Quality Television

Found this link to the Archive of American Television on YouTube.

This channel is a treasure trove delving into the history of Television containing many in depth interviews with producers, writers, actors, executives, etc. From Harvey Korman to Carol Spinney (Big Bird), this site impresses me with the sheer volume of background info on the shows we remember and the industry who gave us them.

I suggest checking them out, it's a bowl of nostalgia mixed in with fascinating insight!

For those who haven't seen this, I recommend grabbing a cold drink, some Kleenex and making sure that your chair is nice and comfy.

This lecture was given on September 18, 2007 by Carnegie Mellon Professor Randy Pausch, who died today from complications of pancreatic cancer. It lasts approximately 75 minutes and is simply one of those videos that makes you laugh, think and get a little misty-eyed.

Enjoy.

Made this eons ago with some childhood pals of mine. The quality is horrendus, the script was just barely above horrible and the acting was downright embarrassing.

Still, it was a ton of fun to make and that's all the excuse needed to unleash it upon the world...

...I'm so sorry.

For well over eight years now, I have enjoyed using the term "hope they get hit by a Capitol Metro bus."

I can no longer use it now thanks to politicians, the media and to the now widespread usage of the recently created cliche, "throw (or thrown) under a bus." This fills me with great rage because I used my expression when it was funny.

People would chuckle, nay, guffaw when, in fits of frustration, I would mutter, "I hope that asshat gets hit by a CapMetro." Now, not even a nervous cough. My joke is now rendered sterile thanks to popular culture.

In fact, I just heard someone outside my office say "she really got thrown under a bus there."

That was MY line, you THIEVING COMMUNIST BASTARDS!

Now I understand why Michael Buffer was so adamant in registering his famous catch phrase, "let's get ready to ruuuummmmbbbbllllllleeeeee!" He had a vision, even if he was still a complete tool.

So, I need a new catch phrase. One of my very own.

One that will be able to convey my complete disgust for others while at the same time make people laugh. A phrase that will stand the test of time and possibly even etch into my tombstone and will be mine eternally.

"Here Lies Robert...
(Insert clever catch phrase here.)"

That and I want a pony.

Went down to San Antonio to visit friends who were in from out of town.

Now, the thing that gives me the red ass is when you've actually lived somewhere and people who haven't refuse to listen to the voice of reason.

Take for example... The Riverwalk.

I know where to eat and where to not go. For example, you do not go to the first food stop on the river simply because you are starving wicked hungry and MUST eat and have a margarita first.

Against my better counsel, that's exactly what happened. The service was atrocious, the food was WAAAAY overpriced and the topper was the band. Get this, they had a pretty reasonable lineup for the most part. The guitar player was good, the drummer was good, the bass player/vocalist was good. The guy playing the synthesizer?

He sucked the life out of the whole band.

First off, his keyboard was way too loud. Secondly, he liked to get overly creative with his instrumentals. I don't care how much of a musical genius you think you are, NO ONE thinks that inserting the shower drama music from Psycho into a country music love song is EVER a good idea.

After that, we stopped into Durty Nelly's which is fairly decent. Kind of a grimy Irish-piano-bar-pub kind of feel to it. We drank nicely before retreating back to my friends' hotel room.

Soon, hunger struck again and they had the urge to get food. My suggestion was IHOP, since I knew the near-downtown location well enough to know that it was a good late night suggestion.

They, however, decided to once again go against my counsel and chose Denny's instead.

Having had TWO bad experiences with Denny's (in two other locations), I was for damn sure not going to eat there. But being overruled, we went anyways.

For background on the past incidents:

1) Denny's incident #1 - My brother found chewing gum in his food. No, I am NOT making that up.
2) Denny's incident #2 - I ordered a hamburger and was treated to a burger that was cooked on the outside but frozen solid on the inside.

Those, plus the fact that the lighting in Denny's gives their food this ungodly yellow hue, reasons give me pause alone.

