Apple today announced that it will not be selling NBC television shows for the upcoming television season on its online iTunes Store. The move follows NBC’s decision to not renew its agreement with iTunes after Apple declined to pay more than double the wholesale price for each NBC TV episode, which would have resulted in the retail price to consumers increasing to $4.99 per episode from the current $1.99.
“The universe was created Last Thursday (with the appearance of age: people’s memories, history books, fossils, light already on the way from distant stars, and so forth) by Queen Maeve the Housecat, who will destroy the world Next Thursday, saving those who are nice to cats and damning evildoers to the never-cleaned Eternal Litterbox.”—Last Thursdayism
“For I did see my unworthiness in Her sight, for I was a sinner, destined forever to spend existence in the presence of the unholy Purple Oyster, waxing his shell and massaging his most wretched and slimy feet. For lo, the Purple Oyster doth truly have feet, and the legs thereof, and the toes thereof, giving him dominion over all the clams of the seas, and allowing him to go unto the children of men, and tempt them unto destruction.”—The Revelation of St. Bryce the Long-Winded (Partial), Chapter One, Verses 9 to 11
Tonight, for however few short hours that he choses to actually sleep, is the last night that Novi and I are neighbours. Wall to wall, in fact. Door to door. Literally.
It lasted, by my calculations, close to two years. And that’s with Novi’s two apartment-switches included.
It’s been a hell of a time, really. More room-mates than neighbours. And to think that, when I moved in, we dreaded ever tiring of each other. (Just between me and you, Internet, I’m pretty sure he’s leaving just early enough for me not to drive him completely bonkers, but don’t tell him I told you)
Food has been shared, bread baked, curtains hung, unwieldy televisions moved up and down stairs, even more unwieldy bedframes forced through too small doors… An adventure.
When I stumbled home tonight, I was greeted with a feast. The entire content of Novi’s fridge, freezer and pantry. He’s leaving in the morning and thusly gifted away his last morsels to me. I didn’t want it all, of course. (Tabasco? What do you take me for, Mr. Flink!?) But what little I took are now stacked as keepsakes from a long gone era in my own pantry. Little post-cards of bread-baking past, fond foodstuffs from happier days. Before Visby came along and ruined it all.
You will rue the day, Visby! Mark my words! Start ruing!
In what can only be described as half sentimental, manly ritual and half sarcastic farce, we braved the perilous winds of Scania one last time. We smoked cigars (yes, plural) in the parking lot.
From this day forth, we will forever decry Novi’s awsome packing skills. The same skills which betrayed our dubious moment by denying us a camera.
There are no pictures of this, our last night together. Only this encomium; to friendship, to good neighbours, horrible taste in music, too much wowing and way too few good cigars.
As Friends with Pants finishes its long decline from Grand Idea™ to… well, who knows what… Novi and I are following in Candy’s footsteps and blogging our separate ways.
Mildly bittersweet that we both start taking our first bumbling steps into blogdom while Novi starts packing his last stuff and moving to, as he so eloquently puts it, a rock in the middle of the Baltic. As we part ways as neighbours, we start blogging. It’s almost as if we planned it.