Cosdoom

Re: Costume Option Analysis For Halloween 2007
from: Brain Gremlin

Narraptor, below is our feasibility/recognition analysis report on your costume options for Halloween 2007. I was disappointed to see "crazy mogwai" was not on your initial request form when you submitted it 6 months ago. Perhaps you'd be willing to consider this option next year?

I'm going as Tony Randall, myself. Cheers.

Sexy Witch
Supplies required: Sexy witch outfit, sexy witch hat, sexy boots, sexy stockings, perhaps a suggestive wand
Pro: You'd make a very sexy witch
Con: You'd make a very sexy witch
Recommendation: Vetoed by wife

Dr. Gaius Baltar
Supplies required: Depends on the season. Either a lab coat, a suit, or a prison uniform. "I'm a scientist!" glasses optional. Ability to look like you're always about to cry mandatory. Brown locks or Jesus/Charles Manson beard dependent on episode.
Pro: It's Gaius frakkin' Baltar! And good motivation to buy a new suit.
Con: "Battle...what? Gay who? I don't know that that is."
Recommendation: You'd be better off going as Locke or Sayid.

Mr. David Nelson
Supplies required: An unfortunate suit. Short orange hair. White.
Pro: You need a haircut.
Con: "News...what?"
Recommendation: Unless you have a friend willing to dye his hair orange and go as Bill McNeil, this is the wrong reason to get a haircut.

Mr. Vampire
Supplies required: Chinese vampire clothes (robe, hat, beads, shoes, pants, tabard), nails, fangs, and makeup
Pro: Dude!
Con: "Mr... what?" The only people who know who Mr. Vampire is are people who you lent the movie to. Every set of fangs you buy you won't be able to wear. You've never applied makeup in your life. Your hair is too long and the wrong color. You don't have contacts. Hopping up a spiral staircase is a bad idea.
Recommendation: Approved.

---

Post Halloween Costume Report For Halloween 2007
from: Narraptor

Costume Chosen: Mr. Vampire

Supplies Used: Chinese vampire clothes (robe, hat, shoes, pants--accidentally left beads at home) and makeup. No fangs or nails. First pair of fangs would screw up dental work, replacement pair exceeded gum line. Nails would make driving in the dark difficult.

Positive Responses: Looked cool when posing for photos while sticking arms out and making vampire faces. Weird people got it when the opportunity to hop presented itself. My Pal Skipp appreciated the effort.

Recognition Percentage: "Are you a bishop?" "Are you a cardinal?" "Are you a mandarin?" "Are you a mandarin zombie?" "Are you the guy from Mulan?" "Are you Chinese...guy?"

Final Analysis: At one party I attended in costume, a woman wearing a full-on Wonder Woman outfit with a W on the front was repeatedly addressed as "Supergirl." Even if you go mainstream, you just can't win. Success by default.

Please begin research for next year. I expect a report in 8 months on the following options: Sexy Vietnamese Woman, Guy With Tentacles, Lodz, Annoying Guy Who Goes Around And Asks People With Obvious Costumes Who They're Supposed To Be.

OPM

You know you're in trouble when a stand-up's first line is, "We live an age of bullshit," and then she begins to kind of rant about Starbucks. The "things everyone knows about" age of comedy has been eclipsed. The only Starbuck I care about is the one who used to be a man and is now supposed to be dead. Niche is in. Narrow your focus.

As a prelude to OPM, I saw two one-woman shows on Monday. The first comic attempted to make up for her opening dance act by becoming increasingly vulgar and flirting with the gay men in the front row. As Margaret Cho has proven, gay audiences love to hear about how disgusting a vagina can be. Seeing an opening, she plowed into it repeatedly for 30 minutes. "OMG! Labia? What's up with that? What are those two flaps of skin for?"

It's Halloween. The barriers between this world and the next are thin. Allow me to consult Douglas Adams on this.

Douglas Adams: "Those flaps of skin are what forms the line on a man's scrotum. Get over it. And while I have your attention, The Hitchhiker's Guide has this to say about opening for a mostly Asian-American comedy troupe. 'Comparing a woman's pubic hair to a Chinese dude's beard and making it talk with a pidgin accent...what solar system does Canada exist in again? Ah, yes, the '80s.' As for the '80s, it has this to say. 'Mostly racist.'"

