I have become somewhat of a TV nut. That is not to say that I spend all of my waking hours watching or thinking about TV, but merely that I enjoy certain shows and have taken steps to be able to enjoy them at my leisure. One of the advances in the way broadcast stations are trying to bring new viewers in is to stream their shows over the internet with breaks for specific advertisers to get a word in edgewise. I can handle that, and, honestly, few of the advertisers have a hard sell right now; but in the future there are some things that look to be purchases and spending opportunities for me in the future.

This year my current fav-show is Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. Long name, great show. It is witty, Aaron Sorkin, I believe, is doing a great job, and often episodes don’t really end, they are continued for two or three weeks. It is different television that makes me sit up, realize how good the writing is, and sit in wonderment about how lucky I am to be alive during what I think of as a Renaissance in Entertainment. There are good to great shows on TV, they don’t offend the watcher, you can watch or not as you will with little chance of being left behind, and a lot of them are smart; even the comedy. This is a combination that has seriously been missing in television for some time – territory that was relegated to HBO and now being taken up by broadcasters.

Speaking of smart programming and HBO, the other night a new show premiered on NBC. I don’t know whether or not they have been seriously advertising it, or if it’s saturation point has reached any kind of mass, but The Black Donnelly’s is a new drama discovering the lives of the four Donnelly brothers – the descendants of Black Irish immigrants who live in a tough neighborhood in New York City.

The first episode is narrated by Joey Ice Cream, a “friend” of the Donnelly’s who is really more of a tag-along than someone the viewer ends up feeling anything about. The narrative of the first episode, the Pilot, is about how Tommy Donnelly, the leader of the brothers (and not the oldest one) becomes the kingpin he ends up becoming. You are taken, quickly, through the years as the Donnelly’s and their friend Jenny Reilly grow up and make a variety of choices that place them in a position to take over the neighborhood. It is never intentional and as I watched the show the thought kept occurring to me, “One more step, one more step, one more step,” meaning that Tommy makes a choice and then makes another choice and another until he reaches a critical choice where the decision between good and bad, right and wrong, is no longer relevant as he is forced to do what, according to Joey Ice Cream, he never wanted to do.

Really, the show is about family and how four brothers protect and defend each other on the mean streets. Sometimes, that protection has to be brutal; at other times it turns into a conversation between two men discussing what should and shouldn’t be happening; at all times it is Tommy acting as intermediary between his brothers and their (sometimes) stupid antics and the law as well as ruling members of the underworld.

The first episode ends something like this: “Tommy became everything he never wanted. And whether he realized it or not, with Huey dead, Tommy’d just taken over the neighborhood.”

It’s the exploration of how someone can move from something good or, at the very least, something ambiguous to someone who’d taken that one step too far into the dark side of things. And yet, the show works. It works well. It does what entertainment is supposed to do.

As I watched the show, I have to tell you, the elements all worked together. The settings are streets and bars and café’s with additional settings for pick-up shots (e.g. the hospital). The viewer is entertained with some good visual imagery, great storytelling, narration that adds to the story without detracting from the flow, and music that all work together to make a poignant statement about what is taking place. None of the music sounds like it was intentionally written or recorded for television, but it was selected and (possibly) scored to accentuate what is meant to be important without adding too much background noise that the viewer is overwhelmed.

To add to this, it is co-created by Paul Hagis (he co-write Crash and wrote the script for Million Dollar Baby) and Bobby Moresco (co-wrote Crash) both of whom are Oscar winners. This is good storytelling. This is what other shows want to be. I should be upset at NBC for pulling Studio 60 for a few weeks while The Black Donnelly’s begins airing and gets it’s initial run in, but I’m not. I think this is good television, I think Studio 60 is good television and I think, when it is time to announce the shows that make it back on the air next year, both will be on the air together and that NBC is using this time to introduce a good, new show to viewers.

Overall, I think this show (based on the pilot and premise) has a lot of potentional and it looks to go somewhere fun and interesting. I think that NBC has done a proper job about advertising the show. It is made available through their video website, on top of which, the pilot is available as a free download through iTunes. The show accentuates what makes good television. It talks about subtle social issues, it reinforces family, and it has the right degree of violence to be a film about four Black Irish brothers doing two things: one, taking over the neighborhood; and two, being brothers and being there for each other through thick and thin. Granted, the material can be offensive; people who liked The Sopranos will probably like this show as well (different nationality being dealt with, though); with the outcome that you have something entertaining, good, well written, that cast actors who look the part, can act, and who make the viewer want to come back for more.

