertaining, and Courtney Love will need a successor someday. You’d also be providing a valuable service since all the parents who advised their children not to dress like you can now point and say “See? That’s what happens. Go put on a shirt.”

But you might have dreams of a career people don’t automatically snigger at, and I think those dreams are within your grasp. First you’ll need to:

DROP THE DIVA-HOOD. Besides the sequined limos, professionally arched eyebrows and bewildering dressing room demands, successful diva-osity requires a heaping helping of talent to lean on or it falls over and looks silly. Aretha Franklin is not a diva because she can fire everyone in the phone book on a whim but because she can sing anyone else on earth through a brick wall. She’s earned her diva-ness time and time again, and that’s the part you should pay attention to (note that she also had two teenage pregnancies and a bad first marriage). Previous success has the shelf life of a peeled banana. The first rule of the entertainment business: What have you sung for me today?

Right now when your name comes up the public is not thinking of “Baby One More Time” or even “Oops, I Did It Again.” They’re thinking of poor work habits, poor parenting, and poor public underwear management. Time to get humble, disappear for a while, work on your craft, and earn the love again. One way to do that is to:

REINVENT YOURSELF. You’ve said before how much you admired Madonna’s career; well, by this point she had reinvented herself three times and even her mailman had to ask her for ID. Time for you to change.

Might be a bit tricky; Xtina’s already working the cute-turned-skank-turned-classy arc, Amy Lee has the goth thing locked up, and Amy Winehouse is doing the crash-and-burn thing way harder than you are. Pick something else. Go classy, go young professional, go retro, go futuristic. How about an anime superhero look? Get some stagehands to wave tentacles around, look into eye-widening surgery. You’ve already done the schoolgirl version so this is just a step forward, and you’ll attract the prepubescent girls and creepy middle-aged men you’re already used to seeing in your audience. But to make this work, first you’ll need to:

GO AWAY. For a while, anyway. Maybe a year, maybe two. Get through the publicity run for your next CD and then vanish. Find some little town, change your hair, raise your kids, avoid the paparazzi altogether. Work on controlling any self-destructive impulses you might have that might result in you, say, riding a motorcycle naked into a breakfast buffet. Rehab isn’t out of the question if you need it but do it quietly somewhere besides LA and without a press release. Practice. Write some songs. Practice some more. Try performing in little bars under a different name and get your timing back. It worked for Paul McCartney (psst: he was in “Wings”).

If you're not sure your voice is strong enough to sustain an act without the spectacle, start working out and don't stop until you can outdance all of your backup dancers. You don't dare go out there again until you have your moves back. And while you’re building up your performin’ muscles again:

WRITE SONGS THAT AREN’T EASY TO MAKE FUN OF. “Gimme More” isn’t a bad start for a comeback, but you might want to get away from the “I’m so lonely” and “I love sex” songs because frankly we don’t care. We have LiveJournal for that sort of thing. Go for powerful, in control, fun-loving, maybe the occasional wistful ballad. If you’re going to write songs about how the media treats you, think “funny and self-aware” and avoid “whiny,” because if you’re going to emulate Michael Jackson you want the middle of his career and not the end of it. Most importantly, you’ll need to:

WRITE AN ANTHEM. This is the 3rd act of the “Behind the Music: Britney Spears” show right now, the part when the screen goes black and the violins come out and lots of magazine covers and police reports flash by. You need something for that 45 minute commercial promo: “Coming up, Britney comes roaring back.” Your best bet is an anthem, a blood-pumpin’ song, something that speaks to your audience’s souls, increases the nation’s driving speed, and sounds good in a drag queen review. Pink’s done it, XTina’s done it, Madonna does it roughly every three years. And when you’re all ready, pack up the kids, head back into the studio, and:

COME BACK QUIETLY. Don’t hold concerts in ampitheaters. Don’t appear on award shows (duh). Don’t go on Leno. Reconnect with your fans on a personal basis. The Internet makes this possible.

Record your new CD and give it everything you’ve got, but don’t announce it. Don’t send out review copies. But put several of the songs on a new MySpace page and let people find it. Don't worry if it takes months, let it build. Use the page – which you won’t link to from your official site – and talk to your audience, directly. Essentially leak your own music. Play in small clubs and sell your CDs there. Quietly issue invitations for your MySpace friends to appear in your music videos. Become a viral sensation. Ideally, the entertainment industry should notice and start talking about you after you’ve already been ruled a success by the people that matter, i.e. millions of fans.

Thing is, you can’t declare yourself a star. Your new opening lyric “It’s Britney, Bitch” just sounds like a bad Rick James imitation. You have to let your fans do it for you. And they will, if you give them a reason to. Right now you’re just giving them a reason to laugh at you.

And when it comes to wiggling around looking hung-over and unprepared in front of millions of people, please. Gimme less.