Doctor Who, etc.

Burn(ed) With Me
     Speaking on several fronts, the day has been less than stellar at Casa Kaffyr.
     Culinarily, my intermittently, and ever-so-slightly malignantly, erratic oven decided to act up as I tried to bake four loaves of bread. Specifically, it decided to turn on the broiler five minutes into the baking period. My house, which normally smells delightfully of baked goods by Sunday evening, smelled instead of burned flour and molasses. Of this, the less said the better.
     Medically, my constant low-level headache - a companion ever since two doctors coerced me into avoiding my usual painkilling techniques (a long and not a little frustrating tale, but, oh boy is that another story) - has been monotonously friendly.
     Automotively, the Grey Boat needs a visit to the car doctor, who will diagnose (undoubtedly at $65 per hour plus parts) some unlikely-to-be-quickly-rectified break in the fuel system, responsible for the fuel smell that has grown at an arithmetic rate. The worry's grown at a geometric rate, but that's just me.
     And finally, in a Whovian vein, I turned on WTTW, hoping to end the day with a heady and enjoyable dose of the Doctor.
     Instead, I got "42."
     God, that's one massive carbuncle of suck.
     So affected was I by the trial of watching it - yes, I watched it, because I will watch DW even when I should poke my eyes out with knitting needles rather than do so ...  uhm ... the stench of burned flour and molasses had burned out all the taste receptors in my head ... yes, we'll go with that - that I was moved to dig up my original thoughts on the episode, posted ever so long ago over at Television Without Pity. Here they are, for the benefit of people who like to see me spit and rant about something long past its expiration date, slightly edited for length and general vitriol.

****    ****    ****    ****    ****    ****    ****    ****    ****    ****    ****  

( Bad Episode Is Bad )

( Bad Episode Is Bad )

Doctor Who, etc.

Burn(ed) With Me
     Speaking on several fronts, the day has been less than stellar at Casa Kaffyr.
     Culinarily, my intermittently, and ever-so-slightly malignantly, erratic oven decided to act up as I tried to bake four loaves of bread. Specifically, it decided to turn on the broiler five minutes into the baking period. My house, which normally smells delightfully of baked goods by Sunday evening, smelled instead of burned flour and molasses. Of this, the less said the better.
     Medically, my constant low-level headache - a companion ever since two doctors coerced me into avoiding my usual painkilling techniques (a long and not a little frustrating tale, but, oh boy is that another story) - has been monotonously friendly.
     Automotively, the Grey Boat needs a visit to the car doctor, who will diagnose (undoubtedly at $65 per hour plus parts) some unlikely-to-be-quickly-rectified break in the fuel system, responsible for the fuel smell that has grown at an arithmetic rate. The worry's grown at a geometric rate, but that's just me.
     And finally, in a Whovian vein, I turned on WTTW, hoping to end the day with a heady and enjoyable dose of the Doctor.
     Instead, I got "42."
     God, that's one massive carbuncle of suck.
     So affected was I by the trial of watching it - yes, I watched it, because I will watch DW even when I should poke my eyes out with knitting needles rather than do so ...  uhm ... the stench of burned flour and molasses had burned out all the taste receptors in my head ... yes, we'll go with that - that I was moved to dig up my original thoughts on the episode, posted ever so long ago over at Television Without Pity. Here they are, for the benefit of people who like to see me spit and rant about something long past its expiration date, slightly edited for length and general vitriol.

****    ****    ****    ****    ****    ****    ****    ****    ****    ****    ****  

( Bad Episode Is Bad )

( Bad Episode Is Bad )