In the promos for ABC’s new game show Show Me The Money, they’re really hitting the “William Shatner Is Hosting” angle. But the way they’re doing it…?

They keep playing on the first syllable of his name. “The Shat is Back!” “It’s Shat-tastic!”

Um…does anyone at ABC remember what “shat” means? As in the past tense of “shit”?
From Dictionary.com - shat

::shakes head at America, the retarded cousin of the rest of the world::

Firstly, hi! ::waves:: Little while no post. And I still haven’t told you how I was an appliance for Halloween. I swear I’ll be getting to that soon.

Lil’, scattered update on stuff you should know: I went to see FUCK: The Documentary on Monday, a goofy, kick-ass exploration of the English language’s most flexible yet controversial word. It’s got animation by Bill Plympton and tonight’s its last night at the Nuart, L.A. people! (Sorry I didn’t let you know sooner) I had a smashing time, except for one thing: while at said movie, I sat in the cushy, adjustable chair, enjoying the roomy aisle with my feet up on the armrest between the seats in front of me. When I got up…my lower back hurt so bad I could barely stand up. After three days it’s even worse. Do you know what this means? I strained something while sitting. I am apparently too out of shape for sitting. The good news is, my chiropractor and/or acupuncturist will be getting some money soon.

And for some picspam, here’s something from the L.A. Times, another example of why California will always be known as the Granola State: chock full of nuts and flakes.

Midday streak:A nude man is apprehended on the 405 freeway around noon today after he was seen running in freeway lanes near Sunset Blvd.

(Mike Dworkin / For the Times) November 14, 2006

Remember when I posted about how I wondered what happened to my ex-job-mates from Tempo Records, particularly my ex-manager? Well, would you believe that after that post, I heard from him in less than a week? (I suppose if you read the comments you would…) And isn’t that INSANE??

Here’s how it worked: I have a friend from high school (also named Ken) who’s read the blog before. HE has a sister who is the ex-girlfriend of Ken the Manager. Ken the Not-Manager calls sister, sister calls Ken the Manager, next thing you know Ken the Manager is commenting on the very post that asked about him. I’m still flabbergasted. This interwebs thing is magic, I tells ya, magic!

So I email Ken (the Manager), and he emails me back, gallantly offering to buy me lunch if I should come by his new place of General Management, a Borders in the valley. This means that when I call him at said Borders and wait for someone to go get him, I discover he still works at a place where there is pop-rock hold music. Ah, the more things change…

Lunch turns out to be dinner, since he’s working the evening shift. I go to the specified Borders at the specified time and wander around till we spot each other. There’s always this weird thing when you meet someone you haven’t seen in forever . You figure you’ll know them when you see them, but if they haven’t mentioned anything about their current appearance, you can’t be sure there won’t be variables in play. Especially after 15 years. Will your old acquaintance have made friends with those years, fought them with kicking and screaming and artificial parts, or succumbed sadly after a thorough beating? Which of those three will your friend decide is true about you? Gained weight is pretty common among both genders, although meeting a woman who hasn’t gained an ounce sometimes makes me supress an urge to hit her with a shovel. When you meet men there are Hair Considerations: will his hair have abandoned him and made him feel self-conscious? If it has and I notice it, will he notice me noticing it, get embarrassed and dive into an open manhole even though I mean no harm? Will he be in denial and grooming it ridiculously so that I can’t look at his head for the whole conversation? I have to say that men’s disappearing hair is a total non-issue with me, but for the men who have it it seems scarily like the fat issue for women — all fear, no logic.

Luckily, when he walks into view I recognize him with no problem, and according to both our opinions of each other we look almost exactly like we used to. The main change I noticed was that he had relocated some hair from the vicinity of his neck — where it used to reside as length — and cleverly converted it into a nicely-groomed beard/goatee thingy on his chin. We seemed at ease relatively quickly, a decent example of that “picking up right where you left off” feeling you get with some people.

So, what was discussed at this historic summit? Well, lemme tell ya… First off it was held at a local deli that brought more food with each order than any one person could ever consume in his or her lifetime. He’d read my “88 Things…” page, and had some questions (who wouldn’t?), which I answered. I told him about some of my past but tried not to talk about myself the entire time, since I easily can. He told me about his work history and confirmed that the owners of the Tempo chain turned sleazy and somewhat financially-criminal at the end, and told me what to Google if I wanted to see a lot of court papers about it. He said he once managed the Borders in my hometown and that the people there were so nice as to make the job mind-numbingly boring. (I laughed and asked if he actually wanted crabby people — “Keeps me hopping,” he said.) He remembered his in-store-stereo antics, and I remembered his Eeyore impression. He said when he knew me before he always thought of me as this out-to-conquer-the-showbiz-world kinda kid, who unfortunately was completely green and knew nothing about what I was getting into. He was afraid I was going to go out and get eaten alive and end up bitter in a trailer park or something. He said I always used to listen to the conversations of the other employees really intently, like I wanted to soak it all up but they were going too fast for me. It was really interesting — I’d never thought of myself like that.

We compared notes on being astonishingly pale humans who nevertheless once dated black folks. We discussed those “fill in these questions and send them to your friends!” emails that provide Too Much Information. We compared which famous people we’d met — I’d met George Lucas, he’d met Paul McCartney - equilibrium was achieved. We also confirmed that I had not actually slept with any of these famous people (except for one long-shot possibility who really only counts if you squint). He mentioned how he’d always considered me braver than him, in terms of performing, etc. Not a bad thing to be remembered for, especially when I’d spent the last 15 years thinking I’d been an embarrassment to myself every day I’d worked at his store.

So the meal concluded, we went back to the Borders parking lot. At this point I’m reasonably sure I yammered too long and kept him from getting back to work when he needed to, but hey, *I* didn’t have anything to do afterward, and isn’t it really all about ME in the end?

Speaking of the end (of the story), we’re there. I suppose ought to be saying something pithy or thought-provoking about revisiting the past, but God’s honest, I can’t think of a thing. Besides, who of the people who know me would want to read that anyway? This isn’t a frakkin’ Hallmark card. (Uh oh, geek reference…) I guess I’ll just mention that Ken did instruct me to post about our meeting and said he’d comment to tell me if I got it right…which could be seen as his continuing to manage me even though I no longer work for him. To which I say: Let it go, Ken - let it go.

* I considered naming this post “Picking Up The Tempo,” but then you’d legally be allowed to throw rocks at my head.

Okay, I haven’t voted yet, and have been about as unconnected to this election as it is possible to be, but I do know how I want to vote on 87 and received this morning a page full of recommendations from someone I trust. So, voting seems more possible. But! I applied for an absentee ballot a long time ago, and it came, and now I’ve waited too long to send it in. All is lost, right? Wrong! IT’S THE INTERNET TO THE RESCUE!

I Googled “find your polling place ‘los angeles’”, and found a page with this:

It’s the Los Angeles County Registrar Recorder Polling Place Lookup And Sample Ballot Locator. [*whew! ::breathes in a lungful of air::] It’s at http://lavote.net/locator/, and has maps to the location and everything! If you’re as scattered as me and have no idea where the hell you’d go to vote, IT’S NOT TOO LATE! And if you’re not in Los Angeles but on the west coast at least, or in, say, Hawaii, and the polls haven’t closed yet then there’s PROBABLY ONE WHERE YOU LIVE! And even if it is too late, YOU CAN PROBABLY USE IT OR ONE LIKE IT FOR NEXT YEAR!

I love the internets like…well, like *I* love cake.

Coming soon: Results of the Tempo Records post, and How I Was An Appliance For Halloween.