Mass media convergences (subtitle: I really, really need a nap (and probably one or several drinks))

Typing on a computer from the comfort and safety of your couch at home? EASY.

Having a television crew come into your home and make you talk and answer questions and think (ouch!), and move from here to there and pretend to type on your computer and be filmed "looking natural" and stuff? HARD.

Listen, I'm not complaining. How many people in their lifetime have such an experience? How many people have it MULTIPLE FREAKING TIMES? Okay, so I wouldn't go so far as to call it a gift or anything feel-good and Oprah-y like that -- I mean, it's really not all that much fun to be perfectly honest, unless you're one of those assholes who genuinely enjoys things like going to the dentist and getting mammograms -- but it IS pretty interesting, the whole TV thing. Well that and absurdly nerve-wracking. And exhausting. And Twilight Zone-type surreal and unbelievably freaky. Yeah, that too.

Speaking of surreal and unbelievably freaky, did I mention that the camera crew who was here yesterday killed the ceiling fan in our dining room mid video shoot with a boom mike? And that the fan blade the rogue boom mic amputated flew across the room and extended the carnage by smashing a delicate tiffany-blue frosted drinking glass from a irreplaceable antique pitcher set a dear friend gave me as a present years ago when I lived in Michigan? Yeah, that's right: TV fucking hates me, man.

Note useless silver nubbin where blade should be. TV's beheadtastic assassination plot against me = FAIL.

Speaking of TV hating me, please know that I will not DARE speak the name of the televisual outfit that came to film me to you or anyone else (except to confide that it is indeed a major network show all of you have actually heard of) until I am fully and completely assured this shit is going on air. HOWEVER, I will say that the show isn't Inside Edition, because as we all know Inside Edition blows lame syndicated chunks, and they can suck my physically-non-existent-but-very-real-and-vivid-in-my-imagination DICK.

Harsh, you say? Distasteful, you say? Well listen friend, it's those Inside Edition folks that made me downright AFRAID to deal with TV people, what with their "Oh yeah, we're DEFINITELY airing your piece tomorrow! Be sure to tell everyone you know and broadcast the news on the internet!" bit that within 12 hours morphed into "Oh Heath Ledger died and he's more important than you so we're shelving your piece forever hahahahaaaa and we hope the whole internet laughs at you, stupid blogger." (Okay, so no one actually said that, but they might as well have, such is my residual frothing bitterness and mistrust.) So I feel entitled to a little lingering animosity. (Okay, A LOT.) (I may need some kind of supportive anger management therapy.)

Speaking of my frothing bitterness and mistrust, perhaps the funniest thing about the whole experience of yesterday was just how sure I was that it WAS NOT going to happen, because TV peoples are Lying McLiarpantses, and my trust is DEAD, DEAD I SAY! So deep was my mistrust that up until the exact moment the producer called me from the car as she was driving over to my house I didn't believe any of it was actually going to come to fruition. Nope, I hadn't picked out clothes to wear, or vacuumed, or in any other way prepared myself for the experience. She called and said she was on her way and I was all "OH FUCK, guess I'd better take a shower now! SHIIIIIIIIIIT!" God I'm an asshole.

Turns out I liked the producer lady a lot. She laughed at my jokes, and let me randomly show her that video of Conan O'Brien playing Rock Band during the recent writer's strike (don't ask). I like people who humor me and embrace my internet geekitude, basically.

This same producer promised -- and I quote -- to camp out in her network offices if she had to to ensure they'll show the piece. I nodded and smiled, but inside was of course thinking: RIIIIIGGGHT. That's what those two-faced Inside Edition bastards said. LIES! FILTHY BIG MEDIA LIES!!1!!!

Speaking of things that are big and filthy (okay, so I'm stretching the literary device a bit at this point), the TV segment filmed yesterday was, of course, all about ye olde Fox vs. Truman copyright fiasco, aka The Media Thing That Ate My Brain And Wouldn't Die. Oh sure, I'm all for preaching the gospel of Owning Your Shit and The Little Guy/Gal Standing Up To Corporate Thievery, don't get me wrong. But I'm also getting just a wee bit tired of going over the same territoryzzzzzzzzzzz. Increasingly I suspect this ongoing attention has absolutely nothing to do with dry, cerebral legalities like ownership and digital rights, and is in reality all about people wanting to see more of Truman and his glorious fawn-colored fluffiness. You people can't fool me, I can see into your deceitful, pug-hungry souls.

And to your pug-hungry souls I say: Rejoice! Lift up your eyes!

I'm ready for my close-up, Mister Cameradude

Anyway after this final showcase Truman is DONE with TV. He now wants a role in film. Or he may just move into directing, which he tells me is his true passion.

I'll let you guys know the deets about when the thing is going to be on, and on what show (is sekret!), and on what channel (shhh!), just as soon as I'm absolutely, thoroughly convinced it's really, truly happening. Which might be, you know, never.

...And so began the June 2008 Sweetney Network TV Appearance Death Watch. Join me in my grueling kettle-that-will-never-boil oggling, won't you?

Oh yeah, and our local public radio station here in Baltimore, WYPR, interviewed me this week too. That delightful audio nugget should be airing Friday on their show called The Signal -- I'll hook you all up with a direct link to the podcast once I have it (locals, it's on Friday at 12 noon and repeats at 7pm). I'll be talking about blogging, with nary a mention of dogs or copyright -- INCREDIBLE.

Listening To Tracey Talk About Shit Fever -- catch it, people!

PS: The linkblog loves you. Do you love the linkblog? (Bats eyes)