Random crap while I'm waiting for Steve to get home

I'm waiting for Steve, my roommate, 'cause it's Monday. On Mondays, we either play Star Trek: The Next Generation: The Roleplaying Game (which is...not bad), get out the guitar and play a bunch of songs (we're okay with most stuff, but we fucking rock on some of our Dave Matthews covers -- "Seek Up" especially -- and, of all things, "Hey Jude"), or don't do anything at all because Steve is too tired. Or I'm too tired. One of those. I'm shooting for the second tonight, 'cause I don't have anything to do in the Star Trek game, and I'm not really in a creative mood.

I was working on the new Revolver earlier, and deleted the four pages I wrote, because they were uniformly depressing, pointless, dreary, and just plain awful. But the new episode is coming. Eventually.

Speaking of uniformly depressing, pointless, dreary, and just plain awful, I had orientation for my second job today. Hoo-rah. I keep telling myself that the two jobs won't be that bad, 'cause the new job is only for about three hours a day, and it's only for until January: in that single month, everything I owe money on -- my phone, my computer, and my car -- will be paid off. Which adds up to $660 a month. Ye gods, it will be good to no longer have to pay that.

I tell myself that, and then I go in for orientation today, which was only three hours long, and yet felt like twelve years, and I feel like killing myself.

Hey, remember that Guns N' Roses show I was talking about last week? The one GN'R cancelled because of evil, evil fire marshals that held them to different standards than Clay Aiken? Yeah, I found out why that happened: they weren't allowed to consume alcohol. Not the fans, the band. And not in the dressing rooms, either -- they were prohibited from drinking alcohol on stage. So, they cancelled the show. Axl Rose, ladies and gentlemen.

While I still pledge my allegiance to Lost (and the Dharma Initiative for which it stands), I would just like to say that Heroes is the greatest show EVAR. And, speaking of NBC shows that air on Mondays, an early Christmas miracle has occurred: Studio 60 has, for some wonderful but incomprehensible reason, been picked up for a full season. Oh, Santa -- just what I wanted! 'Cause a full season would give Sorkin a chance to get the handle on the show and work out the kinks. ("Nevada Day, Part I" was a slight improvement over the previous week, but it's still dropped off in quality pretty severely. Oddly enough, step one: give Matthew Perry more screen time. He's somehow the best actor on the show.)

But yeah, Heroes. I've only seen the first three episodes (thanks again to the iTunes store, after giving up on the dull, dull, dull The Nine), but it rocks the hizzouse, friends and neighbors. And if they made the whole show about Hiro and his friend, it would still be awesome.

And Deal or No Deal, which I also saw on NBC on Monday, has absolutely no business being as entertaining as it is. I mean, it's ridiculous, it's stupid, and from where the fuck did they pull Howie Mandel? But I'm a sucker for a well-done game show. And, so help me, it's actually really suspenseful. Though I should note that I have loathed with a frightening passion every single contestant I've seen.

I mentioned Lost up there a few paragraphs ago. It's still the best show on TV, I don't care what you think. So there. I should mention, though, that the writers are dangling right on the precipice of where The X-Files stood at the end of its fourth season: if they don't start answering some of the myriad questions soon -- like, in the next five or six episodes -- it's going to just collapse under its own weight. Because you can string fans along for only so long before they start to become convinced you don't have the answers. Now, I'm sure Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse already know, for instance, who the Others really are, and who Eye-Patch Wearing Man is, and what the Monster is, and just who (or what) the hell Eko was talking to that wasn't his brother. But if they don't start filling those blanks soon, viewers are going to stop caring. I watched it happen with The X-Files; I really, really don't want to watch it happening again.

(But I really do think they know what they're doing. Case in point: in season one, one of the Flight 815 survivors is murdered in the night by the Others, despite the Losties setting up a security perimeter. Locke realizes how they got past -- via the water. I wondered back then how the hell they pulled that off, especially when the only boat you see the Others using is a rickety, loud-as-hell old motorboat. It takes until season three for us to learn: they have a submarine. Continuity, baby!)

(And as for that thing that wasn't Eko's brother, I've got a theory about that, too: it was the Smoke Monster, taking human form. 'Cause, after all, Eko chases "Yemi" into the jungle; Yemi vanishes, and then the Monster appears and thrashes him to death. And Yemi's eyes during their conversation were strangely black. And we know that the Monster has some sort of telepathic ability -- see its first encounter with Eko, when it "scanned" him and displayed images in its smoke...images of Eko's own past. And we know that it can change its appearance, because Locke's original sighting of the creature was far different than everyone else's, and his own thereafter. I love this explanation, not only because it's scary -- the damn monster could be anyone, at any time -- but because it could also explain so much else that's been unexplained: the whispers in the jungle, the boar that tormented Sawyer, Kate's horse, Hurley's imaginary friend, even Jack's father. Booyah!)

And I'm not the only one, but I giggle every time I see a reference to Stephen King on Lost. Not only because I love Stephen King's writing and I feel like I'm sharing in an inside joke, but because I know how much King himself loves Lost. The most perfect King reference so far, aside from the Others' book club reading Carrie, is easily the white rabbit with the blue eight tatooed on its back, an obvious nod to On Writing. I watched that episode at work, and when Ben hauled out the bunny in its cage, I started laughing my ass off, and no one around me understood why. And it would have taken way too long to explain.

It's at moments like those I really feel alone. And like a loser. Which are similar feelings.

Speaking of King, I'm reading his new novel, Lisey's Story. It's certainly much different, but I like it a lot. Certainly better than Cell, which was fun for awhile and then just ran out of steam. King is apparently working on another novel called Duma Key. Yes, this is the same Stephen King who retired two years ago. I'm waiting for another novella collection and a new ABC miniseries (erm, excuse me, "An ABC Original Miniseries Event, A Novel For Television That Could Only Come From The Mind Of Stephen King") any day now.

I never did watch the end of Kingdom Hospital. I don't think I really gave enough of a damn to rent the last DVD. I certainly don't know.

Watch another amazing stream-of-consciousness segue: the main character of Kingdom Hospital was named Dr. Hook, after a band Stephen King apparently likes.

Hey, speaking of Dr. Hook, did you know their most famous song, "The Cover of the Rolling Stone," was written by Shel Silverstein? The poet who wrote A Light in the Attic and Where the Sidewalk Ends, two books I worshipped as a kid, wrote "The Cover of the Rolling Stone." And Johnny Cash's "A Boy Named Sue," for which he won a Grammy! Bet you didn't know that. (Bet you didn't care, either, but this is my blog, clown, so my rules.)

If you're still reading, you're a sad person. Not as sad as the one writing it, but sad nevertheless.

If you're still reading, thanks.

Steve's still not here, but all I have left in my head is white noise. So no more from me.

Good lord, this has been a lousy day.

(You remember my obsession with today's date in my earlier post? At orientation, I had to fill out eleventy billion forms, all of which had to dated. 11-13-06, 11-13-06, 11-13-06, 11-13-06, 11-13-06, 11-13-06...over and over. Yeah. Kill myself.)