8.03.05: Works for Me ‹ Blog « Without-Feathers.com

Works for me.
Rick Hunter, Hunter

Works for Me

August 3, 2005

Not that I’m a television fiend or anything, but I like a bit of telly when I first get up in the morning—it wakes me up, it entertains me while I’m eating breakfast, and it restores my seething hatred for humanity and all its foibles. Particularly good at the whole restoring-seething-hatred business are two early-morning rerun shows, Matlock and Hunter. Hunter can be dismissed offhand as a really bad, really dated cop show, complete with bad ’80s synthesizer music and blue eyeshadow galore. Fred Dryer couldn’t act his way out of the Juillard dumpster, and Stepfanie Kramer—well, what the hell kind of name is Stepfanie? That’s not even phonetically correct. Were your parents drunk when they filled out your birth certificate, girl?

As for Matlock, mocking it has become a veritable sport in our household. Something about Andy Griffith not only turns me off, it actually increases my lesbian tendencies (Stepfanie, you and I just might hook up despite your name and eyeshadow shade). How the hell did this show stay on the air for so long, when all it has to offer is an ever-changing galaxy of geeky/gorgeous assistants orbiting around the banjo-playing, stoop-shouldered, Deliverance-accented, seersucker-wearing star? And what the hell is seersucker, anyway? It sounds like a word my mother would smack me for saying.

Yes, I know I’m rambling. I’m just buzzed because I finished my homework last night. This means absolutely nothing to you, because you didn’t even know I had homework, but the reason you didn’t know I had homework is because I was too busy doing my homework to write an entry about how much homework I still had to do. But now it’s finished, and I sent it in, and now we can return to the wonderful world of semi-regular bloggage. Yay.

Ooh! William B. Davis just turned up on Hunter as a perverted jogger who finds a movie star unconscious in the bushes and tries to take advantage of her. Bad CSM, bad! Now you die for good!

In other (but infinitely more important) news, I think I can safely say that my Signifigant Other rocks far more than yours does—after all, mine brought me roses and chocolate and a new laptop and an iPod all in a single week, while yours probably does nothing but sit on the couch and belch. Poor you; lucky me. Now I can listen to my tunes and send hatemail without having to leave the living room—I can send Andy Griffith death threats while watching his piece-of-crap show! Ah, the wonders of modern technology.

Despite my disdain of the juvenile trend towards naming inanimate objects, I succumbed to temptation and christened my new toys—the laptop is Murdoch (after the Titanic’s First Officer), and the iPod is Wallace (after the Titanic’s bandmaster). On second thought, maybe I should worry less about being juvenile and more about being insane—this Titanic obsession has gone way too far.

Today I intend to do nothing but knit, surf the web, study fun stuff (Titanic, oceanography, Great Lakes shipwrecks, Antarctic exploration), fine-tune the laptop (must transfer 1400-song-strong music library, yeepers), design three fanlistings and my mother’s business site, and maybe get in a little Hawaii Five-O during lunch. Yeah, that’s a whole lotta nothing…