Ah, the first episode of Daria seen in Texas last year. This will be the sex episode, and it seemed to make more sense seen in isolation. Quinn has regressed over the past episodes, though Daria is still coming out of her shell.

There's a suggestion by the Friends of John Major that it's the quiet ones in the glasses that make the best lovers. Mmm. Daria and John, sitting in a tree... pass the sickbag.

This episode features significant points from three episodes of The Greatest Serial Drama Ever. In Guns & Gossip, there's a rumour that Angela (another Everyteen) has had "full sex" with Jordan (her crush) in the back of his car (red.) In Daria, there's a rumour that Our Everyteen has had sex with Tom in her room. Neither is true.
In Pressure, Angela and Jordan are dating, when there's an assumption that sex will bring them closer and is somehow expected. In Daria, there's an assumption that sex will bring D and Tom closer and is somehow expected.
And there's a neat use of letters to bring about the unexpected in this episode and in In Dreams Begin Responsibilities.

Buffy as the new MSCL? It's argued, and it's argued cogently, but I don't think it washes.

And a sing-a-long-a-look at the career of Pete Waterman in The Hit Factory. Relive your youth growing up to the pumping disco of Hazell Dean. And Dead Or Alive. And Bananarama. Melon Kim. Kylie. Jason. Brother Beyond. Sonia. The list is endless. I don't know whether it's alarming or a tribute to the power of the songs, but I could sing along with just about every one of the record clips.

Useless personal anecdote: my personal Pop Culture high point came in August 1989, when the Wonderful Radio One Roadshow came to the Wish Tower Slopes, Eastbourne. This was by far the best roadshow for two reasons: 1) The Wish Tower Slopes form a natural amphitheatre, ensuring that everyone gets a good view back to umpteen rows back. 2) It was hosted by Phillip Schofield, with Trev and Simon. As part of the warmup, we had to cheer through Lord Tommy of Vance's announcement of the venue, and into the opening record. It was a da-da-da-d'da-doo-doo-doo-doo da-da-da-d'da-doo-doo-doo-doo guitar riff, that made a double drum beat, then got faded out. It was by the "mystery guest," who hadn't been announced for security reasons. By the first run through, every teenaged girl in the crowd (and others, including myself) knew that our Mystery Guest was the notorious heterosexualist Mister Jason Donovan. Two bars and one beat, perhaps three seconds of music, is enough to tell five thousand kids *exactly* what's coming. *That* is classic pop.

From the "we could make it up, but we really couldn't be bothered" file: The Pocket President. Yes, you too could put TV's Mr George "dubbya" Bush in your pocket. This seven-inch high two-dimensional model is accurate in every detail, even including a life-sized replica of Bush's brain.

But why stop there? Inspired by the Rev's aspiration to put everyone she fancies in her pocket to whip out when needed, we can have The Pocket Angelina, The Pocket Emma, The Pocket Irish Guy, and The Pocket Dinah. Next: a holder for all these miniature cardboard cutouts: The Pocket Pocket Pocket.

Fame, Set and Match discusses those stars of breakfast television. Frank Bough, TV's Mr Jumper, took too much cola, vanished into the ether. Any danger of a booking for Countdown? Selina Scott, the ice woman, went to look at clothes, did a hatchet job on Donald Trump, got hatcheted, vanished. They were on the BBC, where an easy viewing show just didn't work. It went all hard news in 86, and remained so until being merged into News 24 in 2000. Over on the commercial channels, Anne Diamond came from the Midlands, did TV-AM for eight years, had a sprog, lost a sprog, did a lot of work for charity, went to the BBC's morning rip-off, and could well be a decent replacement for Richard and Judy. Ulrikakakakakakaka Jonsson, TV-AM's weather girl, needs a show to herself. Like the one on C4 last Thursday. Oops. And, er, Jeremy Beadle, whose involvement with breakfast television was limited to a history slot for about a year, while he was already on GAME FOR A LAUGH. Alongside Henry "Play or pass" Kelly, and Sarah "Oh *do* shut up you old windbag" Kennedy. Missing in action: Reynard Rat.

Apologies to almost anyone who tried to access the site between about 2000 Thursday and 0900 Friday (all times UTC.) This site has been subject to a mass of requests from one IP address in Malaysia, and I've been working with a .htaccess file to deny their customers access, but preserve it for everyone else. Unfortunately, my first attempt at this blocked everyone, but I've spotted my error and things appear to be back to normal now. Well, as normal as it ever gets round here...

1. How many TVs do you have in your home? Two: a new 48cm one in the living room that doesn't quite handle an RGB signal correctly; and a 35cm one in the bedroom that does handle RGB, but has a propensity to put a purple blob in the bottom left corner if used for more than a few hours a week.

