This entry is brought to you by the tiny Larry King inside my head. The one who can’t keep track of an idea enough to see it to the… is that candy?!?

Oh, man, oh, man. Wendy’s new birthday entry is crazy-funny. Happy birthday, Wendy. I hate that I’ve only met you once. And “Caucasian Shashlik” is the name of my folk album.

Tonight’s Letterman is made just for me. Will Ferrell, Chris Rock, Crispin Glover, Jake Johannsen. When Letterman’s out with the Shingles, they bring back Crispin. I wonder if he’ll kick Will Ferrell in the head. “That’s for Old School,” I’d shout.

Random thoughts. That’s all I’ve got today. Random thoughts, a pile of work, and the guilt over not having updated in a couple of days.

I’m about to do my taxes. It’s always a surprise, like when you slide that credit card that you know is just about maxxed out, but you think maybe you can add one night’s worth of groceries. That “Come on, no Whammies, no Whammies, STOP!” moment.

Sometimes after I write an entry, I picture my mom reading it. She skims the entire thing and thinks, “I don’t understand a word she just said, but I love my daughter.” That makes me happy.

Oh, I’ve got nothing. There’s nothing in my head today to entertain you. I’ve been writing and cleaning all week. This makes for a really boring update. I saw Moonlight Mile. pamie.com moved servers. I had some email problems. None of this makes an entry.

Taylor ate a cigarette wrapper that he found in the bathroom trash can (not my cigarettes, I swear) and got sick. He spent all morning moping and pouting, breathing a little heavily. When asked to comment, he responded, “I ate a cigarette wrapper and puked it up! I feel like shit, stupid! Go away!”

If you’re working on a screenplay and you ever want to get really bummed out, I highly recommend this page. One day I’ll be up there, I hope. stee has been (see: The Prom). But when you aren’t up there, that page looks like “Remake, Remake, Remake. Witherspoon, Carrey, Witherspoon, Remake, Remake, Remake, Comic Book, Comic Book, Comic Book, Comic Book, Fallon, Fallon, Comic Book, Jim Carrey’s Comic Books, Witherspoon’s Remake, Fallonspoon’s Carrey, Comics, Books, Books, Remake, Not You, Not You, Never You, Never, Never, Jim Carrey, He Can Do No Wrong. Go See Bruce Almighty. Hollywood Loves Jim Carrey.”

Like Anime? Here’s the series I wrote the American dub for last year.

This blogging thing is hard. I much prefer the journal.

This entry is bullshit. “I love television.”

That’s an old joke about when I used to write that weekly column for Omar’s paper. I now refer to the Statesman as “Omar’s paper,” as I have no proof that anybody else works there. Especially since Heather moved over here.

Anyway, every week I had to write an article about technology. These were due on Fridays, I believe. Well, one Thursday djb was in town and we had all stayed up very late the night before, at what I think was a TWoP party. I think that was the night we sent drunken emails to Wing and Sars updating them on our sobriety levels. That night we were sure we’d all be fired in the morning.

So the next morning I fire up my laptop and try to come up with a single good topic to spit 600-800 words about. And sure I tried to come up with something all week, but I hadn’t. Listen: I can’t work without a deadline. If something isn’t due, I’m not gonna do it. That’s just how I work. If someone doesn’t give me a deadline, I have to make one for myself. Omar used to say, “You know, whenever, Friday or Thursday would be fine.” I’d say, “Tell me Wednesday, then, and you’ll get it Wednesday.” I can make any deadline, you just have to set one.

So.

I’m working at the last sliver of hourglass left for my Friday deadline on that particular week’s “Webhead” article. My brain hurts. I might still be just a little drunk. I’m pretty sure djb was beside me watching a Roswell so he could write an almost-tardy recaplet. I’m cuddling a mug of coffee, trying to make my mind wrap around a concept. Something fresh and witty that discusses technology in a way that maybe we haven’t explored before. Something young and hip, something that says, “Pamela Ribon is cool. She’s got it going on in ways I’ve never even recognized. I should send her some fan mail.”

I squinted into the air and let the muse guide me.

I typed: “I love television.”

So simple. Such bold opening words. Three little words that say, quite clearly, just who I am and what I think I’m doing here.

I. Love. Television.

Truer words never spoken. Right beside me, someone was watching television! See! It’s true! I use the television. I love some of the things it shows me. I love television.

So, where do we go from there? I love television. I love television. IlovetelevisionIlovetelevisionIlovetelevision….

“What are you doing? Is that your Statesman article?”

I’m pretty sure I somehow had chocolate all over my face when I looked up, and that my laptop had transformed into a cookie jar.

“Hmm?”

stee was wearing his most incredulous face. “Are you writing a fake entry? That’s not an article, is it?”

“I need some more coffee.”

“I love television? That’s not journalism. This is for a newspaper.”

djb joined in the chant. “I love television!” he sing-songed. “Dear Austin. I love television. Love, Pamie.”

Stee: “Now send me a check, Omar!”

It is a lot of fun to do while you make the typey-hands, all prissy and snotty, in front of you.

“I love television. Pulitzer!”

“I got it, you guys.”

stee leaned over my keys. “What is it? Open apple delete?”

djb: “Here’s a list of other things I love: Chocolate. Pixie dust. Giraffes! Dear Zoos. I love giraffes. Please publish this article in your next issue of Zoo Weekly.”

stee: “I love coffee. Do I get free coffee now?”

djb: “I love money.”

stee: “Dear Austin. Pick up a phone, because I’m about to write my article for this week. Save and…Send!”

pamie: “I really do love television, you guys.”

And to continue with PLAY, PLAY, SCREENPLAY, BOOK:

Borders has a different description of Why Girls Are Weird. I like this one because it’s a little less dramatic.