Well, we had the opportunity to sit in a filthy booth in a filthy restaurant surrounded by prostitutes, schizophrenics and drunken louts. I thought I was safe getting the ice cream and brownie (after much urging by my friends to eat something), but the frequent ensuing trips to the Little Loggers' Room for a short while thereafter proved that my hypothesis was thoroughly disproved.

So, next time someone says "hey, let's get us some tasty Denny's" to me, they're getting a salmon to the face.

But, the visit was fun and we still managed a good time, which was really the important thing! Yaaa

Something has always bothered me.

Batman is the secret crimefighting identity of millionaire playboy Bruce Wayne. If the number one priority on his list is protecting said secret identity at all costs, why would he make such an obvious error in judgment:


It doesn't take a supervillian to make a quick stop at the local DMV and run a simple plate info request...

------

BrainDOS has encountered an unexpected prediction fault at Line 0501070908.

(A)bort, (R)etry, (I)gnore, (F)ail? r

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Part of this post stemmed from a comment I made on Protoclown's journal earlier this morning. This particular entry was friend's only, but the general gist is that he was having to deal with people who commented on yesterday's shooting at Virginia Tech as being a crime that is a result of the shooter's ethnic background and not taking into account that the person responsible was almost assuredly a "disturbed and troubled individual."

I will start here by reposting the comment I made on his post as well as adding more of my own recent thoughts:

"Those in Austin remember all too well Charles Whitman and his senseless rampage at the University of Texas tower over 40 years ago. It saddens me to know that yesterday's spree at Viginia Tech replaced Whitman as the country's worst school rampage in our history.

The thing that surprises me just as it has a friend of mine who pointed this out to me this morning. From the responses that he has been getting is that people pointed to racial stereotypes about yesterday's shooting BEFORE considering the possibility that the gunman was most likely suffering from a psychological disorder. Psychological disorders are not limited to "Islamic tehrrrrorissts," and that is something that has been especially ignored conveniently.

I cite as examples:

Charles Whitman, The Manson Family, The DC Snipers, Timothy McVeigh, George Henard, Adolf Hitler, Josef Stalin, Jeffrey Dahmer, David Koresh, Jim Jones...

Point is that there is a ton of ignorance in this world that states that differences in race, religion, financial status, gender matter. In the Grand Scheme, they don't. Or at least, they shouldn't. Too much emphasis is placed in society (by the media, governments, entertainment outlets and by the individual choices that people make) on dividing us by what makes us "different" instead of uniting us by our common Human bond and celebrating what makes us different.

In some cases, it's subtle, in most cases it's not. We've been fighting amongst ourselves over these things for thousands of years and realistically none of that will ever end. The only hope we have left in this world is for people to start reaching out to their communities and start making choices towards building global cohesion and friendship, not forging hate and ignorance."

To continue my thoughts, this kind of cooperation is seemingly not likely on a global scale.

We are a species that is capable of so much good and enlightenment but, as a species, more often choose the path that leads to such horror and destruction. We Americans spend more on defence annually than we do on educating our children, funding scientific and medical advancements over a four year period.

Think about that for a moment. According to the 2007 budget, our government currently spends 460+/- Billion a year on defence. We spend a combined total of around 114+/- Billion on education, science and technology. If these numbers hold reasonably steady, four years of defence spending would equal SIXTEEN years of spending on education, science and technology.

Am I suggesting that defence isn't important? No, of course not. The world is a tough place and we need to safeguard our citizens and our country from enemies foreign and domestic. Since our country has a proven history of meddling in other people's affairs (and rightly so in certain bonafide cases regarding the interests of promoting world freedom and protecting our nation), we've made ourself a target over the years. It'd be foolish to not be prepared.

We have this general overwhelming sense that as long as American Idol is on this week and that we know once and for all who was the second party who uploaded Anna Nicole's baby's DNA onto the World People Server, all is right in the world. Why should we waste money on going into space when we have Bin Laden to hunt? Why should we properly fund our schools when teachers "make enough money as it is?"

