Marathon runners have nothing on us...

This man has a lot to answer for:


We got through the first two seasons of BSG in two days - with the 3 hour 'pilot' mini series thrown in that adds up to a LOT of TV. The schedule didn't allow for much else. We had a quick wander around the Tate Modern and along the Thames, but I see that crap every day and art is just too distracting when you have the ragtag Colonial Fleet on your mind. Of course we spent a lot of time discussing the finer points of Viper deployment, what resurrection meant for both human and Cylon, the subtle ways the new series drops in elements of the old school show and then just twists them off in elegant and sometimes brutal new directions... and we may have obsessed over Starbuck just a tad:


Once the marathon was over we kicked back with the likes of Bad Santa (still incredibly funny), The Descent (still incredibly boring) and trying our best not too upset Jess too much. We failed miserably and there's at least one Chinese restaurant that we won't be going back to...

The problem with only seeing each other properly every couple of years is that we have a LOT of idiotic conversations to catch up on... bystanders usually get caught up a in a whirlwind of the most offensive drivel and then spat out bloodied and worn. It's not pretty, but we're done for another year or so and it helps recharge my batteries being able to talk to someone who is just impossible to annoy.

Speaking of not pretty I'm listening to Geoff Tate trying to keep up with Ronnie James Dio...

And it's been ages since I copied a full Bad Signal onto the blog, but this one is just too good not to:

What is that thing in the sky?

It's the sun. We haven't seen that since November. There are blinded people all over Southend today.

I will never understand why they televise motor racing. It's duller to watch even than golf. A dozen highly-trained charisma-free planks in high-powered darts that handle like vacuum cleaners drawing a best-fitting line through a boring racetrack fifty times and the same three blokes always win. Give me the cross-country rally any day. I remember watching one where the driver was killing his navigator. The suspension had gone, and the driver was bracing himself against the steering wheel over the bumps and ditches and jumps. But the navigator had nothing to brace against. There was an in-car camera with mic, and you could hear the guy screaming every time the car hit the dirt, until he lost the power of speech entirely, and just laid there, jerking. He had to be carried out of the car by medics at the next stop -- because god forbid the driver should pull over or anything. I have a feeling that was the navigator who later died when the driver rolled his car.

Bring back Christians vs Lions, that's what I say. That'd be some television. Don't lie to me. You only watch the Winter Olympics to see the skiers wipe out on the downhill slopes. I'd wear that shirt and go to the sports bar. "I'm a Lions fan!" "Me too!" "Have you ever met a Christians fan?" "Only in Oklahoma and South Dakota. But they say God invented lions anyway, so they're kind of torn. Which is funny, really, because that's what happens to the Christians on a Saturday afternoon anyway..."

I should be running a TV network. I would crush the opposition. Also, see them driven before me and hear the lamentation of their women.

"Les Moonves, what is best in life?"
"To crush Jeff Zucker, see him driven before me, and hear the lamentation of his women." Now that'd be a press conference worth attending. Les Moonves in a loincloth, collar and tie, waving a broadsword stained with the blood of failed sitcoms. Standing on a pile of dead ugly middle-aged Italian guys with inexplicably hot wives.

Send me all the money now.

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[Music: Queensryche - Operation Mindcrime II ]