Hi, again. This is your friendly neighborhood spidercapper reporting. There have been a few follies in serving you all, what with propping up TV antennae and tracking FedEx packages. Recapping for Celebrity Mole deserves a recap in itself.
I recently bought and moved into a new house, and while it's not exactly out in the boonies, it's also not exactly within spitting distance of any local station affiliates. For instance, I don't catch NBC. Huge, major network, and I just don't catch it. Celebrity Mole is on ABC, and, frankly, I had not watched any shows on ABC in my new house before agreeing to recap the show. At 9:56, just before the premiere episode of The Mole, I turned on the TV and watched with horror as I saw the scrolling lines and the sharp hues. It was like turning on the cable TV at a hotel room and tooling about with the remote, only to realize that there are a lot of porn channels that you just don't catch (I'm sure Mark Curry knows this feeling well). The lines zigzag, and you make out the audio, but the video is just not visible.
At 9:58, with enough antenna twisting and adjusting and moving-about, I finally had to try holding it in different positions in mid-air. Before the show aired, I found a position that worked. It meant kneeling just in front of the TV, my elbow leaning on a chair and the antenna in my hands hovering about four feet off the ground. My left hand didn't move for an hour. I didn't even jump ship for peanut butter and chocolate. With my right hand I did what every writer does when agitated and nestled a mere foot from a skinny-dipper on TV.
I wrote. I took notes. I scribbled a bunch of lines that looked like, "T-jkwjdanc siour saojw rht apsiujajao." Then, at 11 I checked my e-mail, swigged some iced tea, and called it a night. In the morning I stared blankly at eight pages of scrawling notes and hoped beyond hope that I would quote the right person saying whichever thing.
This continued for several episodes. My left arm strengthened. My right wrist cramped. A string quartet showed up on my doorstep and played a melancholy tune.
This is not to say that I haven't enjoyed every minute of the show or of writing for you and serving you, my precious mole sleuths. It's just to say that I'm a dork.
Anyway, for the fourth episode, I planned to be away. What did I do that evening, and did it involve plastic baggies and a dumpster? Oh, yeah, I had a date. Woo me.
Please hold the applause. I would recount the details of my love life, but this would involve greater folly than I plan to go into in just a few short lines. To write about this aspect would take up the FoRT's whole database. Ever heard of Homer or Tolstoy? These guys were terse.
For the fourth episode, I had arranged for a friend of mine to videotape the show for me while I was out, you know...dating and stuff. The next day I called my trusty Plan B taper, and he was just not around. I suspected he might not have taped the show at all, and sure enough he hadn't. Worried and ashamed, I contacted the writers and admins of the FoRT:
What resulted was that John, our favorite site founder and moderator, pulled the show off his TiVo and sent the videotape to me via FedEx. He called me on my cell while I was commenting on student essays in a coffee shop.Originally Posted by shayla
Has anyone ever had the experience of speaking on the phone with someone you know and love only virtually? I'm not talking about all the 1-900 numbers that mysteriously appeared on some of your phone bills.
Basically, so as not to disturb the patrons of the coffee shop, I set aside my green pen and stepped out. He told me he would sent a tape. I thanked him profusely. I said I was embarrassed. He said that this happens to everyone. I wasn't sure if he meant that everyone, at some point or other, completely misses taping an episode or that they arrange for social time when they're supposed to be watching a TV show. Having done both, I just nodded a lot and said, "OK." It's weird; I'm kind of casual and silly in public. On the phone with a person from "the other side," I totally clammed up. I was on the phone with John, the King of the FoRT. Who wouldn't?
To sum, I was relieved to know that I wouldn't have to choose Option 8, I graded the rest of my papers, and taught for 8 hours. Hmm--there were eight tentacles on each of the octopi that the players picked up from the vendor. Excellent, Dr. Watson.
Back to my discussion with the moderators and writers: John posted the tracking number for everyone to see, and it became a communal activity of cheering on a cross-country videotape. When I returned from Town NoName, the package was leaning up against my front door. Huzzah! I hit the proverbial hay, woke up 8 hours later, watched the tape, and posted the 4th episode recap (4 is half of 8) for the perusal of all of you. I posted it late, but better late than never.
Watching the fifth episode, I didn't have video for the first ten minutes. I screwed around with the antenna while cursing and writing. Compared to the fourth episode crisis and the resultant emergency shipment, this one was a piece of cake. And the icing is that I recap for one of the coolest sites on the net, among some of the most eloquent, kind, and witty people. The FoRT truly rocks!