Yeah. Still feel like crap. Wearing sunglasses just to look at monitor. Fluorescent lights are the devil. Still have thousands of pictures unviewed and unsorted. Brain not congealed enough to converted Malaysian memories into lighthearted tales of sweat puddles and monkeys.

Just wanted to share one thought totally unrelated to my travels and adventures.

[Deep breath.]

OMG!! BSG IS BACK!! BSG IS BACK!! BSG IS BACK!!

[Cough.]

That is all.

Excuse me. I have an appointment with mucus.

So tie-tie.

But I must… stay awake… to fight jet-lag.

And…

… to watch Heroes.

Priorities… I have them.

I you’re trying to decide which of the new shows out this fall you should spend your hard-earned free time on — the free time that is not already set aside for perusing this fine site, of course — might I recommend Dirty Sexy Money. Pure gleeful fun. Blows away everything we’ve seen so far. That’s how you make an entertaining- OH NO! OH NO! OH NO! A HAIR ON MY MACBOOK PRO! UNCLEAN! UNCLEAN! UNCLEAN! WAA! WAA! WAAAAAA!

[Runs around room in blind panic, until a random gust of air bows hair off of the screen.]

Oh.

Sorry. Still a little touchy.

Where was I?

[Pause.]

It was important, wasn’t it?

[Another pause.]

Damn. I hate it when I do that.

I’m spouting off some truly remarkable thoughts, real earth-shattering crap, and then I freaking lose my train of thought.

[Oh sweet Jesus even one more pause.]

Oh well. At least you learned a little bit of earth-shattering crap.

Whatever it was.

Never mind. I’ll make it up to you.

Go have some pie. You deserve it.

• YouTube: “CSI Miami - Endless Caruso One Liners” (via Ken Levine)

I think I’m going to put “Won’t Get Fooled Again” on a small tape player that I can keep in my pocket. Then, whenever I say something awesome, I’ll hit play.

Admit it, ladies…

YOU’LL BE DRAWN TO ME.

INEXORABLY.

We’re sitting down, watching CSI: Miami.

(Yes. We do watch it. It’s real purty to watch in high-def.)

The show is proceeding apace: extremely elaborate crime occurs, which is investigated by improbably pretty people, who use supernaturally rococo forensic processes (including absurdly mystical database searches) by which the criminal is brought to justice. (And I have yet again avoided making a drinking game out of Horatio putting on or taking off his sunglasses, because… well… I want to live.)

And it hits me. Reality? It has left the building. This show has shacked up in a rundown motel with James Bondian Fantasy.

That’s when I realised what the masterminds of the CSI franchise need to do next:

CSI: HOLLOWED-OUT VOLCANO

Follow me on this one…

When the Bond movie ends… and everything that is explodable has exploded… and everything that can be melted-to-slag with a solar-powered death-ray has been adequately melted-to-slag with a solar-powered death-ray… and the bodies of countless unitarded minions have finished twitching and oozing… some world-weary local cops and CSIs have to come in and sort through the mess.

I’D WATCH THAT SHOW.

“Yeah… some good samaritan called it in… according to the 911 tape… let’s see…” [flips through notebook] “‘the top of the mountain, it done “assploded”‘… no… they didn’t leave their name…”

“Damn! We need to fingerprint this whole lair? Even the shark pool? They better be ready to dish out on the overtime on this one…”

“My initial examination of the corpse revealed some very interesting bite marks… almost as if the attacker had metal teeth…”

“The tire treads look to be high-end… maybe Jaguar or Aston Martin… but I’m also seeing what looks like exhaust patterns for a missile launcher… we’ll have to see what the mass-spec says…”

“I found some odd trace in the wound… It’s a mixture of tempered steel — from a blade of some kind — and what looks like hat felt…”

“Stomach contents reveal no food, but a large quantity of vodka and vermouth…”

Aaaand… so on.

Admit it. That show would rule.

…

I tried to explain this idea to My Lovely Wife.

She didn’t really react.

I said, “Damn. I’m not explaining this well.”

She said, “Oh… you explained it just fine…”