It's just this little chromium switch, here... (derspatchel) wrote,
It's just this little chromium switch, here...

bits and pieces YOU ARE NOT PETE TOWNSHEND edition

000. You know a game is good when you wake up earlier than usual in the morning so you can take "just a few more cracks" at getting 100% on Shout At The Devil because you just know goddammit that you can do it and you're not moving on to Medium difficulty until you've totally mastered at least the first two tiers of songs and unlocked all the rest.

(Yes, someone went and got himself Guitar Hero 2 last night and yes he's still on Easy mode but yes he's having a blast and yes he's warming himself up for GH3 and yes he tried windmills on the last five notes of one song only to smack his hand on the whammy bar on the first swing and miss the bit entirely. But no I wouldn't know who that someone is. No sir.)

001. She looked at me as if I'd grown an arm out of my nose, though all I was doing was genially handing her napkins from the dispenser.

"I did what?" she asked, hurriedly wiping down the convenience store counter and reaching for more sugar at the same time.

"I said you've eaten your live frog," I explained, still handing napkins over all bucket brigadedly. "Y'know, the old saying that says if you eat a live frog first thing in the morning, nothing worse will happen to you for the rest of the day."

No response. She threw away the soaked napkins and concentrated on the sugar and the remainder of coffee in her cup.

"So you spilled your coffee and like, you've just eaten your live frog," I gamely continued. "Now nothing worse can happen to you all day."

"Yeah, I wish," she said, pushing past two other people to get to the register and away from Frog-Man the Weirdo.

And they say you can't have a conversation with strangers in New England.

010. Okay. The Writers Guild of America and the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers have gone and broken off their negotiations (the writers would like a larger slice of the DVD revenue as well as an actual pay scale for online distribution instead of a one-time licensing fee which'd mean squat once Internet sales gain popularity; the producers say oh now we can't have that, why it'd mean dogs and cats living together, mass hysteria.) As the current contract between the two expired on October 31 and no deal could be reached in time, the WGA is going on strike. So there ain't gonna be no TV writin' for some time.

The immediate effect of this strike on You, The (American Television) Viewer, is that there'll be no immediate current-events comedy shows like The Daily Show or Colbert Report or SNL; come mid-winter most episodic shows will have run out of existing material and go into hiatus or reruns while we drown in reality shows since those rely on Very Shrewd Editing to do their thing. So get ready, America, for Are You Smarter Than A Tic-Tac-Toe Playing Chicken, Knitting With The Stars and Stuck In A Closet With Vanna White (thanks, Mr. Y!)

The WGA last went on strike in 1988. I remember this. I remember this only because of an episode of Moonlighting which, now that I think about it, probably was the last one before they ran out of scripts. At the end of the episode, Bruce Willis and Cybill Shepherd show up (in character, mind you) and explain that they ran short that week due to the writers' strike. So, in an effort to fill time while still entertaining the viewing audience, they drag Curtis Armstrong's character out and force him to dance to "Wooly Bully". Reluctant at first, Curtis eventually gets into it and rocks out, lip-synching along while dancers with WGA picket signs do a choreographed number behind him. Now Moonlighting was notorious for constantly breaking the fourth wall (hell, they used a wrecking ball on that sucker) but even so, this meta-meta-dance number freakin' BLEW MY MIND and made me laugh hysterically until I had to go to bed because it was late enough already.

Fortunately Mom loved Moonlighting and taped every episode, so the next day me and my brothers came home from school and danced around the room like meth-fueled gibbons to Wooly Bully, and God bless Sam The Sham and the Pharoahs for that.
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