We have an air date for the final episode of Minor Revisions! It will air this Thursday, February 7th, at 9 PM ET (8 PM CT). For those of you who missed it, Episode 2 will air an hour earlier, at 8 PM ET. I’m warming up my Twitter account now.
Did I mention that I am a producer? That’s right, the actual producer of Minor Revisions ever so generously named me a co-producer, and I even now have my own IMDB page that confirms it! You have NO IDEA how much mileage I’m going to get out of this. I’ve been spending an extremely inappropriate amount of time thinking about this, and here are some initial ideas (just thought starters here — many, many more to come):
- When I call a restaurant to make dinner reservations, use a fake voice and say, “I’m calling to make a reservation for the PRODUCER, Jennifer Fulwiler. Is your best table available tonight?” (I realize that I currently can only afford to dine at Chili’s when we go out, and I’m not sure that they take reservations. But it’s worth a shot. Maybe I’ll get the table right under the blinking neon pepper.)
- Start spouting off bold, controversial opinions about popular TV shows, declaring authoritatively which ones should be enshrined among the classics and which are an embarrassment to the human species. Barely contain my eagerness as I wait for someone to say, “What on earth gives you the authority to say that?” And then I can respond with well-rehearsed nonchalance, “Well, I am a producer.”
- Use this credential to sneak my way on to the set of Season 4 of Downton Abbey and fix all this nonsense I’ve been hearing about (no, I still haven’t watched Season 3, but I’ve heard rumors). This idea is not as fleshed out as the others. I mean, I’m not entirely clear on how I will translate my sparse IMDB page to me hanging out with Julian Fellowes and having him beg for my feedback on what he can do better, so I’m open to ideas on this one. Remember, there are no bad ideas in brainstorming.
The producer (not me, the real one) emailed me to say that they’re putting together an official show logo thingy soon. I don’t know what the term is for this kind of thing. It’s one of these:
She asked if I could go ahead and send over a current full-body picture of myself for their graphics team to work with. I tried to find a polite way to say “THERE IS NO WAY.” I mean, I could have some fun with it if I didn’t currently look and feel like a beached whale, but, as it is, “Taking head-to-toe photos of myself to be widely distributed in a public forum” is about #1, 708 on my List of Things I Am Inclined to Do Right Now. It wouldn’t even be a good representation of the show, considering that it was all filmed back in the days when I was still among the living. Any shots of me taken today would mislead people into thinking that the show is about people who are angry about being tired.
No one has ever been more anxious to see a month end. It began with the pulmonary embolisms. Then I continued to feel worse, even as my lungs got better, and it turned out I’m seriously anemic. Then my grandfather got sick. Then our babysitter got sick. Then our backup babysitter got sick. Then, with babysitters still out of commission, both of our moms went out of town at the same time. Then our son started throwing up. The day he finally got better, our five-year-old vomited all over the dinner table. Yesterday was the big day that my mom was finally back in town, and I hesitantly but hopefully called her to emphasize how very much her grandchildren missed her (which was true, but also a not-so-thinly-veiled hint that she invite them all to come visit IMMEDIATELY)…and as soon as she picked up the phone, I could hear that she is now sick too.
I emailed Joe to tell him of this latest development. He replied:
I feel like Samuel L. Jackson on Snakes on a Plane. “I am getting *&^$#^ tired of these *&&$% snakes up on this &*$# plane!”
Except for me it’s not snakes. It’s life.
…But on the bright side, at least he didn’t eat calamari that turned out to be pig rectums!
(via the Perfect Health Diet blog, where I get amazing health advice as well as all my accidental-pig-rectum-eating-related news.)
I should amend #4 to note that the puking thing is my fault. Short of running out onto our back porch and shouting at the universe that I JUST DARE IT to send the stomach flu to our house, there is nothing I could have done to call down the ire of the Puke Fates (the delinquent cousins of the Poop Fates) that I did not already do.
You see, the day after I got home from the hospital I was on the phone with a friend, and noted, “IT IS AMAZING THAT NO ONE IN THIS HOUSE HAS BEEN SICK SINCE 2009!!!!!” (I didn’t actually shout the statement, but that’s the only proper way to type up that kind of maniacal hubris.) “SERIOUSLY, THE LAST TIME ANYONE AROUND HERE CAUGHT ANYTHING MORE THAN A COLD WAS OVER THREE YEARS AGO, ” I continued, the vague rumbling I heard in the background being the Puke Fates gathering to unleash their fury. “AND OUR YOUNGER KIDS EVEN GO TO PRESCHOOL A COUPLE MORNINGS EACH WEEK. I GUESS WE JUST HAVE IMPENETRABLE IMMUNE SYSTEMS OR SOMETHING, HA HA HA!!!” I should have immediately pulled up my calendar and put “Everyone in House Vomiting Up Everything But Their Toenails” for the entire next week.
To end the week with a bang, I present to you Les Miserables, the gluten-free version (courtesy of Kathleen).
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