Author: James Aylett

Alex Epstein, unsurprisingly making a lot of sense.

MoveOn.org’s advert for Obama. Finally, they’ve done something that doesn’t make me cringe.

60th Primetime Emmys coming up (and you can vote for a couple of categories) – but am I the only person who thinks the logotext makes it look like “EMMYs: Goth Primetime Emmy Awards”?

Cut down 9 lbs of stomach fat every 11 days by obeying this 1 tiny rule

In case you aren’t aware, that’s a calorie shortfall of around 2800 kCal per day, or more than you eat. So the “1 tiny rule” is: eat nothing. Or possibly: buy a knife.

The world’s first USB-charged vibrator disguised as lipstick is now available. Which is, I guess, great (although I’m not sure how subtle plugging a lipstick into your laptop is – we probably need a new disguise for vibrators). But why can’t it also have remote control via the USB connection? Nothing complicated is required, and given the Nabaztag is only about twice the price, it should be possible to do it for under fifty pounds. USB control would make it pretty easy to connect up for teledildonics, at a comparable price to the Televibe, and cheaper than the Sinulator. But, you know, easier to write software for.

And it’s called Mia. Aww, how cute.

Or, if they didn’t actually plan to blow them up, they at least thought about them a bit. I don’t have to wonder, though, with a Unesco report saying Britain’s monuments are under threat from new developments – maybe we should have just let them.

But anyway, they’re clearly guilty of something. Conspiracy to murder in some cases… plotting to cause a public nuisance in others, which I’ll sharply refrain from commenting on.

As he says, you don’t see (or hear) this too often on acoustic, but he’s done it anyway, and frankly it’s just a whole lotta fun.

Ken Campbell should be above the fold. (He should have been for most his life; certainly his obituary deserves to be.) Most newspapers are instead pushing Sarah Palin’s daughter being pregnant which, while news, is unlikely to actually change the world much (for once the rational voices are coming from mid-right Conservatives). Perhaps more worthy of discussion is where in hell she gets her children’s names from.

More important than Google’s announcement of a new web browser is the awesome comic introducing it, drawn by Scott McCloud. Also: Chrome? You have to wonder where Google gets its names from, too.

“Gene limiting commitment” (although that’s not exactly what it is) is probably more important than raunchy footage of Marilyn Monroe (no, that’s not exactly what it is either), although the BBC seem to disagree at the moment. At least we know where Monroe’s name came from.

So a couple of days ago I decided I really ought to watch the acclaimed episodes from season three of Doctor Who: Human Nature and Blink. And I did. And they’re great. (Well. Ish. Human Nature is the by-now traditional fifteen minutes too long.)

Then I watched all the other episodes of season three that I hadn’t caught the first time round. Honestly? Words fail me, although unfortunately for you not nearly as much as they could.

The second to last one I watched was Last of the Time Lords. This is certainly the worst writing Russell T Davies has ever done; I would have labelled it the worst writing on Doctor Who ever, including The Invisible Enemy and that strange two-parter that Pip and Jane Baker bolted onto the end of Trial of a Timelord.

But then I watched 42. Oh, my. The list of bad things about this is probably longer than the script itself. Where the season three closer was merely Sci-Fantasy done averagely, this was Sci-Fi written so ineptly I don’t know where to start. The obviously unscientific setup, midsection and resolution? The fact that it appeared to be a reject plotline from a previous Doctor Who set on board a space ship? Freema Agyeman’s breathless decision not to act for a whole episode? I’ve lamented Chris Chibnall’s complete disconnect from science before, but it comes across so strongly in this episode that it really needs mentioning again. And there’s more. So, so much more.

Fortunately Peter Fincham has already been forced to resign, although for less important reasons, so his head isn’t available for this televisual travesty. And I’m quite sure that Jay Hunt will have found plenty to resign over in season four, which I grudgingly will watch over the next few weeks.

So, all acts are now out (or in, depending on which way you look at it). And it’s obvious that Dr Horrible is an anti anti-hero story. Or possibly an anti-anti anti-hero story. Or something.

And, like all good movies, you should watch the credits – not, this time, because there’s an extra scene in there, but because you get to find out the names of the Evil League of Evil (my favourite: Fury Leika). Also, there’s a credit for “BestBot Grip”, which I can’t decide is because Joss Whedon’s started employing Aibos, or is actually a typo for “Best Boy Grip”.

(If I appeared grumpy before, perhaps it’s because I’ve been reading too much uninformed commentary on this. Like the NPR piece that quoted some inept idiot being surprised that Neil Patrick Harris can sing. That’s right, it’s a shock that the guy who’s played the Emcee in Cabaret on Broadway can sing.)