The Crazy Ones

I just discovered this new CBS sitcom tonight, staring Robin Williams and Sarah Michelle Gellar.

Though the format is arguably one that I normally would almost automatically discard (about 95% of new network sitcoms, I can’t stand), this one I like. One of the things I like about it, is the lack of a laugh track (in my mind, a true comedy should not have to tell the viewer when to laugh). But even if a show lacks a laugh track, it still has to have at least SOME substance, to appease me.

Though this show arguably has little substance, and is more alike its comedic counterparts then it is different, I have to admit that it makes up for it with the presence of the comedy tidbits that Robin Williams is known for. I can even overlook the fact that it is a blatant advertisement for an unnamed fast food chain.

Maybe it is because I like Robin Williams. Maybe its because the “drive thru lovin” song nearly had me fall off my chair in a fit of laughter. But whatever the case may be, I am a fan of this new show. Its certainly not the best I have seen, and certainly not my favorite (Corner Gas still has that slot), but its quite enjoyable.

I don’t see it having a long run, like most of the new shows premiered today (they reflect the disposable society we live in today). But this show should provide us with amusement for whatever its run is.

I must admit, there are some things that I never thought that I would ever hear myself say. “I am a fan of a new CBS sitcom”, is one of them.

🙂

RIP Robin

Robin Williams crushes Michael J. Fox in sitcom showdown (insidetv.ew.com)
TV Recap: The Crazy Ones, Series Premiere (pop-break.com)
The Crazy Ones (moviemaniac1268.wordpress.com)
Robin Williams Talks About His Return To Television (newyork.cbslocal.com)
Early Ratings: Williams’ ‘Crazy Ones’ Easily Beats ‘Sean’ Debut (thewrap.com)

Amazing Rant On The State Of America

Here we have a TV news anchor, who is clearly fed up with the actions and impotence continually displayed by his nations government. Judging by the workers in the background turning around, you can see that this clearly does not happen every day. But that is why I like this video.

We need more Americans to just, flip out. Until that starts happening, the politicians will not think twice about walking over the majority, in their quest to kiss the ass of the minority. All at the expense of the the people, the nation, and in the broader picture, the biosphere.

Its A Party In The CIA!

I gotta admit, I hate the original version of this song. But this, what Weird Al has done with it, I like :).

When Dreams And Memories Collide – The Ultimate Mindfuck

2 days ago, was a typical day. Well, not typical, in that I started work a few hours earlier then usual. But otherwise, the day was just like any other.

All of the important tasks of the department were already done when I arrived, so I ended up working on cereal overstock, taking out as much of the boxes to shelf as I could. As I was in the process, I ended up running into much expired product, and improperly rotated product, which meant I spent the time I had, correcting that problem.

Having discovered this, I left a note on the white board, an fyi to my department manager (and to all reading it). Though a co-worker from a different department had recommended I reword it, I decided to leave it as it was.

That night, I had a dream. In the dream, it turns out, I was in that day of work, on the way out the door. And I seen the white board, but my note had been condensed and edited (seemingly by the person who I was talking to about it earlier). But later upon waking, I could not recall if it actually happened, or was a dream.

I ended up asking the guy a day later, if he had edited the note (the answer was no).

Ever have that happen to you?

I think I have before, but its been awhile.

What If . . .

This is a poem (or a short story, whatever you want to call it lol) that I penned a few months back and forgot about. Im not exactly sure how long ago, but I remember the situation.

I was sitting in a pub on a Friday or Saturday evening with my father. We were having coffee, and he was doing some art on his laptop. He has a tendency of sitting for a VERY long time (long after you would normally want to leave), and this night was no exception. Normally I would kill time by reading a newsletter/paper or cruising the net on my blackberry, but this place didn’t have any reading material available AND my phones battery was totally drained, so I was sitting there, bored out of my mind. And getting increasingly uncomfortable, as the pub was filling up with the weekend evening crowds, and I don’t like being around people.

On going though my fathers “Art Studio” (a small sports bag my father uses to carry his laptop, drawing paper, pencils and other drawing and art supplies) I found a piece of blank lined lose leaf and a pen. And so I decided to do something ive never done before, write a piece in the presence of people (most of my writing happens in alone, quiet time). Around 20 or 30 minutes later, I had this:

Mable always asked herself, what if . . . what if I had not made the choices that I have made? What if I had stayed home that night? What if I had backed out before the situation got dire? She had always asked herself these questions, having lived though the results of her choices.

The choices, which led her to the bank that night. The choices, which led her to stand and watch as her acquaintance cut open the safe. The choices, that led to her arrest 2 states over, with a car full of expensive loot and cash.

She thought of the day of her take-down. How she had tried to run, but her Mercedes had nothing on the spike strips lay-ed out for her. She thought, what if I had not got out and started running, over the fence and into the bark yard? The back yard, which turned out to be that, of the chief of police.

She thought of herself running around the corner of the house, seeing the “Chief of Police” vehicle in the driveway, and then getting tackled.

She remembered the nights in the prison cell. The days were all a blur, but the nights, she recalled with complete clarity. The long, boring nights in the darkened cell.

And she remembered, how it once was. She remembered, the party’s, the boring yet fun times at work. She remembered, life before John. Before that fateful night at the bank.

As she sat on the porch swing looking out on the open ocean, she asked herself, what if I had done things differently. And, sitting there on the swing, looking over the glassy sea illuminated by a full moon, she realized . . . . . . . if she were given a chance to do anything differently, she would not change a thing.

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