The second act was all about a tweaked out, beefy Tinkerbell. I'll give her credit, in our post Simpsons, Shrek, Family Guy world, the material was played out, but the actress was good. I could have lived without ever seeing a cross between "Look what I can do!" guy from Mad TV and "Superstar!" girl from SNL, but some things, like one-woman shows, just aren't for me. I prefer my one-woman shows to involve at least two men on opposite points of entry.

OPM closed out the night. Full disclosure, I can't offer an unbiased opinion. One of the performers is an old friend of mine, and Deborah S. Craig made a freakin' hot drunk Britney Spears. Normally I might balk at mocking Spears' recent VMA performance by changing the lyrics of "Gimme More" to "Gimme S'mores", but if Craig wants to wear hot pants and get covered in chocolate, then I can't say I was s'mortified.

As I mentioned above, I think there's an exclusionary modifier to humor. The less people who get the joke, the funnier it is. When OPM wasn't lampooning celebrities, they did perform some more subtle bits, and I enjoyed them. I expected a bit more bite overall, but "Interracial Relations" was clever, and I laughed throughout "Wrong Medicine" even though I didn't know anything about Amy Winewho. Apparently, she doesn't want to go to rehab.

I think "Appa Knows Best" could be a stand-out skit if it played more with of the cliches of Korean dramas. It went over well with the audience as a whole, but if there had been a guy in it wearing two scarves, glasses, and an orange wig, it would have rocked. The group definitely has potential, and coming from an arrogant, overly-critical bastard like me, that's a firm endorsement.

Scores follow.

First Act: When someone's bio says they're a clown, this is not a descriptive adjective. They are part clown.

Second Act: My wife put it best. "I didn't come here to see a play."

OPM: A good time was had by even me. A worthy opponent.

Bullet Point Book Reviews

Astute readers may notice that despite my protests to the contrary, participation has decreased significantly over the past six months. Productivity is at an all-time low. While this directly corresponds to real life class changes, including prestige classes and grind burnout, it can't be denied that our blog is perilously close to entering that predictable "Sorry we haven't posted anything in two months" stage.

I blame myself. My dictatorial instincts have recently been focused elsewhere, and I've been suffering a crisis of conscience over whether or not content should be free. In general, I agree that free content is nice, as long as the providers aren't self-righteous about it. But ideally, I think their podcasts, blogs, v-logs, and YouTube stunts should be ancillary to work they are actually paid for. Gloating over the death of a magazine that would pay you for the same content you give away for free is the sort of thing that, hypothetically, might classify your podcast as no longer tolerable. And it upsets me greatly that the guys from LOSTcasts put so much thought into their work while TV reporters at the New York and LA Times are paid not to.

But I digress, and use "I" more than I'd like. In the interest of keeping our blog alive for at least a full year, allow me to suggest some changes to for our review formula. Specifically, how we go about book reviews.

A book-a-week reader as a student, I couldn't imagine a life where time spent reading books would become a luxury. But here I am. As a fully-employed reader, writer, and gamer, I currently view books according to three criteria:

• Time: Is it worth the time spent to read/listen to a book?
• Money: Is it worth the cost of the reviewed format of the title (hardback/audiobook/trade/etc.)?
• Wait: Is it worth the wait to get it at the library or for a different format?

Note that these are the same criteria I use to judge anything supposedly entertaining or enlightening, from Battlestar to Buddhism.

As a hibernating aspiring novelist myself, I hesitate to suggest that a book is not worth the time spent reading it (you can learn something from any book, especially the bad ones). But there's no reason we should treat books with kid gloves when we're so harsh with more collaborative media like television, movies, games, and porn. Yes, it's sad for Christopher Pike if he spends years (benefit of the doubt) on his latest adult novel, only for some interlard to dismiss it as a waste of your time. But it's significantly more cruel to bash BSG or Sakura Tales, something we do often. It's probably not Apollo's fault that Starbuck isn't dead, and Mika Tan puts a lot more on the line than Christopher Pike. His heart may be on the page, but you won't recognize his face at the mall.

I'm not advocating that we descend to 5-sentence book reviews, but I think if we keep time, money, and wait in mind, it might be less daunting to get book reviews up on a regular basis. We need something to write about until television comes back. And our 8 readers might appreciate suggestions on what else they could be reading when I get passive-aggressive and refuse to post.

Which Battlestar Galactica Glasses Are YOU?

