Dear Mr. Fillion,
I have a proposal that you may like. But first, some flattery:
Whether it's Firefly, Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, or your newest show, Castle, I find you consistently one of the most magnetic presences on screen. Frankly, it's gotten to the point that I will watch something specifically and only because you are in it.
Castle is one of the few shows that my girlfriend and I watch on TV, rather than downloading, partly because we can't wait to watch it, and partly because we know that downloads aren't counted as viewership.
I get the sense through your characters, your Twitter feed and your Wikipedia page that you're the type of fellow who appreciates both good deeds and senses of humour. My proposal combines both of these:
Please buy my office a coffee maker.
Yes, I am serious. But that's only half the proposal. If you buy my office a coffee maker, I will, in turn, help you buy something that you care about. Read on.
I work in the newsroom at the Brandon Sun, which is located in the near-windowless basement of an old farm implement dealership. We're currently in the process of selling our building to the city, which plans to tear it down. They're sending people in white spacesuits to conduct environmental assessments because of asbestos fears.
Although I love the job, that's just depressing.
One of the only things we had to keep us going was coffee. Here is our office coffee maker:
You will note that it looks forlorn. We have it perched on an upturned basket because otherwise the desk is too low. There's a flyer underneath because we tend to spill. Hey, we're human.
This picture was taken Tuesday. The clock has a futuristic blue glow, the red light indicates that the coffee maker is "ON" -- but it doesn't actually make coffee.
This is what happened Tuesday afternoon: I filled it up with water, like normal. I filled the basket up with coffee grounds, like normal. I hit the button to start the process, like normal.
Nothing happened. Not normal.
I fiddled with switches, unplugged it and plugged it back in. I recruited a co-worker to give it a womanly touch. Nothing fixed it. All the lights and buttons work -- the coffee does not appear.
Immediately, I posted to my Facebook: "HORROR! The office coffee machine is broken!"
It was a terrible blow.
Down the hall in the office lunchroom, there is automated coffee vending machine. It is imposingly formidible, and it has been in the same location, with the same look (and possibly the same prices) since I first worked for this newspaper as a young delivery boy:
It's just 60 cents for a cup of "individually ground and brewed" coffee. Note how they assiduously avoid the word "fresh" while still implying that.
Also, the machine taunts us by flashing a message that it is "Temporarily out of service."
Faced with a crisis, my brain sometimes works at Serenity-speed. I shanghaied a workmate's kettle, boiled some water, and poured it slowly over the grounds in the coffee maker's basket to create a cloudy brown brew that resembled coffee.
This took about half an hour, did not make me happy, and is not a sustainable long-term solution.
That's when I thought of you, Mr. Fillion. I remembered what your character Richard Castle did for the hardworking folks of the 12th Precinct when he learned of their coffee troubles -- he bought them a brand-new, top-of-the-line espresso maker.
Now, I note that Castle still brings takeout coffee to Beckett (though, one of my quibbles with the show is that the cups often appear to be weightless and empty) and I note that, even with a fancy espresso maker, the detectives and Castle still sometimes pour drip coffee.
That is all we need here, at the Brandon Sun.
Of course, I'm aware that Richard Castle is a fictional character, a ruggedly handsome and famous author who is not to be confused with the ruggedly handsome and famous actor who plays the role.
I'm not looking for a handout. After all, you don't know me, why would you just give me money?
So let me sweeten the pot. And in true Internet fashion, I'll try to make it sound like a scam:
Nathan Fillion, if you buy my office a coffee maker, I will send you back double the amount of money you spent.
Initially, I figured that I would double what you spent, and pledge it to helping you buy back the rights to Firefly.
Then I saw that you had tweeted not to send money to that cause. I was briefly perplexed. But then I decided I had an even better idea: I'll donate the money to your literacy charity, Kids Need To Read.
I don't just work in the newspaper business (a reading and writing industry), I also helped found a literary festival in my hometown that is dedicated to aiding literacy where we can.
I am serious in this proposal. Buy my office a coffee maker, and I will ensure that double the amount gets donated to your charity.
Of course, if Firefly comes back, too, that'd be pretty swell.
So how about it? Email me at [email protected]. Ot tweet me @gramiq.
Yours,
Grant Hamilton
