Punching My Time Card

I received another email from Amazon telling me that the shipment date for Rammstein's video collection had changed once more, to February 12th this time. Boo! Hiss! Only Rammstein could have a manufacturing plant fuck up their product so badly that they need a month to fix it. They're cursed by evil marketing gnomes.

I tried out The Following tonight. I liked it, but I'm hesitant to get too invested, as its pacing is rather slow. Unless its ratings are fabulous out of the box, it runs the risk of being canceled after six episodes. Kevin Bacon acquits himself well, but I do wish writers could be a bit more inventive with the backstories for grizzled former law-enforcement officers. The embittered, alcoholic loner is hackneyed to the point of noxious decomposition, and while Kevin Bacon is no Leonardo DiCaprio or early DeNiro, he is certainly capable of pushing the boundaries of your average crime/suspense procedural.

James Purefoy is a most excellent villain, however, and he's clearly reveling in the chance to let his darker impulses hang out.

I wrote another thousand words this afternoon. Haldir is about to receive the devastating news of his wife's fate, and then I will be faced with the formidable task of having an elf grieve very deeply without turning him into a weepy, spineless human louse who drowns his sorrows in drink and listens to bad 80s synth pop and croons the lyrics to "Voices Carry".