Glasses were created by Man
They evolved
They became progressive and photochromic
There are many brands

After 5 years, I decided it was time to get a new pair of glasses. It's not that I didn't have the insurance all the while, or that I'm reluctant to schedule regular doctor's visits. With the exception of a brief period after getting my two front teeth replaced with platinum rims, I've never even postponed a dental checkup. But optometrists make me nervous. Chalk it up to the pressure...

OPTOMETRIST: Which is better 1 or 2?

NARRAPTOR: 2.

OPT: 2 or 3?

NAR: 3.

OPT: 3 or 4?

NAR: Sorry. Again?

OPT: 3 or 4?

NAR: One more time.

OPT: [sigh]

NAR: Um, 3 is fine. I think.

OPT: 3 or 4?

NAR: 4.

OPT: Okay, now 1 or 2.

NAR: I'm not sure.

OPT: Not sure? Either one is better than the other or there's no change. And stop crying!

NAR: But the light hurts my eyes.

OPT: Look to the left of my ear. LOOK TO THE LEFT OF MY EAR!

...and a bad childhood experience that required me to pass a certain test before they'd consider the option of contact lenses.

Then there's the additional stress of trying on new frames. Not only can't you see how they look from six inches away, but by the time you're handed a "Finding the Right Eyewear" pamphlet, your eyes are dilated and you can't read. You roam the racks, hoping the next frames you pick up aren't on the wrong side of the unisex spectrum. Or that they're not completely wrong for you but no one will say so. You don't want to be the guy you saw leaving the store minutes earlier trying to convince himself that he made the right blind guess.

GUY: I can't see and need an honest opinion. How do these look?

SALES REP 1: It's good. You look like that comedian. Fellow sales associate, what do you think?

SALES REP 2: It's a look.

GUY: It is a look.

SALES REP 1: Like Drew Carrey.

GUY: What do you think, female acquaintance? Will this hinder my game?

FEMALE ACQUAINTANCE: Um...

GUY: It's a look.

FEMALE ACQUAINTANCE: It sure is.

Teh Interweb to the rescue. Not only can you take a Frame Personality Test before you arrive for your exam, but Google and Wikipedia offer what hairdressers have provided customers for years: the opportunity to style yourself after people you see in movies and on TV. There's no People (Who Wear Glasses) magazine for your optometrist to leave in the lobby. But there is Google Images! Forget oval versus square-face scenarios. Are you an HRG or a Hiro?

My FPT results were somewhat accurate, although the test questions did not appear to be for me. I don't know enough about shoes to say that I have a style; if I was a car, I'd either be a Japanese compact with good mileage or something that got points for running over pedestrians and causing awesome damage combos; and if I'm at a social event, I'm either A) thinking about when I can leave or B) the only person in my group that's happy to be there. The only answer I felt confident about was whether I was male or female.

I did the best I could with the multiple choices I was given. But it would have been easier just to point to a picture of Baltar.

BSG Is Dukkha

Perhaps Narraptor is too harsh about the newly revealed Cylon models. I have not been watching BSG. In fact, I've been avoiding it. But on a whim I decided to give it another go. Everyone deserves a second chance right?

I kind of enjoyed the finale for the most part. Apollo had actual dialogue and managed to deliver it almost well--or at least not badly. I think it would have been cooler if Baltar had been killed by the unruly mob, a la Frankenstein's monster, but I could live with what we were given. And while the "Hey, guess what? We're all Cylons" bit was poorly done, I was prepared to overlook even that to an extent. I've learned to no longer expect great things from Battlestar.

Admittedly, I can pick out many things I wish had been done differently, but none of it really seemed to phase my newly acquired Zen-like ability to find contentment where in previous episodes I had found only pain--dukkha, if you will. As the episode began to wind down I actually breathed a sigh of relief. I marveled to myself at how it was not nearly as bad as I had feared, and that apparently I was just being silly.

Then Starbuck arrived on the scene and handed us some crap about finding Earth.

FUCK BSG!

Narraptor is right to be harsh, I only question his choice of where to loose his venom.

Frakk You

"Dude, I'm a Cylon. I keep hearing the Lite FM."

"Whoa, dude! Me, too, I guess. That's frakked up."

"Yeah, so...what do you wanna do now?"

"I dunno. Should we throw ourselves out an airlock or something? I mean, I don't really seem like the type to betray humanity."

"Let's just go back to work."

"Eh. Whatever."

