Monday, October 06, 2003
Monday, Monday Dept.
Take away my fleet of lime-green Oldsmobiles, take away a number of my first amendment rights, hell, rub some A-1 on half of Siegfried and Roy and sic a crazed white tiger on him. But, whatever Supreme Being or Prime Mover you believe in help you, don't take away my broadband.
There's a broadband outage at the New, Improved Hollywood compound. A team of technical support personnel assured me it was a problem on their end. But I suspect it was Harrison Ford's publicist (or Instapundit) cutting my cable line or releasing a powerful magnetic pulse from a black van outside Compound 2.0's wrought iron gate. She gets cranky when I don't mention him for an extended period.
Even more than a poolside foie gras plate at Brad and Jen's house, the internet is my lifeblood. Deprive me of my supply and I desiccate and abuse the help.
So I'm forced to resort to driving around town in my H2, my laptop sniffing for a free WiFi connection. I found a fortuitously unsecured connection outside Jennifer Connelly's house, where I wasn't scheduled to watch her come out for the morning paper for a couple of hours. Thanks to her, I'm able to post this modest update before completing my morning rounds at Ford's mansion, where I stand atop the Hummer and decry his recent box office performance with a megaphone. Sometimes I throw in a joke about Calista being unhealthily thin, often referencing a broom or mop handle.
That'll teach him to cut me off from my supply.