As some of you may be aware, my former employer (hereafter referred to as "The Overpriced Fruit Juice Company That Must Not Be Named" had some layoffs last week. In an unrelated occurence, I suddenly find myself with much more free time.

Worry not, dear readers. I have several promising things in the works and am doing some freelance work to fill the gaps. In the meantime, my loss is your gain, as I now have time to post many more entries than usual. Maybe even two a month! (Don't jinx it!)

Unemployment has been especially difficult for dear Riley. She is pictured above with our three filthy yet adorable chillins in a photograph taken last Tuesday. She was used to having me around for just a few hours on weeknights and weekends. Now that I'm here both when she leaves and when she gets home, I've noticed a distinct decline in her enthusiasm for my presence. I do believe that my novelty is wearing off! Can it be that my awesomeness is best experienced in small doses?

As a result of these distressing developments, I'm extra motivated to regain employment, if for nothing else than the sake of our declining relationship. I sent out three resumes today, baby, I promise!

I’m probably one of the more avid readers that I know, devouring about a book a week in a good month. I recently decided that for every bestseller (read: brain junk food) I read, I needed to balance my mental diet with something a bit more substantial. If you consider "The Da Vinci Code" to neatly straddle the line between both worlds, please stop reading now.

In the literary morass that was my high school and college education, I read more than my fair share of “classics”. Some, it seemed to me, were far more deserving of that accolade than others. "The Grapes of Wrath", "To Kill a Mockingbird", and "Animal Farm" inspired me and made me think about and question my views of the world. On the other hand, "My Antonia" and "Red Badge of Courage" made me want to stab my eyes out by page 20.

Somehow, one “classic” novel managed to never pop up on any of my reading lists or syllabi: "The Great Gatsby". That’s right, someone as (supposedly) well-read as I am made it through primary and secondary education without reading F. Scott Fitzgerald’s great American novel. I’d heard of it, of course, and figured it was good in that same vague way you figure opera is awesome, compelling art but have no intention of ever seeing one. However, with my new resolve to work great literary pieces into my reading rotation, last week I proudly walked out of the local library with Fitzgerald’s thin tome tucked under my arm. I figured it would be a quick, enjoyable way to start on the road to intellectual pretentiousness. There was just one little hiccup, though.

It sucks. "The Great Gatsby" sucks. There's no getting around it. I HATED it. From its mind-numbingly dull beginning to its bizarre murder-suicide finale, there wasn’t a single drop of literary value to be had in its pages. I kept reading and reading and telling myself, “Surely something that justifies “classic” is going to pop up any time now.” Alas, it was not to be. Teachers and professors who rhapsodize about its merits and deep significance are liars. Deluded, deceived, deranged LIARS, I tell you! Literati who sing its praises and laud its profundity are fools. If the book hadn’t been the prized property of the Orem Public Library, I would have given its precious pages to my year-old nephew and let him have his way with it. Such is the fate an abomination like "The Great Gatsby" deserves.

With such a rocky start, I am now seriously rethinking my “classics” aspirations. Anyone have an extra copy of "Angels and Demons"?

This will be the first in a (hopefully) long line of posts designed to expand the horizons of my dear readers. Yes, both of you. There are some things in this world that are so awesome, they simply must be shouted out to in the blogosphere. In this season of striking T.V. writers, it seems appropriate to begin with what just might be (all apologies to THE OFFICE) the cleverest show on T.V.

30 ROCK, as you may or may not be aware, is the brainchild of Tina Fey, former SNL writer and quite possibly the funniest woman on the planet. The show is so great because it's got something for everyone. There are plenty of topical jokes that will make the kids chuckle, and there are also several very sly references slipped into each episode that only those with a sophisticated sense of humor (or that at least think they do) will get. What other show set in 2007 makes a (funny!) Haldeman reference? I know my dad will be the only one that even knows what I'm talking about there.

30 ROCK is so brilliant that it's difficult to describe. I urge you to go to nbc.com, where they have full episodes you can watch for free. Yep, free! Relive the moment when Tracy, in his best mentor voice, instructs young Kenneth to "Live every week...like it's Shark Week." Then there was the time Jack read a critic's review of his family's brand of wine that stated that it tasted like "...the urine of Satan after a hefty portion of asparagus." Or who could forget the time a frustrated Jenna declared "If the president is so serious about the war on terror, why doesn't he hunt down and capture Barack Obama before he strikes again?"