It’s a good show.

As for Studio 60 I think I shall paraphrase a quote from early in the season, “It’s like barrel-smoked whiskey. The more you try it the more you will like it.” Matt goes on to describe specific viewership trends and how, as a specific aspect of the fictional sketch comedy show is presented to viewers, more people will watch, laugh, and enjoy. I believe that Studio 60 will, in the long run, follow that trend and that NBC will renew it for one more year where, like Seinfeld, ER, and Friends it will gain viewers and become Can’t Miss TV.

John Hattaway | smokingpen | Alicia Grey | Zach Johnson | Denny Crane

links:
http://www.nbc.com/Studio_60_on_the_Sunset_Strip/
http://www.nbc.com/The_Black_Donnellys/
http://www.nbc.com/video/
http://www.nbc.com/
http://www.hbo.com

Back when I used to work for Borders in New Hampshire we, the employees, would have a bit of fun watching some of the people who came into the store do what they were doing. You get all kinds. Those who show up in the morning and insist upon staying until late at night. Those who show up everyday to check the stacks and leave. Those who come in on Tuesday’s to buy movies and music and always buy whatever is new that week regardless of what it is. And then, my favorites, those who went to Borders for first dates and blind dates. I guess Borders is one of those places you can go where you don’t have to worry about someone being a complete freak.

I recall one night a blind date happened. It was passed all over the store, “John dial 5-1-1,” and I would dial it to be told to check out the odd looking couple (tall guy, short and stocky girl) in the café. I’d grab a stack of magazines and carry them to the magazine racks and check out the couple. Clearly a blind first date. The guy is awkward and the girl is all smiley and giggly. Someone went to a great deal of effort to set these two up because, beyond any realm of imaginings, they fit together.

And yet, the blind first date is so awkward it is like a car wreck during rush hour. All you, as a driver, can think about is, “Move faster, move faster,” yet, when it’s your turn to drive past the accident two thoughts occur, “I can’t take my eyes off of it,” and, “I wonder if there is a fatality?” Blind dates in public places are kind of like that. You can’t take your eyes off of it, and you wonder what kind of a fatality it will turn in to before the night is over. Sad. Very sad.

To add to this, Erin and I went to Borders after we went and saw a movie on our first date. If you want details as to how I asked her out, ask her. I won’t share them; but we did go to Borders after seeing a movie. Those, by the by, are two things I don’t like to do on first dates, and yet, with her, it seemed like the right things to do. Since then we end up at Borders once a week, or at least once every other week, sit, talk, drink hot chocolate (mine is soy with additional flavors added) and when it gets late enough, we go home to our separate homes. And yet, I dare say, we were never like the awkward couples that would show up to Borders in New Hampshire. We weren’t the people the employees made fun of.

One of the reasons I share this is that after several visits to Borders with sitting and reading or talking or wandering about, it seems like one of those places people go when they want to be in a public place but together. Erin and I go there for that purpose. We don’t want to be at my house, and we don’t want to be at her house; campus is… yeah, and the outcome is that we take computers and books and we go to the bookstore where the ambiance is bright and generally clean and where we can study, discuss Kierkegaard, and, in general, just have a pleasant time together. It’s nice.

And with that said, we, apparently, are not the only ones. Sitting around us we had a man and woman who, according to Erin, were on the road to having sex. When I paid attention to them the man wanted it, the woman, however, was a little out of his league and yet, that doesn’t mean that Erin was wrong. Next to them were a couple of guys that might have been there to be together but were trying very hard not to be publicly intimate. They might be BYU students. They might be homosexual. They might be a lot of things. Watching people, you create little biographies in your head (at least I do, and the indicators are that Erin has that tendency as well) with the outcome that you ascribe sexual preference to two guys sitting next to each other.

There are, on any given night, examples of this anywhere you choose to look, inside a bookstore. I find it interesting that this is a gather place for the dating and the romantic. To me, the bookstore represents a goal, a place where I want my work to end up; to others it represents a non-threatening place where you can go to be together, in public, and still accomplish something. To others it represents that place where you meet the blind date and hope for the best from the interaction.

