Things currently on our digital video recorder:

• Every episode of Law & Order that TNT has run over the past two weeks. We immediately delete any episode that doesn't have Jerry Orbach as Briscoe. We are also waiting for them to rerun that one where Jill Hennessey dies, because we want to see Sam Waterson cry.

• The last two episodes of Lost because we're too cheap to go buy it. (We'll probably buy Arrested Development though.)

• Bikini Babes 3. This was a total accident.

• The first three hours of the Arizona Cardinals-New York Giants game last Sunday. As fans of the Buzzsaw That Is The Arizona Cardinals we will be deleting this right about...oh...now.

• A special about Flight 93, "The Flight That Fought Back," a story that, while stirring, we've always kind of suspected was bullshit. Sorry.

• Some show about how to make a desk. We thought this was another Bikini Babes sequel.

So yeah. We don't know what that says about us, but we suspect it's not good. Yep. It's almost fall: Time to hibernate!

Anyway, we've got 10 reviews this week. We want all we can have from you, using the box on the right, because we have your best interests at heart, always.

-- BT

The Black Table needs your help! Every week, we need reviews of the latest media-related crud, new products from Capitalists and odd idea, concept or trend. All you need to have is a sharp opinion that you can distill down to one paragraph of 150 words and give a letter grade. To submit, please fill out the form below. Entries may edited for length, style and clarity. Hit us with your best shot. Fire away.

LIFE MIMICKING ART, AGAIN: Ever since now-former FEMA director Michael Brown got swiftboated for his resume flap, I've been Googling "'Michael Brown' + 'Gareth Keenan.'" Nil. Where are the bloggers? If you live in a cave, journalists last week discovered that Brown's CV, as posted on the White House website, incorrectly stated that Brown worked as "assistant city manager" for the town of Edmond, Oklahoma. In fact, Brown was "assistant to the city manager." Ricky Gervais, the creator of the genius BBC sitcom The Office, wrote this exact joke more than five years ago for "Gareth," the sweet moron who asserted his inflated title to create the appearance of power. Gareth's attempt at resume padding made comedy because even the inflated title, "assistant regional manager," was so unambitious that it wouldn't have improved Gareth's status even if true, and because Gareth was too stupid to realize that. Brown, of course, knew better; but damn if assistant city manager of

Edmond, Oklahoma isn't the lousiest resume padding in history. When life and art collide with such ironic brilliance, who cares who mimics who. A — Gabe Hertzberg

ASSHOLE RELIEF WORKER IN TENNESSEE: You called everyone in the company trying to get us to comp your service for free, because it's a disaster. Finally I get to be the one to call you and tell you that, A: We're not giving it away for free to anyone, and B: Here's how much it will cost. You unload a rant the likes of which would make Chris Rock blush. Look around, asshole. We're the only company doing what we do in the south. You're bitching about paying $450.00 per month? We lost hundreds of millions of dollars. Tens of thousands of employees are displaced. Nearly a hundred of them are still missing. Your agency is the one with banner ads on every website. Your agency collected all that money; how is it that none of it is flowing in your direction? Your parting shot to me is, "You disgust me, I hope it all comes back to you." Oh? Are you hoping that a killer hurricane wipes out an entire region? Are you hoping that our company will lose a shitload of money? Are you hoping that we'll all be working 12-hour days, seven days a week, restoring basic services? Because I've got a newsflash Einstein: Nature's WAY ahead of you. F — Bunny

POLITICAL PAMPHLET WAVERS OUTSIDE THE SUBWAY: I'm sorry that you're apparently unemployable, you pale-faced man in a well-worn H&M suit who's trying to catch my eye before I descend into or emerge from a fetid, sub-sidewalk hell. However, your associate's degree in semantics does not make me any more likely to take a copy of the same goddamn flyer you have smilingly tried to force into my hand every day since last Monday. At least the retarded free newspapers have pictures of celebrities and a crossword puzzle. Yes, your candidate/benefactor/mom certainly does cut a dashing figure in her sexually neutralizing pantsuit while chanting with controlled anger at that bodega workers' rally; yes, your community board hopeful sure does have a surfeit of consonants in his surname. Thanks for generating and disseminating four-color tinder for subway track fires. Power to the people. D- — lkw

WORKING IN AN ESTROGEN-FILLED OFFICE: I work in a small office. I'm one of three people, and the other two are very smart, funny, entertaining women. Being a gay man, we get along famously. Now I'm not the most masculine person ever, but there is a line that separates the acceptable femininity and the downright silly. Being upset about the animals that are struggling as a result of Hurricane Katrina and wanting to do something about it? OK, I feel for them too. Sitting at your desk and weeping over article after article about them and professing that you're going to drive your car from LA to the center of the relief effort to rescue as many animals as you can carry? Be serious. Freaking out over a New York style, I'm-gonna-attack-your-face-and-swallow-your-soul cockroach? I'm right behind ya. Screaming and running around a tiny office after you see a baby cockroach that more resembles an ant, even though it's caught in a cockroach trap? Come on, now. On the other hand, I do finally feel masculine despite my obvious homo-ness. Huh. B- — Maurice