Jake's Wake Is Coming

Three things I want to note before delving into my rant: One, the previous Lost post can be read by anyone who already knows that Mr. Eko is dead or doesn't know who he is, in case the "it was all a dream" tag wasn't enough of a tip-off. Two, My Pal Skipp's short will be linked here as soon as it is available on the Internet. And three, though our spoiler policy is clear, our "you'll never watch this show again if you know this" policy is not. So I'll warn you that if you intend to keep watching Battlestar Galactica because you crave disappointment, please, don't read any further.

Here is an extra line in case you read fast. I hope you're reading this on purpose, because you've probably already seen the word below in quotes.

I watched Battlestar Galactica Sunday night. The one where Starbuck "died."

I'm done.

I'll keep watching until the pajama trial of Baltar, and maybe check out the made for Sci-Fi channel summer movie and the first two episodes next season just for a laugh. But I'm done.

I tried to embrace Mr. Bile's "one episode at a time theory for Battlestar enjoyment." But when it comes down to it, BSG is not Lost and I can't watch it as if it were.

Think what you will about Lost's refusal to answer lingering mysteries or advance the island plot, but it's held true to the series' premise. Each episode is tied into a single character's past. Whether that actually advances the timeline or explains why that character is doing the same thing over and over again, the conceit has been remarkably consistent. And since the themes of the show are predestiny, people's inability to change, and fate vs. free will, it works.

Battlestar is a different type of show. It began as a wanna-be pilot/mini-series and developed into a tight 13-episode first season with an ensemble cast. But over the course of the bloated second and third seasons, the majority of episodes seemed as if they were written for network sweeps. With the exception of two-part finales or plot arc epilogues, episodes increasingly focused on only one or two characters. Flashbacks became commonplace, rewriting what we knew, and the metaplot, when acknowledged, was presented as a clip show.

BSG forgot it was an ensemble show. All the interesting characters have either been written out, ignored, or turned to cardboard. Not only am I supposed to believe that Starbuck flew into a colored space hole to "die" just because, but Adama reacts like a spoiled teenager afterwards and breaks his favorite toy?

Get back to me 10 years from now when Chris Carter comes out of retirement to make the re-re-imagining of Battlestar Galactica, and I can get my hopes up and have them dashed all over again courtesy of Lance Henriksen.

The Curse of Ronald Moore

Battlestar Galactica starts back up tonight, and I can't help but to be worried.

Season 3.0 started strong, exploring some of the questions that ought to have been asked in season 2.5. Questions like, "Hey, what about those thirteen cylons?" and "Was there a point to the Pegasus?" (The answers to which were, "It's a secret!," and "No.") Season 3.5 promises to pick up by asking the questions that were supposed to be in season 3.0. Expect questions like, "Why exactly does everyone hate Baltar so much?" and "Was there a point to the Cylon baby?"

Hell if I know the answer to the Baltar question. There are a lot of reasons why all of humanity could hate Baltar. Do they know that he's been a Cylon tool all along? Sharon could have told them, after all. But she wouldn't have known about the nuclear device he willfully gave to Suicide Sharon. Or perhaps they're just very angry about him being a bad president. It's hard to tell.

Silence is a new theme to the series. In the season 3.0's finale, Dean Stockwell missed his opportunity to tell Tigh that he slept with his wife. Religious Cylon was quite mute on the subject of finding a site that would lead him to his density. The Sharon meets Sharon scene was limited to the same dialogue that we heard in previous episodes. "Why are you doing this? Also, we have your kid." And the return of Baltar was met with blank stares from the Battlestar Galactica crew.

This could change at any time, of course. BSG is an inconstant beast, and capable of leaping from subpar to terrific at a moment's notice. Still, I'm thinking the best way to watch the show is to pretend the metaplot doesn't exist. In any given episode, the characters are liable to say a lot of interesting things. You might discover that there are eight cylons left in the human fleet, or that a dead Cylon can still hear people speak around them. Minor but seemingly important characters will be introduced, like a civilian aerospace engineer, or some guy called Jammer. But when the episode's over, just set that information aside. Stop trying to guess which plot hooks ones mean something, and which are just going to be forgotten. The writers aren't keeping a big book of all the issues they need to resolve. The storyline's future is uncertain enough that most of the foreshadowing is going to be retconned anyway. When it's done well, you'll be pleasantly surprised. When it isn't, then you'll wonder where the Chief's religious background had been hiding for the last twenty episodes since it had been first mentioned. Both beat wondering every episode if they'll finally talk about whether cylon spines really glow during sex, of if it's only visible to television viewers.

