A few weeks ago, I was in a particularly bad mood. Zach was kind enough to let me come over and watch his TV. When I got there, he was watching a show where some lovely British guys in a souped-up truck were racing a dude on a dog sled to the North Pole.
The guy on the dog sled spent most of the trip pissed off, cold and whiny. The guys in the truck spent most of the trip drunk. As soon as I saw the truck guys re-attach a tire that had slipped off its rim with lighter fluid, Man vs. Truck became my new favorite show.
Granted, it’s not actually called Man vs. Truck. It’s really called Top Gear, and it’s a BBC show about cars – really awesome cars and all of the ridiculous things that they can do. In the episode we watched last, the crew hosts a drive-time radio show. It’s just as wonderful and disasterous as would be expected (the show ends with McArthur Park being played because it fills the last nine minutes). Something about it kind of reminded me of the early days of the BPP.
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