Because that is when Jared Peter Hansen esquire of Cedar Brush Creek got broadband and ALSO an internet connection in his own room. Hell, now I don't know what can convince me to leave this room. I can only imagine I'm doomed to die within the space of a week in a horrid death in my own squalor. I can think of no better way to go, except perhaps for something involving one of those new-fangled 'women' contraptions.
In all seriousness, I consider this pretty sweet, because once I'm done writing whatever is about to fly off the top of my head I'm off to watch Zero Punctuation, something I generally NEVER get to do. Zero Punctuation is basically a psychotic British man who hates everything ranting about video games over images he's made in Flash in the space of about five minutes... and it's BLOODY BRILLIANT! However it took a good hour and a half to load on dial-up and then I also needed to keep the volume on the ancient speakers of the (*spit*) family computer turned down so that my parents wouldn't be alarmed at hearing a Middle English man decrying something as 'a barrel-load of cunts in a nunnery' or something similar.
Jared, you ask, why is this so important? The ability to absorb the minutae and offal-esque detritus of society at a level of rapidity previously unavailable to you, the lack of a motivation to leave the second hand chair that is virtually the only piece of furniture in the gloomy space you call your bedroom thus contributing further to your inevitable Costanza-ish premature atrophy? Is this what you hold important? In what way are you better than the penis-measurers, Novocastrian binge-drinkers and the people who write the 2 billion words dedicated to Anime series with fucking weird names on TVTropes that you constantly rail against? You believe this is your divine purpose in life - to drown yourself in memes of absolutely no importance to anybody? After we believed in you. YOU WERE THE CHOSEN ONE! YOU WERE MEANT TO BRING BALANCE TO THE NET, NOT HUFF IT!
My only response to this could be: woah. Calm the fuck down. Are you a crazy person?
Even if anybody would ever actually say this to me, at this moment it could not bring me down. Firstly, because I have broadband and secondly, because I am listening to Evermore's new album. Even though my quasi-ex-potential-new-girlfriend-slash-female-friend-slash-dalliance-slash-I-have-no-idea-what-to-call-her....
Okay, let's end this now. From now on the girl I hang with every now and then that is not actually my girlfriend and kind of wasn't but also kinda wasn't and kinda could be, shall be referred to as Little Miss Paradox. Anyway... she dissed the new album. WHATEVA! She also dissed K9, so I look forward to ignoring her some more when it comes to the important issues.
Now, in more seriousness (seeing as the last time I said 'in seriousness' what I said wasn't really serious at all - it seemed to be 'I like hearing British people swear!') I think this could be my year. After all, didn't Paul Kelly say 'the darkest hour comes right before the dawn'?
Okay, you say, this prick has gone right off the rail. It isn't enough that he spends half his life looking for Cao-Dai subtext in episodes of Sharpe to justify his unseemly appetite for the adventures of a hunky Yorkshiremen in tight pants, now he's seriously suggesting that a company accepting a submission for his house to receive an ADSL connection is directly due to a tilt in the balances of the Universe, rather than, say complete coincidence combined with a snail-paced roll-out of fibre-optic cables throughout the stinking backwater you occupy like a bloated diabetic toad. After everything so dismissive you have said about religious people, you reveal yourself to be equally as flighty and irrational. I can only hope that you are anally violated by Christopher Hitchins while Richard Dawkins watches on, having sex with Lalla Ward as he does so in the orgy of intolerant rationalists. THE UNIVERSE WILL FUCK YOU OVER EVEN MORE!!! And Evermore's new stuff SUCKS!
Why are my imaginary Devil's advocates so hostile tonight? Anyway, the feeling has cemented with a positive attitude of mine that has been strengthened greatly by receiving my second ever job interview... in some odd circumstances. It was miraculous I got it at all because they naively decided to contact me on my mobile which I pretty much never use living outside of any connection range, and I only get the message while drunkenly dancing in a friends' grandmothers' living room to some Muse performed on Senor Daniel's Christmas present guitar and am able to process the very unfamiliar words.
This happened to coincide with an inexperienced Telstra worker attempting maintenance on the local exchange and somehow re-wiring half the phones in Yarramalong Valley to our phoneline, possibly to set up some sort of Three's Company or Frasier storyline, and then after being barraged with complaints, 'solving' this issue by disconnecting our line entirely. This left me with no option when replying to the missive but to drive a couple of ks down the road to... and I'm serious about this... the gum tree next to the Old Mill's Gate, one of the only spots in the valley to have mobile reception.
Furthermore, when I call the woman who picks up apparently is using a headset she's unfamiliar with, that has the volume turned right down. I can barely hear a word, assuming the line is bad, and she puts down the headset to adjust the settings without mentioning it to me, so I'm treated to several seconds of completely dead air on the line. I look at my phone, and it's panel, too, is dead. So I hang up, not realising what's happened. Yes, I HUNG UP on a potential employer.
It gets worse, because once I phone back this is all explained away, so my instincts hurriedly hunt for another way to fuck this up. Thankfully, Mother Nature was watching over me and decided to start up the torrential downpour that had been going on earlier that day. Now, at this stage I have the phone cradled between my ear and shoulder, as my hands are occupied with a notepad and a pen I have to take down the details that I need. As the details are imparted, I am hit with so much water I am soon so cold that I am actually shivering and desperately trying to shield the notepaper by impersonating the hunchback of Notre Dame. She asks me if I have any questions, and I do actually have a few. BUT by this stage I am incoherent enough to sound like Leonardo DiCaprio in What's Eating Gilbert Grape and end the conversation very prematurely.
So first impressions = mentally deficient man scarcely able to operate a phone.
Furthermore, the job is one I applied for months ago and can barely remember. All files related to it on my computer have been deleted, because even though I haven't received a rejection I assume it's been way too long to hear back. I don't even have a copy of my application. I don't really have anything to read about it to prepare...
But, well... I prepared as thoroughly as I could over the week and the interview was one of the most pleasant experiences I have had. Everyone I've described it to agrees that all the signs were very good.
In addition to this, a couple of weeks ago I had a bizarre moment where I realised that I know at least three avenues to submit a script - a friendly producer I have met and studied under in the past, a director who is married to a former agent, and a friend who goes to a school ran by several people in the industry, ignoring the people I know with friends in the ABC and other more tangential avenues. And so, I've committed myself to writing a sitcom pilot over the next month or so and sending it around. Bizarrely it's an idea I've had for at least 3 years but haven't done much about. But that's gonna change, dudes!
So... I'm pretty happy and with an optimistic outlook at the moment. And that hasn't happened too often before. Watch this space! As it remains creepily devoid of life.