The real question is whether I'm preparing to watch the show in the proper fashion now, or if I'm just lowering my standards.

Lost Update

The reports come in varying degrees of certainty, some with more cattiness than necessary, but it seems clear that the producers behind Lost intend to wrap things up in a season and a half or two. They're also pushing to air the fourth season episodes consecutively, with no midseason break to irritate the more skeptical and impatient fans.

I consider my defense of the show vindicated. Even if it ends badly, at least I'll know they tried to learn from The X-Files, at a time when Battlestar Galactica steadfastly ignores its lessons and Heroes takes the easy way out by being easy. (Just a guess here, but I bet the T. Rex Hiro encounters is stuffed.)

Six episodes into season 3, we're being introduced to the Others, and there will be a Juliet flashback when the show resumes in a few weeks. It feels like we've already passed the plot's midpoint. It's nice to know the writers and producers feel the same way. Maybe I can justify getting a Hanso Foundation polo shirt now.

Having given up on Battlestar Galactica, the only end game I'm concerned about is the one on The Office. There are a lot of relationships up in the air, and then there's the more vicious brand of office politics courtesy of Andy from Stamford. I'm beginning to understand why the British show closed up shop before exploring all the possibilities of its concept, and let's be honest, totally caved in the series finale. I watch The Office hoping everyone has a happy ending, but it wouldn't be the same if they did.

All Is Forgiven

After comparing Battlestar Galactica to the lowest of modern art forms on Saturday, I had the most wonderful dream: Boomer in a Japanese Asics competition swimsuit. The racerback opening showed off her beautiful glowing spine, and the translucent white lycra provided a hint of everything else.

Forget what I wrote earlier. Best dream show evar.

The Mysterious Dean Stockwell

A discussion about the penultimate episode to BSG's demiseason will have to wait for a few more days. But along with the show needing more Baltar and more Zarek, I'd like to ask where Dean Stockwell's been hiding out. It's nice that he reappears for the important episodes, but it was distracting to wonder where the hell he had gone to for half of the season. His reappearance only serves to break my private hope that every Stockwell model had left to form their own renegade cylon armada.

I'm starting to suspect that BSG has never been very good about getting contracts set up with their cylon actors. For the longest time, I was convinced that there was a reason you never saw Religious Cylon interacting with the rest of his kind. The real reason turned out to be "to stretch the casting budget." This was perfectly fine in the beginning, but once you start killing off characters who won't commit to multiple seasons, it's bad form to turn around and only hire "real actors" for three episodes at a time. Especialy when they play characters who ought to be present in every episode.

For you non-BSG watchers out there, despite what Narraptor said there is no "frelling" in the cylon occupied world of the future. They've upgraded to "frakking," which is unfortunate for most everyone concerned. It must be said that things could have turned out worse. In my youth, I read Shadowrun novels where the reader was expected to take lines like "What the frag?" seriously. Harder science fiction authors would just substitute curse words from other languages, assuming you count Esperanto as a real language.

I dimly recall that Tad Williams had come up with some good fake curse words for his made-up future. He claimed that this was because you couldn't accurately predict what slang would be like even ten years from now, so you might as well just come up with a word that sounds good.

What The Frell?

It was not too long ago that I praised BSG as one of the best shows in season on television. At the beginning of season 3, I could not praise it highly enough. Now I've turned into an "each week is the worst episode ever" fan. What the frell happened?

The easy answer is M.A.N.T.I.S. But that is a disservice to Carl Lumbly, who I can only hope pops up in a Lost flashback sometime soon, since BSG obviously needs multiple black characters as much as it needs a bitter aerospace engineer.

The seeds of suck were already apparent in the first post-New Caprica episodes, and more observant friends of mine noticed dramatic changes in the dialogue as early as episode 2. Things have only worsened since then, with characters stating things we already know ("I know how it feels to lose a child"), expositing things that were just made up ("You know, my dad was really into the faith"), and anything that comes out of Callie's mouth. Don't be surprised if the next episode opens with Callie saying, "You know, Chief, assuming we live through this, I'll finally get that haircut I've been talking about."

I am usually the last person to conclude that a show has been raped by a panda, but when the dialogue goes to hell, that's a bad sign. I remember my shock at X-Files season 7, the one where they were "getting back to their roots." Mulder stopped talking like Mulder, and Scully and Skinner--Skinner!--did likewise. In the most recent episodes of BSG, conversations just seem too scripted. To mine the mid-season finale for examples: the giving up Baltar scene, the Sharon-Boomer confrontation, Helo's speech to Adama about Hera...