Why should we study history or geography when it "doesn't apply to anything I need to know?"

Our nation has lost general focus on what is important in life. If we are to survive as a species, we must start working together. We focus too much on "entertainment" or unimportant "fluff" issues that the media kindly spoonfeeds us instead of research, education, science, building friendships, promoting cultural togetherness, mending the rift of gender inequality, events and viewpoints in other nations, social cohesion.

Events like the VT shooting are tragic, but that does not give good cause or reason to start lining up the nearest group of people of a race that is different than the one you happen to belong to just because you think they "look funny." It's attitudes like this that fired the ovens of Auschwitz, set the churches aflame in Mississippi and brought down the Twin Towers.

Think I'm being a little overdramatic?

Study a little history.

Or are you sheeple just too obsessed with finding out if they finally managed to kick Sanjaya off American Idol yet?

Current Mood: frustrated

Read this post on Wonko's Corner before you read the rest of this post.

Back now? Good. Anyway, here's my reply. It was a little lengthy to post on his comments section, but keep reading. Things get out of hand, ( I promise... )

It starts with a downward glance.

A failure to acknowledge or an attempt to hide one's soul from someone's direct eyesight. You hurt. You know you hurt but feel that you can bear that weight just *that* much longer without asking for help.

After all, to show such emotions to other people makes one weaker, right?

You spend the first few days trying to figure things out for yourself. The task ahead is daunting and you meditate way longer on these issues then you intended to.

Days turn into weeks turn into months and sooner or later you are at war with yourself. You withdraw behind mental bars of titanium steel, locked safely away from the world in your reinforced bunker. Occasionally, you stick your head outside to sniff the air and survey the damage outside your lair. The air smells fresh, but you can hear perceived danger approaching from outside your battlements.

Years pass and you have fortified yourself behind thicker walls. You fake emotions now. After the years pass, you've learned how to fake being happy just for the comfort of those around you. Inwardly, you writhe in agony.

You want to shout against the injustices of the world, about bad relationships, lack of true job security, wars fought in distant lands that are actually closer now than ever before, thanks to technological advances that as little as 100 years ago were just some poor sucker's pipe dream that would never work. Such ideas.

You struggle through the daily grind, hoping to find some validation for your very existence. You surround yourself with those you can tolerate, promising friendship on the outside yet listening to the ever-present ticking of the internal chronometer.

Ten years have now passed since this began and you are now even more lost than before. You struggle to find inner meaning but find nothing. The kid who dreamed of being an astronaut is now an automaton, lost in a career that was chosen out of college as a stepping stone but ended up as a thick patch of swampland instead.

Now you can't even remember how this even started, let alone explain it to someone else. Your life, once filled with promise and hope, has been replaced by a mortgage, a wife who you married so that you just wouldn't be alone anymore and a lot of sleepless nights because you feel guilty about it.

You contemplated suicide for 2.6 seconds a few years ago, but quickly decided against it. You put the kibosh on those thoughts because then your life really was a total waste and you realize also that the pain you'd leave behind is infinitely worse than any trivial pains that you are going through now.

Besides, you know in your heart that you can turn your life around; if you weren't having such a enjoyable time being miserable that is. You just wish that the solution would present itself because you are just too full of excuses and bullshit to take charge of it yourself.

And then one day, it does...

Stumbled across this one from National Lampoon earlier. Good to see all the hype being turned to good use!

For those who aren't familiar with Spike & Mike's Sick & Twisted Festival of Animation, you may have missed this little gem.

I saw this for the first time a few years ago with my friend Bill and we just about died laughing. So, prepare for the action of Dr. Tran!!!

NSFW, so watch at home and chase the kids out of the room...

This takes me back.

If you've never seen "Hardware Wars" before, now's your chance. It spoofed the original Star Wars and while time hasn't necessarily been kind to it, I still found myself laughing at it just as I did when I was a kid.

