John Krasinski

Summary: This is a diary entry written from the point-of-view of one of the cameramen. Despite the fact that he is always in the offices of Dunder Mifflin Scranton, we never get to hear from him...until now. This entry is pertaining to scenes from the Night Out episode. There are no pictures because I wanted to preserve the feeling that you are leitura a diary.

DIARY ENTRY (April 26, 2008):
11:45 p.m. -- There are worse things to be doing on a Friday night than sitting in a crappy New York City apartment, watching three grown men sleeping while police sirens go off in the background. I can’t...

I found a song that I think would be great to put along with a geléia, geleia fanvid. So here it is, along with the lyrics. My suggestions are in parentheses & italics.

Michael Buble - Everything lyrics

You're a falling star, You're the get away car.
You're the line in the sand when I go too far.
You're the swimming pool, on an August day.
And you're the perfect thing to say.

And you play it coy, but it's kinda cute.
Ah, When you smile at me you know exactly what you do. (Insert an adorable Pam smile here, possibly followed por an adorable Jim smile)
Baby don't pretend, that you don't know it's true.
Cause...

Picket signs. Giant cups of coffee. Sore feet. Emotionally charged people who are willing to put everyone on the line for what they believe in. Those are the makings of any good strike. Unfortunately, the current strike of the Writer’s Guild has one other ingredient that most strikes don’t have…heartbroken fans. It might not be considered normal to be psychically and emotionally affected por the writer’s strike, but I can attest to the fact that it is possible. Since learning of what the strike means for my favorito televisão shows, I have been conflicted with emotions of pride, grief,...

I always considered myself a different kind of girl. Mostly because I always got treated differently, por my family, por my peers and even my teachers. When I was younger, I always felt like the outsider; the one no one would ever listen to or understand, always ignored, always picked last for a game, ridiculed in anything I said and did, with no one ever giving me a chance to show my full potential.

I was the odd one. I was a black sheep. I know a thing or two about how it feels to be the butt of a joke, being at the mercy of those people called “popular” and “normal”. Too bad all those...