2. On average, how much TV do you watch in a week? An hour or so while having dinner, then all, some or none of the evening output. This week, I've been watching CRYSTAL MAZE repeats from 95. Next week, I'll check out CNN's new evening newswheel. Weekends, no more than four hours a day.

3. Do you feel that television is bad for young children? Not as bad as shoddily-worded questions. This might be the Worst. Friday. Five. Question. Ever.

4. What TV shows do you absolutely HAVE to watch, and if you miss them, you're heartbroken? Nothing is worth that much energy. I've gone to reasonable lengths (ie, running a tape under) to ensure the following this year:
- new DARIA (sob! only two more episodes left - but the fans reckon they're the best ever)
- new BUFFY (s6 was surprisingly good, and I wish the BBC would stick it on in a proper primetime slot. The musical episode should air around yule.)
- 17 (could do better)
- new FRIENDS (must do better. this was not a classic season.)
- repeats of DARK SEASON and INTERCEPTOR.

If I'm around, I'll catch CNN's World Sport and Daily Show, and WRN's This American Life, but when I miss 'em, I miss 'em.

5. If you had the power to create your own television network, what would your line-up include? The phrase "stripped and stranded" springs to mind.

Daytime: the usual mix of soaps and chat shows. Include RHEA! (the show formerly known as ROSIE!) on a one-week delay. Perhaps a mid-afternoon film slot.

5pm: The more populist end of the schedule: stuff like HOME AND AWAY, and a game show similar in format to DAS QUIZ.

6:15: 45 minute news package, somewhat more conversational and less formal than the opposition.

7pm: Hour for tweens - uncut DARIA, some DEGRASSI JR HIGH, maybe SABRINA, certainly a pop magazine.

8pm: Documentary / investigation / makeover / lifestyle hour. Shows like SCRAPHEAP CHALLENGE and WHAT THE ROMANS DID FOR US would fit in here. A decently intellectual slot without getting as deep as BBC4.

9pm: Drama and/or comedy. Slot here for BUFFY and THE SHIELD, or LIAR! and that much-promised screen adaptation of I'M SORRY I HAVEN'T A CLUE.

10pm (ish): More adult entertainment, drama, comedy. Perhaps a cult late music show, and a discussion show.

Sport and repeats through the night.

Similar at weekends, perhaps with documentaries on Saturday nights.

Very, very, *very* cool. The telemarketer counterscript. Annoyed by blethering idiots trying to sell you things you don't need? Keep a copy handy by your handy. A telemarketer yourself? Expect someone to pull this one on you sooner or later, and do play along.

The Thurthday Thearth...

• alligator product boycott
• zoe ball in her catsuit
• "blog" "frederick maryland"
• hotmail your email message has been idle and this link has become inactive
• prefab sprout play eurovision
• in the summer snow rave
• "towa tei" "a ring" lyrics
• free good charlotte ringtones (who are / is good charlotte?)
• oneword sky digital after midnight (it goes off air. it broadcasts 0600 - 2400.)

A very cool link on VH1 this morning. The New Radicals' one and only hit, You Get What You Give, with Gregg Alexander showing off his dancing skills, and wrecking a mall with far more style than the school bully. (Wondered where you've seen the clip for Complicated before? Wonder no more.) Then out of one magnificent Alexander / Nowells composition into ... another magnificent Alexander / Nowells composition. Unlike the first, the vocals on this one aren't up to much, because they're supplied by Moanan Bleating, the eighth worst karaoke singer ever to come out of Ireland. The comparison is a sly joke at Bleating's expense; shame it'll have gone miles over the head of 98% of the viewers.

I have a theory. One can only be a racist if one accepts that races exist. Here's a brief discussion.

In purely mathematical terms, the existence of "races" is a necessary, but not a sufficient, condition for the existance of "racism." Prove that "racism" exists, and you've proven that "races" exist; but you can't observe these "races" and conclusively conclude that "racism" exists: I could pull out a counter-argument. Similarly, prove "races" do not exist, and you've also proven that "racism" is a red herring; but again, you can't swap the two concepts around.

As social science is not as exact a discipline as mathematics, its practitioners tend to equate "exist" with "believes to exist" and "acts as though it exists." Whether they can do this with a clear conscience is a deep philosophical question that keeps sages, luminaries and other professional thinking persons in a job. For the sake of a simple argument, let's accept it as read.

Now, one counter-argument is that someone could believe that races don't exist, but somewhere in their mind, they may have some idea about races, or about different people. But this doesn't contradict the original proposition: they're acting in a way consistent with "races" existing, and the above axioms and Occam's Razor allows us to conclude that they must believe "races" exist.