Watching those play out, I felt like I was watching TV. Or even worse, Battlestar Galactica the play.

The turning point for me was the boxing episode, which I still believe to be the best worst episode ever. It was worth it to see Chief get punched in the face and for the subtle acknowledgment that he does realize that, dude, Sharon is totally hot, Helo's a boring jock who doesn't deserve her, and Callie cares too much about their baby to do something with her bangs. But the story didn't make any sense. You have so few humans you outlaw abortion, but free-for-all boxing is okay? And the writers doubted our ability to get the point so much that it was delivered via metaphor, flashback, and monologue. Wasn't this supposed to be a smart person's show?

It's not like I never suspected this would happen. I knew something would go wrong when the series became popular enough to warrant 20-plus episodes a year instead of 12. People I trust have several interesting theories about where the show went astray or why it has yet to do so. One thinks they should have kept the conceit from "33", with the Cylons constantly chasing the humans towards Earth. And as far as I know, Mr. Bile still holds faith that the show's first and last episodes each season will totally kick ass. Allow me to present a different perspective, based in part on listening to 40 minutes of the BSG writer's meeting podcasts I previously linked.

1. There is no frelling plan.

2. The writers introduce concepts with no concern for their long-term impact. Remember when Cylons' spines turned red when they were having sex? Sure, maybe Boomer subconsciously always wanted to be on top so no one would notice. But after it turned out the Pegasus guys were having their way with a Six, it never came up again. Don't you think someone would have mentioned it as the ultimate Cylon detector? For that matter, does it happen with Cylon dudes as well?

3. The show lost its edge when they allowed a Six to off Admiral Cain. Having Starbuck back off from Galactica's assassination attempt wasn't a cop-out until an NPC shot her in the head. Introducing Cain as Adama's superior, electing Baltar as President, these were the most promising conflicts in the series after the first season Adama/Roslyn battles. Why kill them off/make them impotent just when things are getting interesting? For that matter, where the hell is Zarek?

Out Of The Cylon Planet

On the second attempt, I finished reading Out Of The Silent Planet, the unnecessary first book of C. S. Lewis' unnamed science fiction trilogy. The hero is kidnapped, and taken to a mysterious planet by an evil scientist and his preppie. He escapes, and discovers that every other sentient life form in the solar system lives a good and righteous life except for man. Then, he gets sent back to Earth and complains that the story you have just read left out all the best parts.

This might very well be the weakest book in the trilogy, for all I know. However, the weakest book in the Chronicles of Narnia features a giantess using a steel girder as a club. In contrast, Out Of The Silent Planet climaxes with an astronaut complaining how hot it gets in space.

If I'm going to talk about the science fiction religious allegories of yesteryear, I should also talk about Battlestar Galactica. I have a working theory that any time a mystery is presented to the viewers, it's the show's way of saying that they don't know either. What is the connection between the barely explained human religion and the utterly unexplained Cylon religion? You can be assured that your guess is exactly as good as the writing staff's. After two and a half seasons, all I know about Cylon Jesus is that he doesn't like people very much.

And that's why you should never admit the full extent to which you're making up the story as you go along. In a book, when the scene switches to the main villain's perspective and he thinks about his master plan in the vaguest of terms, I'm only annoyed at the bad writing. It never occurs to me that perhaps Jeffery Deaver doesn't know what's going on, either.

Press X

Due to a loophole in the Blogger beta, an article saved as a draft will post on the day you first saved it when it's finally published. So if anyone other than Mr. Bile was intrigued by the hat and had yet to figure out where to obtain one, I suggest you press the X-button and wait for the text to scroll down to December 5th.

Now that that's out of the way, I actually logged on to point out that according to Google, I am the first person ever to imagine "Buttstar Gaylactica."

The search engine even provided the punchline.

Halloween Tribute to Bear McCreary

Last Friday I took my wife to Johnny Vatos' Tribute to Halloween: Featuring Members of Oingo Boingo. X and Dramarama were also in attendance--apparently the tribute group's solo gig was the next night in Anaheim. (This is not the first time Ticketmaster has hidden something from me. When my wife wanted to see Al Pacino in Salome, we ended up at a staged reading days before the actual premiere. All the actors except for Mr. Pacino were reading aloud from their scripts, which lead my wife to assume that a) Pacino's a really dedicated actor and b) American plays are different than they are in Japan, where people are required to know their lines.) But our primary reason for showing up was Bear McCreary.

