Battlestar Galactica

My dear friend, The Inimitable Bex, is an enormous fan and had been suggesting to me for ages the show as one I would enjoy. She hasn’t been the only one, various friends whose artistic opinions I value had continually been at me to give Battlestar Galactica a go, citing it as being “totally up [my] alley”. It hits all my “buttons” (so to speak): religion, mythology, post-apocalyptic narratives, forged families, etc. Spoilers follow beneath the cut.

Well and good, but I will own some slight reluctance on my part. I like space operas, but I tend to like space operas that are about human conflict. I loved that Firefly had no alien races and despite the Henson-ified characters of Star Wars, I loved that it was your very traditional, fantasy-genre-based hero’s journey. One way to not sell me on a concept is to tell me the story is about humans vs. aliens/machines—Us vs. Them, if you will. (I could never get into Asimov’s ROBOT series.)

The other part of the problem is Stargate and Star Trek and all space operas involving the military. Military dramas bore me. I never liked A Few Good Men or shows like M.A.S.H. and J.A.G. (another thing I hate about the military—all those stupid acronyms). Military thinking runs very counter to how we intuitively act and react—the chain of command has to be beaten into you (literally and metaphorically). Battlestar Galactica is about a battleship in space fighting a war against machines. Yawn.

And yet. Holy frak. My friend Jess gave me the first 3 seasons of Battlestar Galactica (I found the rest on SurftheChannel.com) and damn if it actually isn’t the best TV show I’ve ever seen.

The Cylons were created by Man. They rebelled. They evolved. There are many copies.

And they have a plan.

Half a century before the actual timeline of Battlestar Galactica, Cylons were machines created by humans to make our lives easier. Once technology rendered them sentient, they rebelled against their creators and declared war. After a long and bitter conflict, a truce was declared.

For 40 years there was a tenuous peace until one day, they attack the Twelve Colonies of Kobol with nuclear bombs, wiping out the human race—save for a small faction. Less than 50,000 souls are all that’s left of mankind and now it’s a desperate struggle for survival across space, fighting Cylons, fighting internal tension, and trying to find a place to call home.

Forged Families and the Post-Apocalyptic Setting

Commander William Adama

One of the reasons post-apocalyptic narratives are a favourite of mine is because we get to see what heights and what depths people are capable of when pitted in such an extreme environment. As it turns out, humans are capable of great nobility—and great treachery. One thing Battlestar Galactica is great at portraying is that the capacity for both exists in all people, and that people aren’t wholly good or wholly bad. Moral shades of grey! I love it! Always will!

I tend to view Battlestar Galactica almost as a family saga. On one hand, you have Commander Bill Adama as “The Old Man”, the leader of the military faction and de-facto father figure. On the other, you have President Laura Roslin, the schoolteacher-turned-Leader-of-the-Twelve-Colonies, as the de-facto mother figure. The main players are their surrogate (or even actual) children, especially Lee “Apollo” Adama and Kara “Starbuck” Thrace.

President Laura Roslin

As with any good show, each character simultaneously represents a concept beyond him/herself, while inverting tropes at the same time. Like any good father, The Old Man protects his family from outside threats, administers discipline, and keeps a watchful (and sometimes blindly indulgent) eye on his children. Madam President, like any good mother, keeps the cogs turning and gets things done. And boy does she get things done. Madam President, she is hardcore: cold, ruthless, utterly pragmatic, and not afraid to throw people out the airlock if it serves her purposes. This is a woman who destroyed an entire ship filled with innocent people because it might be a Cylon plant. DAMN.

On the other hand, you have Papadama (as I like to call him) as the emotionally intuitive one, the one who knows how to rouse people to action by cutting through to the heart. He, more than Mama President, is more easily moved to compassion and between the two of them, you have Mercy and Justice. (As a side note, this is one of my favourite archetypal male/female inversions: the intuitive male and the intellectual female.)

