because bootlegging smack in the basement is just the picture of normalcy.

So we're watching Fringe, because my husband is longing for something kinda X-Files-y, and the creepy dude from Lord of the Rings is describing to the Cate Blanchette lookalike how she can talk to her comatose boyfriend via some sort of drug-induced-technobabble, and all I can say is thank god for Pacey, explaining how idiotic the entire idea is, or I'd probably attempt to change the channel.

And now we're discussing whether or not we would do the drug-induced-technobabble thing for one another if the other of us were in the coma, and so far it looks like the answer is no, but mostly because the creepy dude from LOTR is a loon. If, say, Stephen Hawking was the one laying out the odds, and the odds of it working were decent, then Scott might consider it.

I say, if I'm comatose and my flesh is turning transparent and melting off my bones--or it looks that way, anyway--I'm not entirely sure you should be working on rescuing me. I'm tempted to just have Scott pull out the living will and collect the insurance.

Hey, I've been re-watching Jekyll, don't look at me.