The first half of the final season of Mad Men is here and while it is still unknown if Don Draper is D.B. Cooper, I have officially decided that Matthew Weiner's series takes place in the same fictional universe as the FP.
I conclude my thesis with this video that proves Cosgrove's feet are prepared for battle in the FP. This is from the worst episode in the show's history. Now it at least serves a purpose.
Somehow this film was good enough for me to get an interview at the North Carolina School of the Arts in 2003. I wasn't good enough to get in, but I am kind of amazed that I got the interview. I like about 75% of this short, everything but the "kick me" sign segment, which goes on way too long and other than the fake blood, I don't really enjoy it. Still, here's something I was really proud of at the time, less proud of now, but it's enjoyable enough and it is quick enough.
Ugh, "R.N. Katschke Jr." I know it was meant as a joke, but it just looks pretentious.
I am the worst at keeping my legion of fans up to date of my latest happenings. To be honest, I don't think I have enough fans to qualify as a legion. The minimum requirements aren't really spelled out and it isn't clear who I should consult for clarification regarding this matter. It also seems like the sort of certification that would cost money and that I might cross paths with a well-dressed legion classification specialist who just turns out to be a regular ol' huckster who swindles me and ends up with three dozen US dollars that were originally in my possession.
How long would I go thinking that I had a certified legion before it all came crashing down in the most embarrassing way possible? That's right, I'm talking about a hypothetical Legion Ball, where members are awarded Legionnaires hats in honor of their status. After failing to fit into my father's old tuxedo, I would end up spending a couple hundred dollars renting one for the gala and then worrying that I might spill something on it even though I'll pay the extra money beforehand for insurance that would cover any stains. The tuxedo place would try to make me feel comfortable, but I wouldn't read the entire agreement and assume in my heart that there was some loophole that would force me to pay an ungodly amount of money for a minor marinara/artichoke dip/some other type of appetizer spill that causes the slightest stain. If only this skepticism had been in place when I gave that legion certification specialist exactly thirty-six dollars. He has to have other fake certifications he's selling, right? There aren't enough people to just cater to this category alone. If you're going to do this, you need to diversify your catalogue. Why does the UK spelling of catalogue look so right to me and the Americanized catalog look so bad?
As my limo pulls up and I walk out with my beautiful wife onto the red carpet, we are immediately met by an event coordinator who asks for my name and legion status. She has been working for months to make sure this night goes off without a hitch and now the check-in process has become so routine that she silently is questioning why she was working so hard and stressing out so much about the event. After I give her my name and flash my certification card, she flips through the printout a few times and fails to see me listed. I tell her to check under the letter C because sometimes there is a mixup about whether I'm a Kat or a Cat. It isn't under that letter either and she starts to apologize and immediately contacts her assistant about a Rick Katschke. She also spells it as Catschke. I inform her that it might be under Richard and that the last name also might be misspelled as Katschkejr because suffixes were not made to last on their own in our modern digital world.
There's nothing, no indication that I am a welcome guest at the ball. She takes a closer look at my certification card and then a tide of disgust rolls down her face. She looks up and asks me if I think she's a fool. I'm confused by this and immediately start apologizing because I think I've been impolite and while I don't know what I've done wrong, I'm most certainly sorry. She loudly announces to the nearby officials, high profile guests also arriving and swarms of media that I am a fraud, a wannabe who came with fake credentials to try and hobnob with people so infinitely better than him. Flashbulbs begin to blind me and my wife, as the event has a policy of "ONLY OLD-TIMEY CAMERAS ALLOWED". I try to make sense of the situation, but before I can get any clarification, I am in handcuffs and being separated from my wife. The event coordinator has rounded up all of the attendees that had made their way into the venue and now they are at the entrance, looking and laughing uproariously at me. And it is a mean laugh, one that I hear forever...in prison, because I didn't know that the combined charges of trespassing and presenting fraudulent documents at a legion event are punishable by death. My wife is able to plea bargain her way out of any sentencing, but in exchange, she has to provide testimony that reveals every insecurity I have about myself. The judge agrees not to pursue the death penalty but only as long as every woman, man and child in North America be informed of my flaws and are required to inform future generations of my absolute foolishness.
Back in October, I was a guest on Nick Schurk and Jake Mace's Second Hand News podcast. I told a first hand story about cowardice. Check it out!