Enjoy!

I've seen some corporate lock-step videos in my day, but this just begs for earplugs & eyebleach...

I can show you
That when it starts to rain
Everything's the same...

-The Beatles, Rain

On the day that rain returned to Texas, I found myself almost successfully suppressing the urge to dance in it.

I dressed, took the Golden Retriever out for her morning constitutional and walked slowly to my car. I walked slowly to feel the rain dance on my skin, to feel each blob of dihydrogen oxide impact on my hair with a rather ungraceful splatter.

I stood before the car and stared upward into the sky, admiring the simple beauty of nature's smattering of grayscale artistry. Neighbors around me darted to their cars and houses as quickly as they were able. Not three days ago, I talked with one of them about how they wished that the rain would return.

Rain brings a welcome break from the Texas heat. Rain brings life to grass that has been dying a slow, painful death during the heat of July and August. Rain increases the flow and volume of the area's lakes and streams. Rain restores hope to farmers who had just about given up.

Rain equals life's careful balance at its finest.

I lingered a bit longer, letting the rain soak into my shirt. I welcomed the coldness of precipitation. It caressed my face, depositing gentle and frequent kisses on it like those from a lover long separated from.

"I missed you," I whispered into the rain, "What took you so long to come back to me?"

The rain didn't answer back, just kept kissing me with a gentle intensity. Expecting an answer from the rain always leaves one unfulfilled.

"That's ok, ol' girl, you don't have to explain anything to me," I smiled as I tilted my head skyward to let the rain kiss my neck, "you're always welcome here."

I stood there for few more minutes before I finally permitted myself the privilege of dancing a short jig to celebrate the day rain returned to Texas.

So, the Texas Governor walks into work the other day...

No, I'm being serious, he actually did. Ramblin' Rick Perry himself. The big cheese of the second biggest state in the Union, which deserves a "HA! HA!" graphic of it's own since no matter how big the sense of state pride gets in this state, Texas will always be number two in size.

Texas has an interesting governmental system, mostly due to the fact that the Lt. Governor actually wields greater power in his/her role of President of the Senate than does the Governor him/herself, with a few notable exceptions. The state legislature only meets for 140 days every other year, unless called into special session by the Governor, so it is safe to assume that the Governor does indeed have some downtime if he wants it.

The thing about Perry is that he likes to blend in with The People whenever he can. Since Austin is the state capitol, it is not unusual for the Gov to be spotted from time to time eating a burger or tearing ass around the Hill Country on his motorcycle.

I didn't believe that he was in the building when one of my co-workers charged into my office and announced his presence but sure enough, there he was talking with another of my co-workers. I stood there and kept watch, attempting to pick up any bits of conversation to no avail.

Finally, his business concluded and he made his way towards the exit. He shook a few of our hands with the customary farewells that he had probably uttered a couple hundred thousand times during his career, "good to see ya!" and "nice to meet ya!"

I didn't realize it at first after he shook my hand, but my hands subconsciously moved into the pose of the Buddy Christ (a curious gesture that I had adopted after watching the Kevin Smith movie, Dogma, earlier in the week) and my mouth uttered the phrase, "see ya later, Guvnah!" It was strange to reply in that fashion, like we went bowling last week or something.

It would be the equivalent of unleashing a mighty fajita-burrito-fueled fart in the presence of royalty, but I don't really care. The man's been recently pushing a major regional toll road project that I'm not at all happy about, so I can fart if I want to.

Not that he noticed. He was pretty much out the door at that point. My co-workers did notice and have been chuckling over it for the past few days. Overall, it was a rather odd experience that was capped off by having to go back and edit some guy's wedding footage and finish transferring some 8mm film that was in a box titled "Muffins Of Doom."

I can't say that my job lacks randomness.

Hail and well met, fair reader!