Watch it. Love it. Tell your friends.

As you’ve probably heard, the WGA (Writers Guild of America) is on strike because of a disagreement with movie and television producers over royalties and residuals (read: $$$). What this means to you and me is that the T.V. studios are rapidly running out of scripts, and our favorite shows will soon be off the air, if they aren’t already. What will be left are reality and game shows, whose writers aren’t members of the Guild.

As an aspiring WGA member, I feel it my duty to support the writers. However, as a television viewer (I love The Office, House, and 30 Rock), I feel obligated to offer some few programming suggestions to the studios as they struggle with what to put on the air.

ABC

Are You Edible?
A daring reality show that invites professional cannibal chefs to sample brave viewers and inform them of their level of “scrumptiousness”. Watch out for the zesty wit of Nuwandubumppu, the “Simon Cowell of cannibalism”. Television has never been so tasteful.


CBS

CSI: Santaquin
A gritty look at the crack team of crime solvers in central Utah’s thriving metropolis. Be amazed as they use the latest technology to solve the mystery of Nephi Smith’s missing cat (SPOILER! It was under the porch) and Sariah Rockwell’s rickets (SPOILER! Lack of sunlight).


NBC

Are You Smarter Than Ben Bernanke?
Twelve aspiring capitalists compete to see who can bring the country to financial ruin the fastest. The most unqualified contestant becomes the new chairman of the Federal Reserve, with President Bush rewarding their incompetence with his trademark, “You’re hired!”


FOX

Oedipus Island
You thought your family had problems! The “mother” of all reality shows.


The CW

Heaven help you; I have nothing for you. I doubt anyone’s noticed that nobody’s writing your shows anymore. (Are you listening, Gossip Girl? XO! XO!)

Remember, remember, the month of November? If you do, you’re in an ever-dwindling minority. Sorry kids, but daddy has some sad news: November has been swallowed and messily digested by December. That’s right: November is kaput.

November’s descent into oblivion began not so many years ago. Though still on the sunny side of 30, I remember when I felt kind of funny/guilty when we started putting up Christmas decorations the first week of December. It just seemed a little early, like we were doing something wrong. Surely the half-life of a Christmas tree should tell you when it’s appropriate to begin making your days merry and bright. I wasn’t alone in the shame of my PMS: Premature Merrymaking Syndrome. Retailers dutifully waited until the day after Thanksgiving to begin their holiday markdowns on Rainbow Brite and Castle Grayskull. Grocery stores and radio stations were still proudly broadcasting Pat Benetar and the Cure well past Black Friday.

All of that has changed. As of 2007, I sadly announce the death of the month of November. At 11:59 on October 31, just as you’re cursing and turning away the last of the too-old trick-or-treaters, the clock turns over to December 1. Pumpkins instantly burst into holly wreaths. Fully lit and decorated Christmas trees erupt in living rooms. The shrieks of little ghouls and goblins segue into off-key carols and season’s greetings. The nauseating stench of peace and goodwill towards men fouls the air.

“Must it be so?” you ask. “Yes!” say my coworkers as Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree drifts over from their desks on Veteran’s Day. “Yes!” cries The Guy Down The Street as he hoists a wreath the size of Sputnik to his roof two days after Halloween. “Yes!” proclaims my server at the Olive Garden as she plunks down holiday-themed mints with my check on 11/5.

Godspeed, November. You had a good run.

There are only two people left in this country without blogs: me, and an elderly Des Moines widow with Parkinson's. Well, sorry Enid, but you just got owned! Maybe the Rotary Club's giving out "What's the Interweb?" awards this year.

So the bandwagon's been jumped on, the waters have been tested, and the day has come. The posts that follow will offer the daring (and pitying?) reader glimpses and insights into my brain--my awesome, awesome brain. I promise nothing but pure, undiluted "knowings" as they ooze and seep from the deepest coffers of my mind. Consider yourself warned and welcome...