The end is nigh!

OMG my life is over! The television writers are striking! I cannot overstate the magnitude of the crisis this represents for me. I have been watching gobs of television since I was a zygote, I'm pretty sure. (Although she never celebrated her addiction the way I do, my mother nevertheless shared my love of the bastard machine. Fortunately, she loved to read, too, so I didn't grow up hopelessly addle-brained.)

The key issue between the networks and the writers is dvd residual payments. The writers got screwed the last go 'round because they bought into the idea that the dvd format was "untested" and they agreed to forgo their royalties. Thus, when box sets of Airwolf and Knight Rider were churned out by the truckload, everyone else got rich while the writers looked on. This time, they're not giving up so easily and they're prepared for the long haul. But I'm not! They haven't even started airing reruns yet and I'm already holed up in the corner with my blankie and a bottle of cabernet, begging G to tell me it's all a bad dream.

You would think that the volume of shows accumulated on my Tivo, culled from the 50 (yes, I said 50) programmed season passes would weather me through the storm. But you'd be mistaken. In my estimation, that will get me through about 2 weeks, maybe less since The Daily Show and The Colbert Report have already succumbed. I just don't think that's going to cut it. I need a plan:

1. Put down the cabernet (optional).
2. Add the following to the Netflix queue: 30 Rock, Deadwood, The Singing Detective, Slings and Arrows, Californication, and Homicide.
3. Add a season pass (51!) of The Amazing Race.
4. Hope the strike is over before forced to stoop to Dancing With The Stars.