McCreary took over as the composer on Battlestar Galactica during its first season. The scope of the second season soundtrack would have an uninformed listener believing he or she were listening to a movie soundtrack instead of one for a TV show. The variety of instruments, the participation of live musicians, and the overall "What if Philip Glass was good?" vibe make it stand out from anything else on the small screen. And unlike many other respectable sci-fi/fantasy series from the past, there seems to be little direct repetition of the music from season to season. I'm looking at you, The X-Files.

Many of the Former Members of Oingo Boingo in the tribute band, including Vatos himself, have performed on the soundtracks. Raya Yarbrough, who sings the vocals on the "Lord of Kobol" track, was there Friday night and performed "Sally's Song" from The Nightmare Before Christmas. Unlike the live reenactment of Oogie Boogie's song, her version was a moving improvement over the weakest song in the film. McCreary served as musical director, keyboardist, and Jack Skellington for the concert.

This is difficult for me to admit, but after seeing the guy who composed "Prelude For War" rocking out in skull makeup, pumping his fist in the air to "Only a Lad," and singing "Jack's Lament" with live string accompaniment, Bear McCreary is now my favorite musician.

It was one of those concerts that make you wish you had stuck with the violin. I don't lament giving up drawing. My talent for placing commas is much more important to me than being able to sketch ghoul lords and abishai (from the astral planes, not The Bible) in colored pencil. But if someone had told me in sixth grade that if I kept at it I could be playing with Oingo Boingo, I would have had a reason to stay in orchestra class other than the obvious.

I'm sorry, Voltaire. Release Ookie Spookie and we'll talk.

Cylon Occupied Caprica, Part 2: The Gray Filter

After watching Battlestar Galactica, my fears about the show have faded away. Even the “One Year Later” gimmick turned out to be a brilliant idea. It’s as if the viewers got to skip a whole season’s worth of character-specific episodes. (Including the mandatory three focused on the Chief.)

If I it wasn't for one thing, I’d think that all of the random useless characters that had been introduced throughout season two had been part of some overall master plan.

Why do I know better? Because the creators of the show freely admit they’re making things up as they go along. Never do this.

The Sopranos Is The Closest Thing To Your Creative Writing Textbook on Television

Mr. Bile brought up Carnivale, and I wanted to add a few thoughts on the subject. Unlike Joe Rogan, I love critics, and yes, I even wanted to be one when I grew up. The proliferation of opinions on the Internet and my growing frustration with newspaper columnists eventually made the whole proposition seem irrelevant, but I digress. I love reading criticism, and as a whole I think television critics have a better perspective on their medium than their film counterparts. I have my pet peeves though, and one of my least favorite critical memes is "The Wire is the closest thing to a novel you'll see on television."

Setting aside the question of whether or not this is a good thing (um...sure?), it's a comparison that unfairly disparages the rest of what's out there as not being good enough to watch. It's akin to what writers who finally got on the Battlestar do when they lament trying to convince their elitist friends to join them. It says, "Television is beneath me, but I'm watching this, so it must actually be good!"

It also rankles me because I'm jealous. Where was the love for Carnivale? Oh, right. The same critics probably don't read those types of novels, either. Unless, you know, it's something like Lisey's Story.

Carnivale was The Stand without the excess, set during the Depression. The original season kept a slow-burning pace, but there was a lot going on for viewers who paid close attention. (Nothing in common with The Wire here. Move along, folks!) The characters were slowly revealed through their actions--we didn't even learn many of their names until late in the first run--and displayed a consistency in personality that Ronald Moore took with him when he went on to remake Battlestar Galactica. (Nope! Not like a novel!) And unlike a more traditionally structured TV show that builds hooks around commercial breaks and cliffhangers, Carnivale revelled in its mystery by presenting baffling images that slowly took on more meaning as the season progressed.

Instant gratification was not the point. Telling the story straight-forward, smacking viewers on the head with the Hammer of Mythos Exposition, and forcing the characters to do what they had to to get to skip to the end would have drained the series of everything that made it haunting.

Which, thanks the untimely departure of Mr. Moore, pressure from HBO for better ratings, and no assistance from television critics, lead to the abysmal second season. I believe Matt Roush summed it up the same way as he did the subpar Farscape mini-series: "Hey, at least you got a conclusion."