TEMP WITH NOTHING TO DO: I was hired by a tiny clothing company four weeks ago as a part of a six-week assignment. I spent the first week busy with mostly mind-numbing training exercises until I had perfected the lost art of Purchase Orders. I know now how every department store in the nation likes their clothes to be sorted and what type of hanger they use. The following week I assigned myself more practice work knowing that they hadn't received any real orders yet, but towards the end of the week I was running out of things to practice-look-over-then-practice-again. So I began to read a lot of news articles online. I figured it's less offensive to be wasting company time being well informed and socially concerned than anything else. By week three, with still no orders on the horizon, I gave up trying to spend my time well. I haven't done a practice order in ages, I've read every bit of current news from every corner of the world, I listen to an online radio station all day (obsessively rating every album, artist, song — and occasionally video—they have to offer so that I can be titled a "RATINGS MASTER") and I've exhausted every bit of content from my favorite short stories site, my favorite gossip site, my favorite short films site and this little site right here. I have nothing to do. Not a thing. My boss actually sits directly behind me — he's well aware of what I'm up to — and I still get my check every Thursday. I feel kind of bad, but... Getting to watch the VMAs at work (because I don't have cable at home) while wearing my jeans (because the company has no dress code to speak of) gets an A — Ms. Raine

LOCAL COLLEGE BAR: There's a certain bar, within approximately two minutes from my campus, that is The College Bar. Most people become acquainted with said bar early on in freshman year, by merely blending in with a large crowd or producing an at best questionable fake. I, on the other hand, wait to frequent the bar until the night of my 21st birthday. For some reason or another, my real ID would not scan and so the bartender alternated between threatening to confiscate it or call the police, and eventually threw it at me, telling me she didn't need "my business or my fake." Getting your real ID rejected on your 21st birthday: F. Going down the street to a bar that not only lets you in, but gives you a free t-shirt: A — Jamie

HOUSE SITTING FOR YOUR IN-LAWS: The in-laws, who live in a desirable summer destination town, offered us their house for a week while they traveled. Packed up the husband and dog, and off we innocently went. Upon our arrival, the in-laws informed us that we should stay in their bedroom, as the guest bed would leave permanent wooden slat marks in our backs and likely leave us crippled. The thought of sleeping in their bed creeped me out, but we really had no choice. As if this wasn't bad enough, I noticed that on the wall facing the bed (the one you don't see from the hallway), was a nude portrait of my mother-in-law taken circa 1970-something. Yeah, she was a babe in her day, but jeez ... My poor husband ... When I later asked him if this "bothered him," he told me he just never looks at that wall. He then warned me: "If you think that's bad, do not go in the master bathroom." I didn't. Parents can be so cruel. A celibate vacation: F — SRS

LEARNING YOUR CHILDHOOD CRUSH STARS IN PORN: Perhaps I am overly sentimental, but I always enjoy hearing from or about people from my childhood. Learning of the current careers, relationships, victories and defeats of those who have crossed my path at some point always puts me in a contemplative mood about where I have trod and where it is I am heading toward. However, learning that the girl I had a mild, pre-pubescent crush on in second grade is now a rising star within the pornography industry did not quite elicit this reaction. At first I did not believe the allegations, dismissing them as vicious rumors from jealous ex-boyfriends or rivals. However, the rumors proved true when I was presented with a copy of Cum Drippers 8 featuring the beautiful angel of my past's face smeared with semen on the cover. It certainly has made me contemplative — the fact that the chest I saw one April afternoon while playing "doctor" is now being ejaculated on at this very moment has a way of gripping my mind at inopportune moments. Watching your symbol of childhood innocence being double penetrated and "cream-pied": D Adding some sentimentality to your porn collection: C- — Jake Eyers

THE EPISTOLARY TRADITION: Writing letters to one's friends and loved ones seems well worth the extra effort. Having a space to draw caricatures and comics as well as showcase one's lovely/sloppy handwriting, and to communicate in an old-school manner really has its charms. OK, paying for stamps is a total bitch and email is free, but there's something to be said for the tangibility of the letter. And who the hell needs stationary? The letter just feels so private and seductive and kind. Maybe that's because the letter's old and everyone suffers from nostalgia. Or maybe this girl's just read too many Modernist novels where everything seems to hinge on the daily postal rounds. I don't want to guess too much. The slow, palpable nature of the letter just made my day. Hope it makes your day when it arrives. Epistles: A Missing you: C- — Mara

TWISTING ONE OFF AT THE OFFICE: I'm new to the office game, and when it came to pinching a loaf, I wasn't sure what to expect. Would slamming a dookie at the office be more like busting seven shades of shit at my peaceful home toilet, or like burying a Quaker at a bombed out public toilet? I must admit, I was a bit apprehensive about nipping out for a Donald, especially since the bathroom was under lock and key. Finally when I did have to release a chocolate hostage, I mounted up and went to the bathroom to meet the defecatory destiny that exists in my professional life. It soon became clear that my apprehension regarding floating a log was entirely misguided. As it turns out, downloading at the office is fucking great. So serene and peaceful. Every time I discharge a steaming grizzly at work I feel like the Dalai Lama. Yes Virginia, drowning a Gladys at the office has transcended everything I thought growing a tail could possibly be. A- — Conrad
(Ed. Note: That has to be a record for most synonyms for "pooping" in one paragraph. We love it.)

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