I think that this is more true in Utah than it was in New Hampshire. We were situated close to a Catholic high school, a Law School, a couple of colleges, and it was also where mothers with children would come to spend parts of their days. On the weekends people would flock to Borders to buy magazines and movies and music and sometimes books. It is a gather place. A virtual (and unofficial) center of the community which, in itself, is rather odd as it doesn’t seem, from outward appearances, like Borders, anywhere, could be that. But, the stores encourage groups to hold meetings there. They have requirements, you have to be willing to let anyone attend the meetings, but if you have a club and need a place to meet, Borders is it.

On the weekends they do live music.

On Saturdays they have story time for children. (In New Hampshire we had a heavily tattooed girl that really clicked with the children, she was amazing.)

There is a café for snacks and drinks.

You can browse, read, relax, and not feel as though you are being pestered.

Besides that it is a casual environment where the employees where jeans and t-shirts and, except for the stupid badge around their necks, look like everyone else (well, since I worked for the company they added headsets so the employees can talk to each other more easily).

The point is that I am amazed at the notion that Borders, for a lot of people, is a destination. It is a place for couples to go. For people to study. To buy books and movies and music. To simply sit and relax. To hold discussions and discuss ideas and directions to take. Moreover, as an employee you get to watch these things, make comments to other employees, and have fun in the process. And yes, it is a real job. You do have to work, and hard; but the outcome is that you have fun at your job coupled with doing something that, from an outside perspective, actually adds to the community.

Moreover, Borders is also a place for book signings, to meet celebrities, to encounter people and personalities you might not have encountered before. One night, while I was in Borders and talking on the phone, I said something to the person I was talking to and a little kid, very precociously, turned to his parent and asked, “What does that mean?” I stopped talking to who I was talking to, turned to the kid, gave them a simple definition (which his parents seemed unable to do) and then went back to the conversation. Granted, that could happen anywhere, but it has ever only happened (and yes, more than once) to me at Borders.

I learned that people like to hear me read poetry while working at Borders.

I developed some ideas for stories while working at Borders.

I’ve discovered authors and poetry, music and movies, all while encountering people and things at these stores.

It is not my intent to create an advertisement for the place. I was glad to no longer work there. More of my disposable book money now goes to Amazon.com. But the point is that people go to this store for a reason. You don’t find that same atmosphere at other bookstores. It’s not the same to walk into a Barnes and Noble, which is dark and not as friendly and where you are accosted at every turn. The difference, here, is that Borders just seems cooler; and Barnes and Noble more mature, out of date; and yet, they compliment each other.

The point, I think, is that I was at Borders because I like being there. I was there with Erin. As a result of our being there we got to see people interact. As a result of that it opened up more conversation and more insight into how we each think. The result is that this store has become, and is becoming, a part of our lives because it is a place we both like, we are both comfortable in, and a place we both enjoy being – especially with each other.

John Hattaway | Alicia Grey | Denny Crane | Zach Johnson | smokingpen | Bond. James Bond

Wasn’t sure whether or not I should write this up, but I quit my job the other day. I’ve been working for a professor (he was an associate dean) on campus for the past year and, in facing this semester, I was offered a job doing something different that seemed like it might be new and interesting. The problem that came up was that he wanted to continue doing work on his book and, at the same time, keep up with the workload that I was assigned within the new position. Outcome: he e-mailed me last week to tell me I was not keeping up with either and to berate me for canceling a meeting we had to go over the book project we were doing last year. In the e-mail he told me I was not putting in enough hours, not doing enough work, and in the long-run, not doing my job. I was asked to choose what it was I wanted to be doing.

So, I sat on his e-mail. I thought about it. Admittedly, it made me mad. I was doing everything he asked and had cancelled our meeting because I had to be sitting in a test twenty minutes after a meeting with him was meant to start. I know the professor. I know his habits and what he does. And I know that a twenty minute meeting quickly drags into an hour or more. I’ve watched him ignore the clock for meetings he’s supposed to be at so he can push a lot of information at me. The cancellation, on my part, was in order that we have time to actually meet and so that I was not flustered when I sat down to take the test. He has that tendency.