Another counter-argument: someone may discriminate against somebody without even noticing it, even if you don't believe that races exist. To this, I argue that it's not possible to discriminate on the basis of some criterion you don't see. For instance, on the internet, everyone can be represented only by their keystrokes. From here, I can't easily and reliably tell whether a person is male or female, young or old, black or white, left or right handed. All I've got is the information they've supplied. Someone's "race" is completely invisible from where I'm sitting, and it is impossible for me to act on information I don't perceive.

If anyone else is au fait with mathematical concepts *and* social scientists, please write: (or the address with which you're familiar.) If there are no glaring holes in my argument, I might just use it at work's Mandatory Diversity Training Day two weeks hence. Slip out after five minutes, then return for the wrap to find the panel is still at each other's throats...

Zeitgeist track of the week: Little By Little by Oasis, not Ralph.

The ever-reliable Chris muses about Wide Games, and I'm taken back to my spell in the Cubs in the early 80s.

The scout hut was next to the village playing field, allowing us to use it for football and rounders and other forms of exercise. One such was the Wide Game. We join with the pack meeting in the other room, making around nine sixes. (Should have been ten, but there were always lads off ill, or on holiday, or for the really unfortunate, both.) Scatter roughly twenty tasks around the perimeter of the field. Some physical (shin up a tree), some mental (solve a jigsaw), some skill (kick a football through a tyre), and a few that can only be described as mystery (mainly because I've forgotten them. Look, this was twenty years ago.)

Sixes left the hut, and went to as many of these mini tasks as they could complete in a given time (50 minutes, IIRC.) Most points at the end of the night won the star prize of a Mars bar. Bit of a nightmare to organise and administer, drafting in all the leader's wives and husbands and some extra Scouts, but a good time was had by all. And a full ten years before anyone in this country had heard of THE CRYSTAL MAZE.

Real News, All The Time: Newzoid.

Three Enter Bank To Make A Deposit. Annoyed with the rubbish service they've been receiving at the Third National Bank of Shonkers, William and Gerard Twytte went to complain to a teller yesterday. The elderly pair proceeded to drop their trowsers and defecated into that little metal bowl with a piece of sliding plastic. The bank's manager, Eugene Snotsberry, said that the two were aggrieved that the Third National is still operating on eighteenth century principles.

Greek Terror Suspect Neglected In Germany. Konstantinis Emiliadotoitru, a suspected member of the feared November 13 Gang, has been discovered in a holding cell in Cologne. The usually efficient Bundeskoppen left him in a cell for almost four days with nothing more than a two litre bottle of water, a sack of apples, and a spade.

For those who care, pictures of my weekend in York are now upped. They're even less cop than usual.

The weather has been a bit of a disaster area, with heavy rain all day, and autumn has most clearly arrived. It's a depressing change from the settled weather we were enjoying just last week.

Defections from both of the major Constructed Reality Slash Talent Shows over the weekend. The one who looked a bit like Tara gets the chop from the BBC's STRUGGLING FAME ACADEMY. Vocal specialists reckoned she had strained her voice through all the work the contestants students do, and it'll take her months to recover. As the show is so early in its run, she'll be replaced by the runner-up from the public vote.

The Other Side isn't doing much better. ITV's MANUFACTURED POPTARTS: THE RIVALS has lost Nicola from the all-female band. She launched a stinging attack on Grandad Media Group, claiming that they were asking her to sign her life away, and while the producers were making zillions from the group's tour, she would be paid a mere £1500 per week. I've a lot of sympathy for these complaints: record companies still treat the record makers as serfs and slaves, and use all sorts of tricks (legal, ethical, and otherwise - mostly otherwise) to minimise their payments. Sadly for the record companies, the mass consumer is beginning to wise up to their antics, and react with some disapproval.

Nicola's error was to go when she did. By leaving so early in the series, a replacement (also called Nicola, confusingly) can be drafted in to replace her. Had she bit her tongue and waited until she had made the final five, or decided to go nuclear, live on national television one Saturday night, she would have made her point far more strongly.

This is a swizz of gargantuan proportions, and it's in the interests of all involved to keep it under wraps. Except the performers. We now know that the remaining nineteen (or however many it is) really are prepared to prostitute themselves for peanuts, in the faint hope of raking in enough cash and/or notoriety to live off for the rest of their days.

All of which brings me back home. Via another two and a bit hour journey on the Voyagers. This one doesn't go so well, and not just because of the imbeciles at Derby who decide to let a stopper go straight ahead of us. I have the misfortune to be stuck in seat 40, which is notionally a window seat. Thanks to the unique way the Voyagers have been designed, this seat has an excellent view of (er) a plastic pillar. I also have a requirement to use the restrooms, only to find that they've been designed out. All the bogs are accessible to wheelchairs, but there are only three of the spaces. This is woefully insufficient for something over 300 passengers. Where's the Vermin feedback form..?