Captain Lee (Apollo) Adama

Their surrogate/actual children, on the other hand, are another type of inversion. Both are Viper pilots, first in the line of defense against Cylon Raiders, but they couldn’t be more different from each other. Captain Apollo is a fastidious, by-the-books military officer and his psuedo-sister Lieutenant Starbuck is your hotshot, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants top gun. Admittedly, this is an inversion I don’t enjoy: sometimes (okay, often) Apollo can come across as a whiny bitch and Starbuck is one of my least favourite types of “feminist” heroines—the “kickass” warrior. They are the Head and the Heart.

But to give the writers credit, both Apollo and Starbuck are infinitely more complex than that, even if they make me grit my teeth with frustration and/or annoyance. And I think the writers meant for me to have that reaction to these two (to whom I affectionately refer as the Twins) because for all their obnoxious flaws, both are completely human (and not in a human/Cylon sense).

Lieutenant Kara (Starbuck) Thrace

Apollo is Momma’s Boy and Starbuck is Daddy’s Little Girl and boy do they have frakked up relationships with their parents and each other. Especially each other. I’ve always been fascinated by the concept of the Romantic Double (please see: the writings of Percy Bysshe Shelley), but I was simultaneously horrified and intrigued by the incestuous bent to their relationship. Mostly I was intrigued that I was horrified because ordinarily stuff that like doesn’t faze me. They’re not even related by blood. (We also won’t delve into how Apollo married the wrong adoptive sister. Oh yes, there’s a lot more to this frakked up family.)

But family sagas wouldn’t be interesting if the members weren’t highly dysfunctional. And God(s), for all that I wanted to bash in each of their heads for different reasons, I just as often (if not more often) wanted to give them all hugs.

Narrative Doubling in Battlestar Galactica

Sharon (Boomer) Valerii

Doubles are everywhere in this series. Every character has at least one double—if not more—and all represent different aspects of the human narrative. For instance, you have Apollo/Starbuck (the Twins), but you also have Apollo/Anders as two different romantic interests for Starbuck. Hell, you even have Apollo/Dead Brother Zak, as Good Son/Bad Son and act as yet ANOTHER set of romantic rivals for Starbuck (this is another reason Starbuck irritates me—all those damned love interests).

You also have Starbuck/Dee as two different types of adoptive daughters for Papadama, who also serve as potential rivals for Apollo’s affections. (Adamas! Stop dating within your adopted sibling pool! Geez!) And of course, you have the biggest narrative double of all: the Human/Cylon existence.

Athena and Helo

Human/Cylon doubling is the most interesting as it raises the question of what makes someone “alive”. The Cylons are “people”; they have a culture, feelings, and religion. What differentiates human from Cylon? If they feel as humans do, if they’re even made from synthetic organic material and bleed as we do, if they love as we do—then are we just programming as well?

The most interesting double of all was the Boomer/Athena storyline. Both are Cylons of the Eight model (there are 12 models—sort of). Both fell in love with humans (again—sort of) and are deeply involved with the Galactica. They are, in fact, the same person: Sharon Valerii. Programmed with the same memories and the same capacity for emotion. However, one was reviled for what she was and the other loved and accepted despite her Cylon nature. Athena became a wife and mother while Boomer stood alone. Athena has everything Boomer ever wanted: love, acceptance, a family, and all with the full knowledge of her identity as a Cylon.

The Chief (and Boomer's love interest)

(Something small and inconsequential: I wish Athena’s callsign were something else. I realise there was an Athena character in the original series, but naming a wife and mother being after the Greek virgin goddess of war and wisdom is weird. I would have called her Demeter, due to her storyline. Maybe Inanna or Astarte to go with the Babylonian goddess of love and war.)

What is left to you when all you’ve ever wanted is snatched by someone who is not only exactly like you, but is you? You go as far in the opposite direction as possible. In some ways, Boomer is the most human, despite the fact that she is a machine. Oh Boomer. You broke my heart.

I view both Boomer and Athena as the bridge between human and Cylon: Boomer in an emotional way and Athena in a more literal way. Athena is the mother of Hera, the first and only human-Cylon hybrid, who eventually becomes Mitochondrial Eve and the mother of us all.

Religion and Battlestar Galactica

Gaius Baltar (Jesus Christ?)

The most interesting and compelling part of the show (for me) were the religious aspects of it. The Cylons and the humans are of different religious persuasions: the Cylons are monotheistic and the humans are polytheistic. But that would be over-simplifying it for both humans and Cylons run along the religious spectrum: from atheism to fanaticism and a few are even converted from one “side” to another.

