There's always this strange lull that happens right before Thanksgiving. Look at the people in your office today. Don't they all seem so tired? And this is before a vacation. Funny how that happens, but it does. Nobody wants to do anything because everybody's so corked up with excitement, trepidation, or nausea. We're worried about going home, the beginning of the holidays or negotiating hectic travel schedules. We're worried about having to sit next cousin Rita at the dinner table because she has an odd tick that makes us uncomfortable. We're worried that somebody will bring that weird sweet potato casserole with marshmallows and raisins that is always unappetizing no matter how pretty it looks.

We assume this is what most of the Black Table readers are experiencing as well this week. According to this week's Black List, nobody did a damn thing interesting or has the energy to write about it. We understand. We do. However, we would appreciate it if you made our dreary holiday season a little brighter the next time.

Here are the seven little black lists for you to swallow like the dark meat of a dead bird. Happy Thanksgiving, you lazy fucks. See that thing to the right? Click that shit and submit something, dammit.

-- 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.

GETTING THE GENTLE LET DOWN: I can count our dates on one hand, excluding the thumb. I do think you're foxy, albeit reticent and apt to disappear for days at a time. So while I was excited to meet you (way over on your side of town) for a drink last night, I hadn't exactly bet the farm. That's why I set my phone alarm for ten-thirty: if I sensed the evening was not going to end well, I wanted to be home for my beloved Daily Show at 11 p.m. But you were chatty and warm, and you ordered a second drink -- indications that you wanted to play past your bedtime. We talked. My alarm went off and you asked what it was. I even told the truth, so comfortable and happy was I! We laughed and continued talking for another half-hour, at which point you decided to share with me your real reason for wanting to have that drink: you are seeing someone else, and it's getting serious. You don't feel that we should continue our intermittent and mostly chaste dating. That's fine, pal -- I applaud you being forthright and I am sure the other lady will appreciate the commitment you've shown by clearing the field. But come on: it took you three hours to give me 90 seconds' worth of pertinent information! If you had told me at the beginning, we could both have saved drink and taxi

money, plus avoided the excruciating last 30 minutes of conversation after your news, spent trying to pretend we were still interested in what the other person had to say. And I would've gotten to listen to a man who REALLY knows what I want to hear: Jonny S. I know you were only trying to do the right thing, and that's sweet. But nicer isn't always better, especially when it comes between me and Comedy Central's voice of reason: C -- hizza

THE HAMPTON INN BY THE NEWARK, N.J. AIRPORT: Look, they've got Internet access. There's a glorious view of the parking lot of the Hilton next door. You don't have to hit 9 to dial out. The mirror is clean. The bed doesn't vibrate, but the porn is cheaper than it is at home. The painting over the bed has a fascinating combinations of purple and gray. And the heat works. That's good. And ... aw, fuck this, why am I here? Goddamned Continental. Goddamned lady behind the desk, with her fictional weather "issues." Goddamned New Jersey. Goddamned Thanksgiving. Get me the hell out of here. D -- Will Leitch

FAKE TALK RADIO COMMERCIALS: You're about five minutes into an obnoxiously long Stern Show commercial break when you hear the familiar sound of talk radio chatter. What's this, have they come back early? Wow, Howard and the gang really like "My Name is Earl." Good lord, they're practically fellating Jason Lee over the airwaves. This show might actually be worth checking... wait a fucking second here... that doesn't sound like the regular crew. Nice try NBC, you almost fooled me. I'll hand it to you--it's an innovative approach, but it's also the first commercial that provoked me to throw a muffin at the radio. D -- Grayson Laird

JOSH HARTNETT: Of course I've always hated Josh Hartnett on screen: he made idiotic movies like "O" and 40 Days, 40 Nights. No way was I ever going to like or respect him. All the girls had crushes on him, but not me. Not only am I a lesbian, I'm also a film snob, so I figured I would never have to seriously consider changing my stance on the Hartnett. But I was forced to reconsider; fate brought us together. Mr. Hartnett has been frequenting the small store I work at for a few months now, and I just feel like I have to tell everyone how freakin' nice and TOTALLY SEXY he is in person. Always a "hey, how's it going?" with that slightly stooped posture and that mumbly seductive voice... Just as tall as you see in the movies with GREAT taste in films.... Sigh... Scarlet's got it made. She, by the way, is a bloody midget. So, bravo to you, Josh Hartnett, for proving that being famous and being an asshole doesn't necessarily come hand in hand, but mostly for proving that you are a beautiful hunk of a man even in fluorescent overhead lighting. A. -- KittensLeStax

