The Top Ten Reasons I'd Rather Live in Battlestar Galactica
I loves me some science fiction. It’s no secret. I’ve been a sci-fi nerd since I was a child. I can partially blame my parents for this, as they were the ones who introduced me to Star Wars and bought the bulk of my vintage Star Wars figure collection. But the blame for me continuing to assimilate all things space-adventure into my brain to this day – via game, book, comic, TV show and movie - is all my own.
I’ve long had fantasies of living in an alternate sci-fi universe, one where adventure and exploration was the order of the day. Unfortunately, I’m stranded here in San Francisco, which is itself an alternate universe of utter ridiculousness most of the time, one populated predominantly by subhuman buffoons whose knees jerk up at random intervals. But, at least through fiction, I can dream of a better world.
I can still remember the utter glee that washed over me when the Cylons destroyed the remote outpost on the edge of human space in the first ten minutes of the new Battlestar Galactica series. At the time, nobody could figure out if the X-Files was still on the air. Firefly had already been killed by Fox, which I was still pissed about. Star Wars had been killed by its maker, which I’ll never forgive him for. Star Trek had sucked since Will Riker got all fat. Cowboy Bebop was long gone. Terminator: barf. Matrix: WTF? Blade Runner: nothing new there, despite repeated re-releases. Stargate: unspeakably retarded. Doctor Who: repeated episodes of Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure without the humor. In short, sci-fi was in a state of disrepair on the big and little screens, a genre thriving only in games and in print. Then came the BSG re-do.
And the nerds did rejoice.
The first BSG, the one from my childhood, was all the things that a show about the last remnants of humanity struggling to survive while being mercilessly hunted by a cold, terrifying enemy should not have been: campy, jaunty, and all around silly. The production/writing staff of the new series obviously realized this, and decided that the idea of the story was poignant and serious, and should be treated as such. The result was the best sci-fi series of all time. I absolutely defy you to try and tell me different.
You would be wrong.
You would also be one of the aforementioned buffoons, and in dire need of a slap in the face.
Yes, Firefly was great, and about as good as BSG. But the level of crap that Joss Whedon has also flooded the airwaves with makes Firefly vicariously less cool. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Buffy sucked. Angel sucked. “Dr. Horribles"sucked. Pretty much everything he ever did that isn’t Firefly-related sucked. And, I predict, he’ll continue to demonstrate this.
Dollhouse was okay. I guess it could grow on me. But that doesn’t count, because I say so.
I’m starting to get off-topic here, and it’s probably because the Olympics are on in the background and I really love watching people on skis wipe out. It always looks so painful and joint-destroying. And the commentators are all, “Ooooocccchhh! Too bad for the Canadian, Smith. What a heartbreak after coming back from a debilitating injury during the World Cup…”
On with the story…
Here are the top ten reasons why I would rather live in the world of Battlestar Galactica, on some cold piece of metal in the cosmos, than in modern day America:
1. No Bush family. No Obama family. No Cheney. No Biden. No Palin. No Nader. No Kennedys. There is pretty much only one politician: President Laura Roslyn. One politician. That’s just one person in the way of perfection in government. And she’s pretty reasonable. I could tolerate her. That’s saying a lot.
2. Carte Blanche for casual sex. Think about it: you are probably going to die horribly… soon. The odds are way against you. You are stuck in a giant metal container in space just trying to make it through the day. There isn’t any TV. So your only real entertainment options are drinking, playing cards or humping. Lot’s of humping. Why? Because those giant metal containers are co-ed. Specifically, even the showers are co-ed. And the ships have gyms, so pretty much everybody is in shape. Plus, if you get preggo, everybody is happy for you. You are helping save humanity. Well done.
3. As stated before, for some unexplained reason, there’s a whole bunch of booze! And I think it’s free! I guess a few dudes with oak barrels and knowledge of the process of distillation managed to evacuate before the cataclysm. I’m pretty sure those guys will have at least one holiday in their honor at some point. It’s only fair. I’m thinking mid-March?
4. No more overuse of garlic and cilantro. Those of you who live in California can relate to me on this one, right? Pretty much every restaurant here can’t help but go crazy with garlic, cilantro or both. Well, guess what, annoying California Cuisine chef? There isn’t any of that available in space, so you are going to have to create something original for once – something that doesn’t make me feel overly full after one bite.
5. Drugs are probably legal. They have to be. If you can drink and hump so much, and there aren’t any windows, and there’s no holodeck because that’s completely unrealistic, there have to be legal drugs. If you, poor survivor, are like me and never had the chance to experiment with controlled substances as a teen, you might as well start now.
6. There is a high demand for both skilled and unskilled labor. In fact, it’s mandatory. Things need to get done on spaceships to keep them operational… lots of things. So, put on some coveralls and clock in, buddy. You can either fly a Viper or mop a floor, but you have to do something.
7. No more wardrobe stress. If you have a job, you have a uniform. And you are required to have a job, so you definitely have a uniform. Uniform = clothing. Ta-da!
8. Marriage is pretty much meaningless. Why? Because the divorce process is as easy as saying, “See ya!” Again, why? There’s only one lawyer. I’m pretty sure he’s a little too busy to deal with your irreconcilable differences. Figure it out. You are both adults. Also, nobody is going to give a crap if two dudes or two ladies want to marry, or any combo thereof. Bigger. Fish. To. Fry.
9. You might be a Cylon double agent! Think how cool that is. You’ll never know if you are really you… so you can blame any and all bad behavior on such a possibility. Trust me; it’d be incredibly liberating. “Honey, did you drink the milk out of the container and put the empty container back in the fridge like I’ve told you not to do a hundred times?” “I don’t know. I might have, but at least I didn’t freak out and SHOOT ADMIRAL ADAMA, so maybe you should quit hassling me.”
10. All those children and teenagers who call me a “fag” on Xbox Live during online games of Modern Warfare 2 or Halo 3 are probably all dead. There’s no way they heard the evacuation sirens over the mindless chaos of the online battlefield. I think this is the best part of the whole thing, really.
Because I hate them.