Hark now to the tale of the Unprepared Heathen and the Line of Devastation...

The journey to the supermarket was much like any other had been in the past. A list of necessary provisions was written, containing everything that a bachelor and his faithful canine sidekick would need. From the selection of meat to dog food to the ever important suitcase of beer, I loaded the cart with a speed not witnessed in many a day.

After all, the grocery store is a place of commerce that does not rank high on my personal list of entertaining things to do after work. Navigating through the throngs of families, blue-haired grandmothers and the odd assortment of people who go shopping in their pajamas - at seven o'clock in the evening.

Still, the grocery store is a necessary evil. One cannot live on Arby's alone, at least that's what they tell me at McDonalds.

I surged ahead through the aisles, chucking food items and other merchandise into the cart's gaping maw. As I rounded the last corner I reviewed the list one last time. Woe to me if I had forgotten anything and had to make another trip.

Meat? Check.
Rice? Check.
Pasta? Dr. Pepper? Frozen Pizzas? Check, check and check.

My next task was to choose a line. From my experience, the shorter lines are usually short for a very good reason.

Usually a short line means a slow cashier or that the person at the head of the line is a troublemaker. Troublemakers mean waits for the customer service manager. Troublemakers mean coupons or screaming children who are beyond pissed because Mom or Dad failed to buy them the candy or treat of their choice.

Frankly, who could blame the parents? It's not like the kid deserves it by behaving like a total jackass. Let them eat apples, I say.

But I digress.

I passed checkout line after checkout line, much like a snipe hunter stalking his quarry. Whichever line I chose was bound to take a long time and while my search may once again prove fruitless I would at least be comforted by the fact that I had tried.

I chose a line that only had two people in it. The customer at the front was finishing their transaction, which was a good sign. The customer right before me was a youngish guy, with brownish hair stuffed beneath a hat that had a silhouette of a lounging girl. The kind of lounging girl that reminded me of some of the mudflaps that I've seen on several eighteen wheelers.

Most young guys, especially those who are the type to wear silhouettes of lounging females, usually don't put up much of a fuss at the grocery store. The number one goal of such guys was to get in and out of there as quickly and with as little fuss as humanly possible.

Unfortunately, this was not one of these guys.

I stared blankly at the rows and rows of chewing gum as the cashier uttered a friendly word of greeting. The guy muttered an unintelligible reply and began to stare closely at the register's monitor as the cashier began to drag items across the barcode scanner.

Eggs *beep*
Bacon *beep*
Toilet Paper *beep*
Condoms *beep*
Swiffer Pads *beep*

"Now wait just a minute!" he protested suddenly, "those things were only $4.95 a box over there, not $4.99!"

I looked over briefly at the guy to see if what was going on was what I thought it was and quickly lost interest as I began to seethe in silence. 'Shit, here we go,' I thought to myself as I returned to staring at the assortment of candy and gum, 'another time-consuming haggle over $0.04. Fantastic.'

The cashier cleared her throat slightly. "You sure, sir?" she asked, with a look of discomfort on her face. That was odd. Usually you didn't see cashiers get a look of discomfort on their faces whenever a customer disputes the scanned price. Usually, they adopt a look of polite loathing.

Then I looked up to see what item that the fuss was about. It may be just me but usually one tends to be a little more discrete about purchasing "protection." Needless to say, I was floored at the guy's rather cavalier attitude. One usually looked away or adopted an innocent look on ones' face as the box of Trojans slides across the conveyor belt, not to go on an all-out hissy fit over $0.04.

The guy set his jaw in a stern look that had a vague resemblance to someone who had just eaten a rather large stick that was bound to eventually lodge itself firmly inside their arse.

"Yeah, I'm quite sure, maaaa'mm" he replied gruffly, sarcastically stretching out the honorific for effect, "I bought the same box for the four cents cheaper yesterday."

