You know, when you watch as much television as the AtAT staff does (we actually receive federal funding from government agencies monitoring our seemingly inhuman televisual intake), there can be a few unsettling side effects. For one thing, it becomes increasingly difficult to maintain a mental distinction between actors and the characters they play. After a while you might start thinking that, say, Drew Carey actually works as a middle manager in a department store human resources department and there just happen to be lots of camera crews around who record everything he does and then edit the footage together into what, coincidentally enough, just happens to turn out to be about twenty-two minutes' worth of entertaining footage every week. (Well, except for during the summer, when his life apparently turns dull and unsatisfying for a potential viewing audience.)

The other side effect of intense withdrawal from that big bore some people call the "real world" is that those celebrities become our friends. Real people are hurtful, petty, and unreliable; TV people, by contrast, just want to love you. Likeable TV characters (and therefore, by the first side effect detailed above, the actors who play them) are like family-- but without all that pesky judgment and condescension and tearful screaming matches at large holiday gatherings. What could be fluffier? Personally, we find it all works out wonderfully-- except when a member of our happy TV family does something to disappoint us.

Yes, it happens. For instance, despite the fact that Michael J. Fox has no Elvis in him, we admit that we really grew to like him during his stint as the deputy mayor of New York on Spin City. (Nothing against Charlie Sheen, of course, whose performance on the show thus far has been lovely and who has held a special place in our hearts ever since he hit the pinnacle of his career as the burnout in the police station in Ferris Bueller's Day Off. And isn't it great that Cameron eventually got over his dysfunctional relationship with his father, changed his name to Stuart, and landed a gig as a sex-obsessed dweeb on Fox's-- now Sheen's-- staff?)

But these new Gateway commercials, well... you've seen them. Mr. J. Fox is itching for a new computer, he wants it fully-loaded, and he wants its for under a thousand bucks. Some English woman urges him to call Gateway, who sets him up with some 933 MHz box with a 17-inch monitor and either a free DVD-ROM drive or a color printer, all for $999. Michael, Michael, Michael... how could you? What, no sense of style? No sense of taste? You wound us, Michael. Surely you could afford to fork over a bit more and get a computer more worthy of your lofty standing in the hearts and minds of the couch potato nation. We hear Apple has plenty of Cubes sitting around, for instance.

But then, suddenly, redemption! While the fine people at MacWEEK may have thought they were just publishing an article about the scarcity of PowerBook G4s in the channel, what they've really done is give thousands of Mac-using Michael J. Fox fans reason to smile. Tekserve sales manager Teresa Rivera mentions that "a couple of celebrities" have placed orders for the hard-to-get titanium wonders from the New York Apple specialist that employs her. She refused to name names overtly, but eventually said: "I will tell you this. I saw a commercial last night for Gateway with Michael J. Fox. Let me put it this way, I was very surprised at that." Ahhh, so Mr. J. Fox is shilling for el cheapo Gateways even as he's using his clout to snag one of the first PowerBook G4s off the line! We forgive you, Michael. The Gateway gig was just a paycheck, and good taste in personal computing can compensate for a multitude of sins. We're all just one big happy family again.

First of all, let us state for the record that we do not wish to perpetuate an unfortunate and inaccurate stereotype that continues to sully the reputation of those fine men and women who work for the U.S. Postal Service. We have nothing but respect for the postal workers of America, and we're constantly amazed by the fact that a mere thirty-four cents can get a piece of paper clear across the country in a matter of days. Think about it for a minute; that's really pretty darn impressive. Furthermore, we know some people who work for the Postal Service, and they are some of the most stable and well-balanced people we have the good fortune to number amongst our friends and acquaintances.

That said, if there's the slightest chance that the sheer drudgery, dehumanizing nature, and seemingly endless workload of certain postal functions may indeed send some employees over the edge, well, we're just a wee bit concerned by the latest news over at Computer User. It seems that postal workers are now eligible to score "special deals" on new personal computers from-- no, not our bestest buddies in Cupertino, but Compaq. Some "800,000 postal workers" qualify for "specially priced personal computers and Internet services" from the PC megagiant.

While we're thrilled that the underappreciated employees of the USPS now rate an unspecified discount on computer gear and services, we really wish that it were Apple dishing the deal instead of Compaq. We've established that postal workers aren't generally prone to run amuck, right? But out of those 800,000 employees, odds are there's at least two or three who are borderline when it comes to repeating certain "unfortunate newsworthy incidents" of the past. And now, by issuing discounts, Compaq is encouraging these potentially dissociated and disgruntled individuals to use Windows? Holy yikes, why not just hand them a rifle and a scope and point them to the nearest clock tower? The AtAT staff isn't even particularly disgruntled (some days we're even more gruntled than not), but when we experience the inherent dehumanization built into Windows, we can come mighty close to... uh, well, maybe we shouldn't finish that sentence.

Now, if this were an Apple discount program, instead, just imagine the potential benefits to humanity! Postal workers would have lower blood pressure, an increased sense of self-worth, and a nice, low frustration level. Mail carriers would make their rounds with a spring in their step, the counter help at the post office would whistle a merry tune, and a round of Registry corruption and IRQ conflicts wouldn't be the last little thing that sends one of the manual sorters into "I do what the voices command me to do" territory. So c'mon, Apple-- step up to the plate and match Compaq's offer. Think of all the lives a few cheap iMacs might save.

Geez, what is with Microsoft's marketing people these days? We thought the company had sacked the geniuses who came up with "Microsoft Bob" lo those many years ago, but perhaps those folks reapplied under fake names and are back in Redmond, because recently we've noticed an increasing degree of "Bobness" in the company's product names. Remember when the years-late Windows NT 5 was renamed Windows 2000? That was a relatively minor blip, though it blurred the distinction between Microsoft's consumer and professional operating systems, and thus increased the potential for customer confusion. Some regular shmoe might well think that Windows 2000 is what he needs, since it's "two years newer" than Windows 98. You get the picture.

Things got even goofier more recently, with Windows 98's successor being officially called "Windows Millennium Edition," or-- barfingly enough-- "Windows Me." Okay, so now the year designation, which used to be only for the consumer OS, is strictly for the formerly-NT pro OS line-up? Evidently so, since there's also "Windows Me Second Edition." Cumbersome much? Okay, sure, Apple's not exactly the king of crystal-clear product naming either. Whereas in the years prior to Steve's return Apple's product line-up was a sticky morass of four-digit numbers so dense even light could not escape, these days only the most die-hard Apple fans understand the distinction between the original PowerBook G3, the PowerBook G3 Series, the PowerBook G3 Series (Bronze Keyboard), and the PowerBook G3 (FireWire). And all those identically-named, differently-spec'd iMacs since 1998 aren't so easy to untangle, either. Still, our point is that we sense a distinct downward spiral on Microsoft's side of the fence.

Well, here's the latest: according to ZDNet News, Microsoft is considering naming the successor to Windows 2000 (which will be available in both "Windows Me"-style personal and "Windows 2000"-style professional versions) as (drum roll, please...) Windows XP. Why XP? Well, no one really knows for sure. One thought is that it refers to "XML Protocol." Yeah, that oughta draw in the customers. Others think it's a deliberate attempt to cash in on Apple's own Mac OS X name, though we think that might be a bit of a stretch. Our guess? Microsoft's marketing team is rapidly losing what little sanity remains, and "XP" refers to the code-name they use for the aliens that try to steal their thoughts whenever they're not wearing their tin-foil hats. After "Windows XP," we won't be terribly surprised if the next release is called "Windows Rubber Pants And The Shivering Night Wombats That Eat Our Souls When We Sleep."