INCLUDING COWS IN THE FLOW OF TRAFFIC: See, this just doesn't work at all. With donkeys and camels, you can at least coax them into moving with the rest of the vehicles, which in various cities and hamlets in India includes at any one time the following: elephants, auto-rickshaws crammed with 15 people, SUVs, goats, pick-up trucks with 25 people, dogs, donkeys, farming equipment, cyclists, motorcycles with entire families on them, and tractor-trailers with 10 people on the roof. These modes of transportation all have one common facet: they all go in the same direction, provoked or unprovoked. Cattle, on the other hand, do no such thing. Many was the day when a cow, standing on the median of a highway, would decide out of nowhere to lope its way off the median into oncoming traffic, which could snarl everything for 20 minutes or so until the flow was re-established, accounting for the oblivious bovines. There needs to be a cow lane, or something. Cattle on the Road: D- -- Dave Gaffen

SITTING NEXT TO A NON-MUTE MALE MODEL ON A PLANE: So I took a red eye to New York last Sunday from California. While boarding, I saw this yummy little piece standing two people in front of me. I said a prayer to God--as I oft do in urgent situations such as this--that I would be seated next to him. As God and I are bros, he did. I learned quickly that he was a charming devil from Houston. He charmed the stewardess into giving him a free "red box" of food. Charmed the guy sitting across the aisle to share headphones with him, and charmed me into letting him come over to my place to sleep before he went to his casting calls. As you might have guessed, he was a model. He reminded me of the fact that "EVERYTHING is bigger in Texas." He described the perfect nipple to me (dark and hard to the touch) and he offered to "thank me" for my hospitality. I almost considered taking him up on the offer until he handed me a picture of him in his underwear. Odd. I asked him if the photo was his resume, but he told me that he had it taken for another girl. She broke up with him 2 days ago, so I could have it. Gee. Thanks. Now I know why models have non-speaking parts in life. Speaking Models: D- -- Gretel Going

COFFEEMATE LATTE CREATIONS AD: A harried, suit-wearing man is dashing around, getting ready for work. His bemused young wifey ties his tie for him and leaves it around the banister -- he snags it on his way out the door. Cut to wifey answering the phone a moment later. She grins smugly and says, "I love you too, honey," as she sneaks a sip of her Latte Creation. Tagline: "For all the little things you do . . . you deserve Coffeemate Latte Creations," over a shot of a Creation with a heart swirled into the foam on top. I want to shoot this ad in the face. What could be grosser than implying that women's sole purpose is to serve their menfolk? Oh, I know: white powdered weirdness that somehow makes coffee foamy. F -- Emily Gould

LITEFM JUMPING THE GUN ON CHRISTMAS MUSIC: Bill Buchner. Valerie Smaldone. Christine Nagy. Karen Carson. These are just a few of the DJs on suicide watch now that 106.7 decided to play All-Christmas-All-The-Time (the famed ACATT format). Usually in this market, such a move means your station is hopelessly lost in a sea of failed formats (see WNEW/FM Talk 102.7/Blink 102.7/Mix 102.7) or it's exactly 10 seconds after Thanksgiving. This year, however, Lite FM has decided to torment DJs, listeners and dental office employees alike by switching to holiday melancholia not on Black Friday and not in December, but LAST WEEK. That's right, more than a month of solid Christmas with nary a note of "Christmas in Hollis," "Father Christmas (Give Us Some Money)" or that Christmas song Slade did when they were drunk. Call me a humbug, but I'm going to guess that somewhere in the second week of December, some poor store clerk who's been subjected to nearly 168 plays of Whitney Houston's overreaching "Do You Hear What I Hear?" is going to snatch up a customer in a Ultimate Fighting-style guillotine choke and not let go until the station's programmers start playing All 4 One's "I Can Love You Like That" again. This stuff may pass as easy listening now, but it's going to be damn hard not to turn the dial after Satan-incarnate Andy Williams starts in on "Most Wonderful Time of the Year." May satellite radio steal all the presents from under Clear Channel's tree this year: F -- Jason Notte

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