It would be too easy to point fingers at the Muslims—oh sorry, Cylons as being the Big Bad. (This is also neatly inverted in season 3, when the humans become the suicide bombers.) After all, they commit genocide in the name of their God, but it’s not nearly so simple. Despite the obvious comparison due to the monotheistic nature of their worship, their religion is nothing like Judaism, Christianity, or Islam.

Six, Three, and Eight (Nymph, Wise One, Maiden)

I think the major difference is their relationship to death, which is tied up with the biggest difference between human and Cylon. Cylons cannot die; their consciousness is simply downloaded into another copy of their body. For them, as Athena says, “Death is a learning experience.” For humans, life is a learning experience and death is a release. In some ways, you can view the Cylons’ quest for sexual reproduction (sounds silly, but bear with me here) as the Buddhist desire of releasing themselves from the cycle of death and rebirth. The ability to create life organically, from infancy onward, is Nirvana.

Because I was raised in a Christian house and went to Catholic school, I immediately pick up on Christian imagery (I mean, this is totally the Last Supper tableau), but I’m not unmindful of the polytheistic—no, mythopoeic elements. The writers of Battlestar Galactica? Totally have their mythology mojo down, and this includes Judeo-Christianity.

The Importance of 12

Let’s start with the number 12. The number 12 occurs with astonishing regularity in human myths: from the 12 Olympians, to the 12 signs of the zodiac, to the 12 Tribes of Israel, to the 12 Disciples. There are 12 Cylon models and 12 Colonies of Kobol (the planet from which all humans came).

The 12 Colonies of Kobol are named for the signs of the zodiac, but they are in fact closer to the tribes of Israel than the Greco-Romans. For instance, each Colony (planet) has a function in the way each Israelite tribe did: Aerelons are farmers, Gemenons are religious, etc. (Gemenons are totally the Levites, by the way.)

On the other hand, you have the 12 Cylon models which are more like zodiac signs. I mean, you could easily categorise all Sixes as being a certain type of humanity and the same with the Ones, the Twos, the Threes, and the Eights. Ones are singleminded, Twos are fanatic, Threes are intense, Sixes are pragmatic, and Eights are sensitive. Within each model there are, of course, individual differences, but overall? Yeah.

Religious/Mythopoeic Narratives

The story of a people journeying toward a Promised Land is pretty well known. Humans are searching for their own promised land, a mystical planet called Earth. The fact that Moses never saw the Promised Land is also well-known. Laura Roslin dies of breast cancer (sob!) before she can live on Earth. And yet. Laura Roslin is the prophesied “dying leader” of Pythia’s scriptures. There are many dying gods and goddesses throughout the world: Osiris, Adonis, Baldur, Ishtar, even Persephone, and of course, Jesus Christ. They are usually associated with sun/seasonal myths, as well as rebirth. Through Roslin the human race experiences a rebirth.

But perhaps the most intriguing figure is Gaius Baltar. He is a man of science, a believer in the rational universe, but he is also totally self-serving, self-centered, obnoxious, cowardly, and despicable. I LOVE HIM. He is also the messianic head of a monotheistic cult who metaphorically “died” and was “reborn” again as a religious leader. Baltar has the most frakked up storyline of any of the characters: he was responsible for the destruction/oppression of humanity not once but TWICE, he may or may not be insane, and he has a beautiful Cylon girlfriend claiming to be an angel of God living in his head. I love Baltar because all he ever wanted to do was save his own skin and if he was safe, then to save his reputation. Because of this, he becomes an outcast and hated (and consequently, even more loved by me).

This could have easily gone an insipid route, in which Baltar finds redemption in God or whatever. But Battlestar Galactica is so much better than that. He doesn’t find redemption in God—his position as religious figurehead was more accidental than anything else. Contrast that to Roslin, whose religious position as the “dying leader” was a total calculated maneuver. No, Gaius Baltar finds redemption in himself, when he casts aside his selfish impulses and discovers he has the great capacity to love. Can it be reiterated HOW MUCH I LOVE HIM?

