Arrested Development is really hitting its stride. I was cacking myself madly at tonight's episode. And the appearance of Liza Minelli was so well-judged. Bless.

In other TV-watching shenanigans, attempting to enjoy the long-awaited return of Footballers' Wives tonight was a mixture of pleasure and pain for me. Pleasure, because I fucking love that show. God, it's fantastic. And pain, because its return was accompanied by a backdrop of lightly sozzled relatives wincing with exaggerated disdain at the 'crass' accents on display, with much shaking of heads and intrusive talk of "Why are you watching this show? It's beneath you!" Um, because it RULES! Der! Shhh! I'm trying to listen to the lies Tanya is spinning on the witness stand! I can't waste all this precious time staring you down and radiating contempt! Uh-oh. Here we go. Cross-generational warfare at its most inept, in my opinion. I mean, launching into obnoxious recitations of Hamlet's soliloquies around the table was, I suppose, intended as a biting counterpoint to the show and a comment on generational concepts of value. Yeah. Right. Oh man, they just don't get stuff, do they? Pain. Serious fucking pain.

In other news, oh ho! Motley Crue. Awesome!