I was going to write about my favourite TV shows and the strange fixation my housefolks and I have developed for watching Quantum Leap but talking about what I watched on TV last night would make me pathetic. I lie, it would make me human, but it would make me feel pathetic. More pathetic in fact that talking about my cat, because at least that would give me one more tick on the list of how many fake types of crazy I can pull off.
I do less than three Sci-fi. On the one hand I want to say that this is down to the high standard of plot and writing that has to go in just to get a prime time show aired or movie produced. But then I remember such gems as the Lost World series featuring jungle Barbie which if Battlestar Galactica was Picasso would be a crayon drawing of a stick man on the back of an envelope.
I think great Sci-fi comes from the space the genre gives to explore ideas without getting heavy handed and preachy about it. Not to say they don’t, like in last week’s episode of Dr Who when in a discussion on slavery the Doctor states “where do you think your clothes come from?” Now I heart the Doctor and I am interested in where my clothes come from but asshat writers who stomp all over BBC shows (why do you think no one watches Robin Hood) and hijacking characters to put their messages out are not welcome on my TV. I am glad they at least had the sense to have Donna tell him off but in general this was a poorly scripted episode. Fine plot (ish) but poorly executed. Shame on you BBC, you must try harder if you want a gold star.
Traumas: work has been assigned, I shall have to conclude my meandering nothingy thoughts later.