Well, I was impressed. Impressed at how much of a jackass that this particular jackass was. 'Just pay the four cents and leave, dude,' I prayed to myself. I felt sorry for whatever girl saddled up with this star.

On second thought, he probably just bought them because he was a psychotic clown murderer at night. That thought frightened me, so I directed my pity towards the cashier who was obviously not impressed.

"Whatever," she muttered as she punched the keypad, deducting the four cents. Her hands seemed to have doubled in speed, flying across the scanner as quickly as she grabbed another item. She wanted this guy out of her line as quickly as possible.

She flipped her hair and glared at the guy. "That'll be $140.38, sir," she said flatly, all business now.

"Oh, wait, I've got coupons!" he chirruped as he jammed his hand in his right pocket and produced a thick wad of ragged coupons from within. 'Of course you do,' I sighed quietly as I shook my head slightly in disgust.

Another few minutes passed as the cashier silently scanned her way through the pile. By this time, the line behind us had grown by another four people. I suffered in silence as the neighboring lines moved along with speedy precision. I had all the luck.

"WAIT!" he protested, "I thought that coupon was 'buy two get one free' on those pot pies!"

An audible sigh came from behind me as the other customers began to grow restless. We would all benefit if this guy was suddenly whisked away by a band of trained ninjas. If only the grocery chains of the world would employ such personnel for times just like these.

The cashier began to sort through the pile before pulling the coupon out that was in question. "No, sir, the coupon only says one dollar off any pot pie. See?"

She passed the coupon over for inspection. The guy studied it as if it were an ancient text of cultural significance. "Yep, you're right. My bad."

The cashier finished the pile and stabbed the 'enter' key on her keypad. "That'll be $136.59," she said flatly.

"Oh, wait! I need a book of stamps!" he growled, "and a pack of Marlboro Reds, if you've got any."

She retrieved the cigarettes and stamps and scanned them as well. "$146.23," was all she said as she stabbed the 'enter' key a little more aggressively than before.

The guy fished in his pocket again. He was looking for something and couldn't find it. He mashed his hands into his other pockets, also without success. "Um," he sighed, "I left my checkbook in the car."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" spat a rather annoyed voice from behind me. Good to know I wasn't the only one considering violence at this point.

"I'll be back in a minute, I swear!" he barked as he began to sprint towards the door, "it's in the car!"

We stood in silence. The cashier offered us a look that said, "Sorry, but you see what I have to put up with?"

She glanced at the time again. At precisely one minute, she turned to me and grinned devilishly, "Well, a minute has come and gone. He swore he'd be back in a minute and, well, he didn't keep his promise now did he?"

"I find no fault with that logic," I grinned back, "for someone as precise as that you'd think he'd be a little more timely."

A few muted chuckles rose from the rest of the line. She casually moved his purchases to the side and began to scan mine as quickly as she could. What had taken the guy ahead of me a total of twelve minutes only took me three.

As I loaded up my car, I could see that the guy had returned and was apparently not amused. I could see through the window that he was informing the manager that it would be a cold day in Hell before he ever shopped at THIS store again.

Ah, if only that was true.

"Sir, we've got a major problem down here," the Overseer for Mental Creativity's voice said bluntly through the intercom system.

"Yes, what is?" Control asked, surprised somewhat to hear the long-silent voice of the Overseer of MC. The Overseer had been rather active during the previous year up until this past March, when the onset of another Great Crisis had placed a large drain on resources.

The Controller listened patiently as the Overseer cleared his throat. Control regarded the Overseer in a friendly mindset, mostly because of the Overseer's past endeavours which had provided times of increased productivity and great positive benefits to the Collective as a whole.

That the Overseer had been silent for so long had not gone unnoticed, but that was also to be expected. He knew the situation as well as the rest of the Collective. Crisis management came first, Collective maintenance second and creative endeavours third. The Controller had taken note that the rest of the Collective was rather tired and could stand a little diversion.

