For Michael Ausiello and Damian Holbrook's complete recap of the Oscars and the preshow, click here.

The L Word
How is that Shane's the one who feels stupid because she doesn't know how to order at the new coffee joint, when it's know-it-all Tonya who asks for "EXpresso"? (That bugs me almost as much as when the people who make nuclear policy call it "nucular.")

And how irritating is Jenny? Robin accuses her of just wanting to sleep with people so they can fall in love with her and she can mess (not the word she used, of course) with their heads. Well, yeah — that's what she does. Don't you watch this show?


Talk about working at a fever pitch. You want to know how weird Friday is for me before I even turn the TV on? Rising temperature from some unknown bug, and I'm keeping track of it by grabbing the digital thermometer now and then while watching.

Joan of Arcadia
Temperature: 100.6

"I'd like you to help Stevie get what she deserves," says janitor God to Joan. Oh, that's fair. Last time I told people God wanted me to give everyone what they deserved, all it got me was several orders of protection and another round of mandatory therapy.

Here's something Joan should've figured out by now: When God asks her to do something in terms any less precise than "Do this and it will work out perfectly OK for you and all involved," it's going to suck. All part of the "mysterious ways" thing. Which leads to the question: Does Joan ever get to quit? Barring that, does anyone ever get to slap her down for her meddling?

What I Like About You
Temperature: 101.2

Oh, my god — I think that's Luke Perry! (Yeah, I knew he was gonna be on. Damn convincing typing, though, huh?)

OK, Brandon reference... check. Brenda reference... check. And his presence did lead to Holly and Tina talking again. Those kids. The lesson? Whenever life hands you lemons, call someone from your old series.

Temperature: 101.4

Hey, where do pirates shop for plumbing supplies? At the harrrrrrrrrrrdware store! Their favorite fast-food joint? Harrrrrrrrrrrdeeees! Their favorite holiday? Arrrrrrrrrrrrbor Day! Ah, I could go on like that all night. Only you're probably praying I don't. And the guys who took over the merchant vessel ain't, unfortunately, that kind of pirate. Not even a peg leg, a parrot or a reference to Davy Jones' locker. Dammit. Anyway, this show will soon be Harmless, which is why I'm watching. Back to the show.

"Pirates as in yo-ho-ho, sir?" asks Replacement Harm (OK, so his name's Vukovic). Quit stealing my bits, pal.

"The Navy's looking for a negotiator, Colonel, not a hero," General Cresswell tells Mac and R.H. Well, you've got the wrong people, mister. (And they end up going anyway. I forgot none of them can hear me.)

"Make a man out of him, Colonel," Cresswell tells Mac. "Sir, he's already too much man..." she snaps back, neither of them betraying a hint of a tongue in a cheek. God, I love this show.

One flaw I heard, though, and I'm pretty sure I'm right on this: "You lookin' at me?" Cammie Cresswell, the general's daughter, says to Bud's brother at a party, following up with "De Niro" when he has no idea what she's talking about. Granted, I'm ill, but I'm pretty sure that if she's doing Travis Bickle's mirror monologue from Taxi Driver, he says, "You talkin' to me?" (And believe me, if I'm wrong I'll hear about it.) Get the line right and maybe you'll find a way into the fella's hearrrrrrrrrrrrrt.

Battlestar Galactica
"He has an agenda. It's a goal you won't understand until later. Just make sure he doesn't achieve the goal," Adama says to Starbuck of a human-looking Cylon she's about to interrogate. Sounds as scary as most politicians, only they come in all different models.

One big complaint: We knew the Cylon saboteur would pop his cuffs and grab after Starbuck, just as we knew he'd grab President Roslin, because we were shown those moments in the flashes before the episode began. Love this show, Sci Fi folks. Why ruin the surprises?

Anyway, is this an entertainingly glorious mess they've created, or what? Cylon impostors everywhere, and the one guy who's come up with a test that works is the traitor who's got one in his head. (Funny moment when Boomer thanked Baltar for testing her — and, as she didn't know, lying about her humanity — and he replied "anytime." Why, Doc, how many times do you think she'll want to be tested again?)

Ultimate Film Fanatic
Temperature: 102.2

It's the UFF finals, all set to prove who really has gotta get out more! (Yes, I love dweebs, for I count myself among them, but c'mon — go outside!)

Poor Sarah goes first after blanking on a Jack Nicholson film while I'm yelling "Prizzi's Honor! The Last Detail!" — forgetting once again that she can't frickin' hear me. But my neighbors can, which surely won't help our already testy relationship. (Luckily, they're a couple, and it sounds like they're having a big argument, so I think I'm safe. I think the girlfriend's making better points, even though the guy's louder and keeps talking over her. Not that I have any firsthand experience with that sort of thing, you understand. And at this point, I'm feeling waves of heat coming off my forehead, so for all I know they aren't even home and I'm imagining all of this.)

"If we weren't that accurate, we'd have geeks all over this show," host Chris Gore tells Tony to explain why they got nitpicky with his answer and bounced him. (I got bigger stones than you, Chris; see the end of my JAG answer. Though I'll surely suffer if I'm wrong.)

And Robert "Kid Notorious" Evans is the Hollywood legend who picks the winner from the two finalists over dinner. (Better hair than The Donald!) "That's what this business is," he says. "Do the f---in' unexpected!" Then he picks Chad over Dean. Sorry, but I saw that coming, Kid. And you really should start thinking SPF.

How's the night wrap up for me, by the way? I go to bed shivering, with heavy clothes on. I fade in and out of sleep and find that a fever is weirder than any medication I've ever taken or any drinking I've ever done. I fade in and out of sleep, deciding at one point that I'm the only one living in three dimensions while everyone else is living in two. This makes perfect sense to me. Then I realize I'm boiling and my head feels like a big, hot grape sticking out of my collar. I take the shirt off. In the early morning, my wife wakes up and grabs her watch to check the time, but I beat her to it by glancing at the clock. "4:30," I say, and I'm just about to add "your time, since I experience time differently than the rest of you." Then I realize I'm a feverish, raving lunatic and I'm pouring sweat. The fever starts coming down the following morning. Interesting way to watch TV, but I wouldn't want to do it all the time. Rest assured, neither would my wife.