I used the test as my reason for canceling the meeting.

Anyway, I thought about it, calmed down, decided what was important to me, and then proceeded to do what I do when dealing with frustrations like this. I won’t bore y’all with the details. The point is that I spent a long day deciding what was important to me, in my life, and what I needed to do to survive and accomplish my objectives.

Coincidentally, I’d started a freelance job writing scripts for an ESL program that is being produced in partnership with BYU and I went to speak to that professor. The outcome of that talk seemed rather positive as he described to me the scope of the ESL program as well as what he expected from me in the long run; as well as other students. We even talked a bit about characters and then planned our regular meeting the next day. It was fun.

At ten o’clock at night, same day as the first professor’s e-mail, I sat down and re-read an e-mail I’d written earlier in the day. At one point it seemed important to me to get my thoughts down on paper (virtual) about why I would walk away from the job and my understanding of what was going on. I sent the e-mail indicating that I would turn in my last time card on Friday (three days ago) and would make this my official separation from the professor and the job. In the e-mail I thanked him for the confidence he showed in me and the opportunities he gave to me. I also stated that I felt it was time to move on as I could not guarantee (with wedding plans and other things) that I could give him the time and focus he needed to accomplish what he wanted to accomplish.

It seemed kind of weird to me to do that. To walk away from a job I am, would be, and was good at. It seems weird and strange to me that I would comfortably walk away from a sure paycheck for the rest of the time I’m at BYU for… well… who knows what. Granted, I am working somewhere else, but it is also a contractual position. It could go away any time. But, at the same time, I felt that if I was going to succeed in the areas I want to be successful, I needed to separate myself from the professor and the job in order to accomplish what needs to be accomplished.

I think the point is that I am hitting a rather interesting time in my life where I am dealing with the ins and outs of something I’d tried not to have happen, unemployment. And even though I am not, technically, unemployed, there is still a personal notion of that taking place in my life as I wait for the project to get to a paying point and as I wait to see what is about to happen. This is something I honestly wasn’t aiming for in my life. I didn’t want to get to this point and have everything tossed up in the air again. It feels tossed and in the air and yet, I am very comfortable with what is happening to, and around, me.

Anyway, thought I’d update the reading world on my life in that area.

Oh, still getting married. Still August 3rd (for those keeping track). We get to have some engagement pictures taken soon. Probably not done professionally so that the announcement can go into newspapers in different parts of the world… err, U.S. And it seems that we are also coming to the point in the year where I need to come up with names and addresses for Save the Date cards and Announcements and Invitations to go out. We spent, Erin and I, a portion of last night discussing who and how many people needed to be invited to the Temple… I said, “Six,” and then named them. Which was six total and not Erin and me and then six additional people. Erin didn’t say anything, but in not saying anything you could hear the, “NO!” in her voice so… sounds like it will be more than six people; though I did rattle off a list of people that didn’t need to be invited.

Beyond that life progresses as life is wont to progress, I guess. Off to other things.

John Hattaway | smokingpen | Denny Crane | Alicia Grey | Zach Johnson

Several years ago I traveled all over the United States. On Monday morning I would wake up, finish packing a bag, drive to the airport, park my car, get on an airplane and fly to some destination. Often, for me, this was either (or included) Atlanta, GA. However, I went to Florida, Washington D.C., New York City, Los Angeles and other fun and exciting destinations. Life on the road was… fun.

If I was lucky I’d be back on a plane Thursday or Friday and would return home. Once (Atlanta) I left town, was told I’d be gone for three weeks and came back six months later. The cost of parking my car was astronomical. The company paid for it, anyway, but it caused me to take taxis and shuttles to the airport. I was done with long-term parking. On the flipside, I’ve been in taxis and shuttles all over the country and have never felt as scared and … well, terrified as I did in those vehicles in Salt Lake City, UT – and I spent a lot of time in New York City where driving a car for the New York uninitiated isn’t really an option.

When I started out working for this company, and traveling to a variety of locations, my objective was to get a room as high in the hotel as possible. Many of the hotels were either really nice business class or really nice resort class accommodations. In the Atlanta experience, the hotel was completely open on the inside and the higher you got the better the view (down) from the door to your room. It was an adventure.