The Overseer could be heard to be sucking in a deep breath. The news he had was grave, his words having been chosen carefully for maximum impact. He was never one to beat about the bush.

"We're dead, or rather, we're dying down here," he stated flatly.

The Controller sighed to himself. This was not going to be an easy conversation. "What's your situation report?"

"Our SitRep is this, sir," the Overseer replied, "We're down 76.2% here in regards to manpower and resources. Quite frankly, the staff we do have are working practically non-stop in supporting the departments of Maintenance and Treasury."

The Controller considered this as he glanced at the Master Report and frowned slightly. "You're absolutely right on that, OMC. We've had to shunt those resources to maintain survival of the Collective. You know how it's been these past six months."

"Six months, Hell, try the past decade," the Overseer snorted, "it's not been exactly a walk in the park for us now has it?"

'He has a point there,' the Controller admitted. The Collective had been under assault from one Crisis after another throughout the past ten years, so it wasn't any wonder that this state of affairs hadn't gone unnoticed. Lately, the overall morale of the Collective had sunk to a new low. Change was needed, a distraction at the very least.

The Controller began to tap gently on his desk as he pondered possible solutions to this new situation. He was always open for suggestions though.

"What do you propose?" the Controller asked, hoping for a near miracle of sorts.

"A Great Project, Controller," the OMC chirruped grandly, "One that will harness the collaborative efforts of not only our society but those of our allies.

The Controller considered this for a moment, "Something along the lines of that Historical Preservation project we completed almost three years ago?"

"Something like that, sir," the Overseer replied, "Except this will require the cooperation of allied governments as well as those of our own."

"Go on, I'm listening," the Controller said, succumbing to his own curiosity.

The Overseer could almost be heard to be tap dancing on the line. This idea finally had merit and could possibly boost the Collective from the, well, collective funk that they had been in.

He drew a huge breath and launched into his explanation, "We contact the representatives of our related allied governments and attempt to pool our multimedia and creative resources in an attempt to create a lasting monument to the remaining Great-Ancestor, who as you know, turns 90 this year."

"What?!?" the Controller spat in disbelief, "You can't seriously be thinking of creating such a thing in time for his birthday, are you? That gives us only two months!"

"We can do it," the Overseer gruffed, "if we work together."

"I can think of one or two of our 'related allies' that quite possibly would have nothing to contribute to this project," the Controller sighed, referring to certain governments that had long since severed diplomatic ties with the Collective, "Have you talked to State about this yet?"

Silence floated across the ether. The Overseer for the Department of State was well renowned to have a stubborn streak that was famous around the world. Usually in State's mind, once ties were severed, they stayed that way until the offending government apologized. It may not be the best policy to have for a diplomat, but there were times when the only other alternative was open war.

"I ran it by him," the Overseer muttered, "He wasn't too keen on the idea, but was willing to extend a hand out for an effort of this magnitude. The worst the other government will say is 'no', right?"

"Assuming the other government replies at all," the Controller mused, "What about the Ancestor and her sister? Are they willing to support this Project?"

"I talked to Communications about that. Both have sent back replies supporting our endeavour."

"I see," the Controller nodded absently to the air, "Well, I don't see why we can't, barring any unforeseen unpleasantness, naturally."

"I'll tell the members of my department to give me a list of resources and manpower that we'll need from the Collective," the Overseer's voice was ecstatic, "We won't let you down."

The Controller chuckled "You rarely do, OMC, you rarely do. Let me know what resources you need from our allies as well and I will have State draft the appropriate communiques for me to sign as necessary."

"Will do," the Overseer agreed wholeheartedly, "It feels great to be back, sir."

"Good luck, OMC. With two months to finish this beast, you're going to need it!"

The line fell silent and the Controller reached for his scheduler. He actually found a free weekend around the time of the Great-Ancestor's birthday. Perhaps the Controller might present the completed Project to him directly. If nothing else, it'd be a good excuse to finally take a couple days off.

For now, there was a ton of work to do...