There is so much more to uncover and discuss on this show (like the awesome of Colonel Tigh and the Chief), but I will lay those aside for another time. If the verdict weren’t clear enough before: THIS IS THE BEST SHOW EVER. WATCH IT. NOW, NOW, NOW! And once you’ve done so, come back here and answer this one question for me:

What the frak is Starbuck?

Dollhouse

Months after everyone else (but coincidentally about the same time as my friend Katranna), I decided to give Joss Whedon’s Dollhouse a go.

Now, I’ve made no secret of the fact that I find Firefly the best of Whedon’s shows for many reasons, not the least of which is because I found its premise the most fascinating. I had seen Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel at the behest of several of my friends, and while I enjoyed them, I could never fully love them because vampires simply aren’t my thing. ANGST! WOE! IMMORTALITY SUXORS! WAAAH! EMO!

The other reason is simply because the chemistry of the cast is phenomenal. From the pilot episode (I’m talking about “Serenity” here because I only saw Firefly on DVD), I could see why these people were on board the ship and why they cared for one another. Wrap up a good space western/space pirate/space Robin Hood premise (hello…awesome????) with Whedon’s trademark characterisation and humour and I was sold.

Whedon’s writing is the main reason I was able to get through Buffy and Angel. In the midst of all these clichéd storylines, Whedon and his writing team could find kernels of truth in their characters, make me care about their journeys, but most importantly, make me laugh and cry at the same time.

The laughter is probably the most important. Drama is all well and good, but if it’s angst and woe all the time, it rapidly loses my interest but more than that, it becomes unbelievable. Humour is the most effective when it’s true and this is where Whedon excels. His laughs don’t come from slapstick or juvenile (okay, sometimes juvenile) humour; they arise naturally from the characters and their situations. Tension is often underscored when a normally humourous character turns serious.

My biggest problem with Dollhouse is that the funny is curiously absent. (Also, is it just me or does the Dollhouse operate out of the old offices of Wolfram & Hart?) My god, everyone is so dour. The only lighthearted character on the show is Topher, the Dollhouse’s resident genius, who is a stock Whedon dorky boy next door. He is the most recent in a long line before him—Xander, Oz, and Wash—who act as the show’s “voice of reason”. They are normal people amongst extraordinarily characters, and therefore are the most sympathetic and beloved characters of Whedon’s universes. Unfortunately Topher falls short compared to the others because he lacks a moral compass. Now, I love morally ambiguous characters, but I think Topher is representative of why Dollhouse lacks luster for me as a whole.

(Spoilers to follow.)

Dollhouse, as a whole, lacks a Big Bad. This is partially because it’s so morally ambiguous. People are brain-wiped, imprinted with entirely new personalities, and then whored out to really rich clients! But they’re really doing good things too! Like negotiating hostage situations and getting abused little girls to come out of their shells! When everything is shaded in grey, then we can’t decide which side we want to champion. This would be something if Whedon intended the show to be an interesting exercise in moral ambiguity (like Mad Men—I mean, Don Draper is such an ass, but he’s such a compelling ass!), but it’s clear he intended Echo to be the series protagonist.

Fine. But there’s a problem here as well. The construct is that Echo used to be a woman named Caroline who voluntarily gave up her consciousness. She is, as of the series start, a “tabula rasa” (as Adelle puts it). She is also not a person. Therefore, she can’t really be a character. Ergo, we can’t really sympathise with her.

Dollhouse raises fascinating questions about self. When the consciousness is gone, what remains? A soul? How is a soul different from consciousness? But when Echo starts becoming self-aware, I start running into a mind block. Who is Echo? Is she starting to form a personality separate from Caroline? The show seems to imply that a personality arises from the sum of a person’s experiences. Even if the memories of a person are “scrubbed” from consciousness, something lingers from all the imprints Echo has taken on. Therefore, Echo is emerging as a personality different from Caroline. I think.

I think. There’s so much about this show of which I can’t be certain. I think, I think, I think. Dollhouse is full of interesting characters, but fails to coalesce into a coherent storyline, an arc I can foresee, even if I don’t know the specifics of what is to come.

And then there is “Epitaph One”.