Do We Really Need Heroes?

As I mentioned yesterday, I watched an unhealthy amount of television last week. I sat through three hours of The Wire, two hours of Heroes, Dexter, Lost, The Nine, The Office, two hours of Battlestar Galactica--oh, and The Venture Bros. As you might expect, George Pelecanos' The Night Gardener is still unfinished on my nightstand.

I am on the fence about Heroes. I had hoped this would be Unbreakable: The Series, and it succeeds with the vibe. However, with so many characters spread across the planet, the pacing was frustrating. (I'm aware that the first two episodes were intended to be a two-hour pilot and that the flow probably suffered when it was recut. We'll see if this improves tomorrow.) Unlike Lost, where you know from the first flashback that, crap, it's a Boone episode, Heroes jumped back and forth between its protagonists throughout the hour. This would be fine if all the characters were interesting, but I spent most of the show waiting for the white people to go away.

Heroes also tried my patience with some of its plot developments. Two characters were improbably arrested for crimes they did not commit in the second episode. The Japanese guy had only been at the scene for a minute when several dozen police officers flooded in and accused him of murder. Where did they all come from, and how could they suspect Hiro of freezing the victim to death and taking his brain out in 60 seconds? It's a good thing none of that has happened yet.

Dexter was an improvement over the novels, though I hope the voice-over will be toned down as the season progresses. The gay guy from Six Feet Under makes a good serial killer, and rather than being complete idiots like they were in the books, the supporting characters are camped up to tolerable levels. They help to round out the over-the-top nature of the premise. I already know the identity of the mysterious serial murderer, but assuming my source continues to tape it for me, I'll stick around for the filler killings along the way.

The Nine was enjoyable despite the presence of several actors I can barely stand. In execution and heart, it reminded me of Boomtown. It was nice knowing you, The Nine.

Rambling aside, Battlestar Galactica, kicked every other show's ass last week. Far from being the ho-hum "reboot" many fanboys fretted over, the premiere was like watching a nightmare. It's the ballsiest political commentary I've seen on TV since Joe Dante showed us zombies eating Ann Coulter. In a time when irony is used ad nauseam to reflect dissatisfaction with the political climate, I guess it takes a drama to deliver a real kick to the viewing public.

Last week, Bryan Curtis of Slate asked if you should read The Ruins. He had an interesting perspective on what the book was about, but he never specifically answered the question.

The answer is no.

I will elaborate, but in the absence of Mr. Bile, this seems like the perfect opportunity for me to set the rules regarding spoilers. That’s what he gets for having technical difficulties.

I am less interested in writing reviews than (admittedly geeky) critical analysis. There is little satisfaction to be found in having a one-sided discussion on the season finale of Battlestar Galactica. (“The thing that I won’t tell you about until you’ve seen what happens could hardly be viewed as controversial given the way the writers have played with something you might not know about yet all season.”) I just can’t wait for the survivalists without cable and DVD players who end up here while searching for Y2K message boards to catch up on BSG.

So when discussing serialized entertainment, you have fair warning that I will generally be writing under the assumption that you’ve already seen or read what I'm writing about, don’t care to, or will skip that day’s update until you have. My best wishes go to browsers who end up here after this post is archived. Lucy Lawless is a Cylon.

On a less passive-aggressive note, while you will not see the words “spoiler warning” in any posts, the occasional “spoiler free” will end up in the heading of a straight-forward recommendation. I mean, I certainly don't want to ruin a Filipino horror movie for anyone. And in accordance with my agreement with Mr. Bile, I will not discuss Lost until the new season starts in October. He still has two weeks to catch up. After that, it’s on. For all y'all.

As for The Ruins, it’s just another overly-hyped, supposedly literary summer novel, like The Historian or Jonathan Strange or that book where Jesus wore flannel, but readable. A bunch of college kids go into a jungle they’re warned not to go into, they step into some vines, and then Mayans surround them with bows and will kill them if they leave. If they don’t leave, they’ll be eaten by evil vines.

How evil is this plant? It could have killed them all instantly, but it lets them suffer for 200 pages before the last one dies. Stephen King wrote that some people might mistake it for a bloated short story. I’d argue that people who should know better might mistake it for a novel. The book has some creepy death pieces, but it’s still about a bunch of dumb kids and a plant that chuckles.

The answers to the Battlestar Galactica quiz are “over the counter birth control” and “137 minutes earlier.”