The Bald One and I have become addicted to our DVR. It makes our discussions about what to record during the television seasons more amiable; as we can record two shows at the same time and have an unlimited number preprogrammed insanity. Our taste in television ranges from the Bruckheimer pseudo-methodical puzzles to the acerbic wit of Dr. Gregory House and the candy of Sci-Fi Fridays. We each have random things that go off that are pieces just for ourselves like Metalocolypse (his) and Hotel Babylon (ah, BBC for me).
The thing that cracks me up is sometimes we go through these moments of insanity and record very random things. I often have a sweet-tooth craving for disaster movie flicks covering the entire creative spectrum. The Day After Tomorrow? Seen it about five times in varieties starting points. 10.5? Volcano? Sure to both. Armageddon? Gods yes, even tear up a little thinking about poor lil Liz crying over Bruce (or in the music video, Steve).
The latest offering was Asteroid. It showed up on SciFi several weeks ago on a Saturday afternoon when I was watching some television
instead of while doing some housework. I couldn’t actually sit and enjoy the cheesiness of the disaster that was coming then so I hit the record button and walked away. Last night while the Bald One snoozed, I caught up a bit on shows like Moonlight and Without a Trace and realized that everything left had no appeal to me or was something I should wait for him to wake up for. (Scarily true: we have most of this season’s Heroes unwatched. A downside of leaving the Center – no Tuesday morning dish session of the latest exploits of saving the cheerleader.) In paging through our collection of television and random things being kept for posterity (the Star Wars history episode from Discovery is still there), I found the gem of cheesy disaster moments.
Watch as the brave FEMA director risks life and limb trying to get the old couple off their house as the propane tank is about to go up in flames. Sigh over seeing Michael Weatherly before he lived with Jessica Alba. Giggle unabashed at the tender moment between aging father and smart as a whip scientist daughter as he confesses his pride in her at saving millions of lives. “Aw…” over the FEMA director winning over the widowed scientist’s son with a cool as heck helicopter toy. Be amused as you can accurately predict the “oh shit” moment of realizing they are not out of danger and that the biggest chunk currently visible is, in fact, heading for where she thought she had safely ensconced her son – her father’s home.
And I’m only half way through the four hour epic. I can hardly wait until tonight when I’m home alone (as the Bald One has a closing shift) and I can curl up on the couch with a couple Christmas cookies and sit enraptured by the chaos.