As time went by (again, Atlanta) and I’d get moved around or have to return to Utah to be chewed out for not doing my job (hotel installed, problems existed with firmware that, since I am not a programmer, was somehow my fault), I started asking the hotel to put me as close to the ground floor as possible. By the time my room was on the lowest level (same hotel – it took a while) the hotel was pretty close to being fixed and they pulled me out to stick someone else in.

From that time forward I was decided on where I would stay in the hotels I was assigned to work in. When I got to a hotel, it could be only two stories tall, my request was always to be on the bottom floor. In my mind, as long as that was true I was getting out of the hotel very quickly. My average for a two week install was sub-five days and since I was paid for two weeks on sight I would have a week off; on top of which, since I was one of very few people who could make or change flight plans, I was generally home much sooner than the company often realized.

In short, I’d developed a superstition about installing what was installed in hotels and, as a result, I allowed that superstition to actively function as a part of my life.

I realized this, the other day, as Erin and I were checking into a hotel for her mom (who was coming into town later that day) and my initial thought was, “Erin should request a room as high in the building as possible,” and then, “Wait. No. As low as possible.” Instead, I stood outside between her car and mine and waited for her to check into the hotel. The hotel has 13 or 15 floors, we were in the section that had eight floors, and her mom was on the sixth floor. In Atlanta the lowest you could go would be the tenth floor. Below that, it was conference rooms, office, restaurants, amenities, and other things.

So, Erin’s mom came into town. As you know we are getting married. Before the whole engagement thing, she was planning to come out just to visit. Part of the purpose, possibly the whole purpose, was to plan some things face to face, to get feedback from Erin and me, about various aspects to the wedding.

They called me yesterday and asked if I wanted to go to dinner with them. I said, “Yes.” They picked me up. We drove to the restaurant (really, really, really bad service). And then they said, “We want to go over some of the plans for the wedding… oh, and you’re trapped.”

Erin’s mom pointed out that I could walk; I pointed out that I had no problem walking and then we walked into the restaurant. Did I say it was really bad service? Really. Bad. Service.

The outcome, and it came down the pipe multiple times yesterday, was that Erin found the dress. They asked, at one point (because I prompted the question) whether I wanted to know what they spent. My answer, “No,” didn’t seem satisfactory. In the end, though, I still don’t know.

Erin said that I wasn’t allowed to know what the dress looked like. This is a superstition. She likes the dress. She is convinced that I will like the dress (I like her, she likes the dress, therefore I should like the dress). She told me that I would, most likely not, dislike the shoes that were chosen to go with the dress. However, it was against her belief about weddings to tell me about the dress or for me to have any mental image of this dress, in particular. All that I can know is that it is an ivory color.

There is a tradition, in life, that the groom cannot see the dress before the wedding. In short, I cannot see the dress before we are married. We will be married before I actually get to see the dress. The superstition is that if I see the dress in advance it will negatively affect the marriage – with the outcome being that we won’t get married.

I found the notion interesting.

My fiancé is excited about her dress. All she wanted to talk about yesterday was the dress. It was fun to see her excitement; and it was fun that finding the right dress caused her to want, and be willing, to actively talk about wedding plans.

We discussed, and this is really interesting to me, the language that will be used on the wedding invitations and announcements. We discussed the ways we wanted to transfer information to different groups of people. We discussed who those groups would be. You have to think about these things. You have to think:

Who is going to be invited to the temple?
Who is going to be invited to the open house here?
Who is going to be invited to the ring ceremony?
Who is going to be invited to the reception in Massachusetts?
Who just gets an announcement stating that we are married; getting married; have been married?

On top of this we discussed, mostly, the ins-and-outs of the ring ceremony in Massachusetts and who would be involved in what capacity while out there. We discussed accommodations and other things. It was an interesting conversation. They tried to discuss, with me, the tux – but I said, “You should pick what tuxedo you want me to wear and then tell me.” Truth told, I really do prefer jeans and a variety of pull-over shirts with the odd button up shirt untucked and the cuffs unbuttoned. When it comes to a tuxedo, I’m a little on the ambivalent side of things; or I can’t be bothered, and yet, if I don’t speak I can’t be heard; and if I’m not heard I can’t complain when something doesn’t turn out the way I think or want.