“Epitaph One” was never aired, but damn if it wasn’t the best episode of the entire season. THIS is where Dollhouse should have started. Until “Epitaph One”, none of the pieces add up to anything. I suppose one could argue the groundwork for a post-apocalyptic future is laid down in the previous episodes, but I don’t think they were made clear enough. I would be okay with starting with a post-apocalyptic future and then watching the rest of the season play out as it did—at least then, we would have a clear idea where all this was headed.

I will give Dollhouse another try once the second season airs. I like it. I think. Jury is still out.

It’s the end that slays me.

Oh, and because they need to be shared again: James Joyce’s EXTREMELY dirty letters to Nora Barnacle.

TCDWSHMYUBITWOTGHNTMIKHAICOH is probably too long of an acronym.

Creepy Inappropriate Not-Uncle might have to suffice. CINU?

Anyway, today I discovered that CINU narrated a radio play and a novella of Magical Uncle’s, which sort of made my head explode with awesomeness.

1. As the unnamed narrator in the radio play adaptation of Murder Mysteries: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8
2. Narrated the AMERICAN GODS novella “The Monarch of the Glen” (from FRAGILE THINGS) in volume III of an audio book series called “Legends II: New Short Novels by the Masters of Modern Fantasy” .

And because this bears repeating, Michael Emerson reading “Little Boy Blue” in the creepiest voice ever.

If there’s one good thing that ever came out of Lost, it’s that the show introduced me to this man. ♥ you, Benry!

When I first started watching Lost, the relationship had been new and intriguing and mysterious. A number of seemingly unrelated persons crashland on a deserted island which may or may not be in the South Pacific. But what? There are hints that maybe the island isn’t deserted after all, that maybe there’s a vast conspiracy, and there’s simply mystery after mystery after mystery to be solved.

(The first season still kicks all the other seasons to the curb.)

But once I’d been with the show for a few years, the lustre began to wear off. What I thought was mysterious was merely wallowing in angst and pandering to what it thought others wanted of it. The first half of season three was particularly excruciating, especially with the stupid introduction of that goddamned fucking love polygon THAT WOULD NOT DIE. I told Lost I was bidding it farewell, that at least it gave me a good two years, but maybe we ought to seek other shows/audiences. But no, it told me it would pick itself up by the bootstraps and change, become a better show. I was skeptical until the finale of season 3. What? What? They’re off the Island now? Holy fuck is this a FLASHFORWARD?

A lot of people would probably disagree with me, but I thought season 4 was the best since the first two. Because for the first time, we see hints of an endgame. That six of the original Oceanic 815 flight members made it off. That it was confirmed that every single one of them crashed on the Island for a reason that they (and we) are yet to know. That we see glimpses of the future, but have no idea how the characters got there. And for once the show actually showed me how the Oceanic 6 got off! I was riveted and once more enthralled (that and I’m a sucker for non-chronological storytelling). Okay, Lost, I forgive you. Just…don’t let me down again.

WAY TO DROP THE BALL ON ME, LOST. I have been consistently underwhelmed by season 5 and the season finale simply summed up everything I couldn’t stand about this year’s episodes. The issue of time travel I could deal with. That the Island is slightly askew from our “normal” conception of the space-time continuum, I can accept. Sure, questions have been answered, but the answers weren’t satisfying; in fact, they were fairly inane and dull and suffered too much from deus ex machina, or “god from the machine”—excuse me, “Jacob from the foot”.

Take for instance, the issue of Ben. (This season has done nothing but confirm for me that Benjamin Linus is my Island’s true love. I ♥ you, Benry!) Shot as a child! In the heart! By someone whom he thought he trusted! And that person was Sayid. Oh god, what does it say about the adult Ben that he’s able to keep so cold and ruthless and then callously use someone who tried to kill him as a boy? OMG IT JUST MAKES BEN EVEN SEXIER THAN BEFORE.

Nope. A case of “Jacob from the Foot” strikes again, although in this case, I suppose it’s “Smokey from the Temple.” They erase Ben’s memory of the incident. Which then emasculates Ben. In a way that isn’t as adorable/character-revealing as his dorky stalkerish obsession of Juliet (“I baked you a ham!”), his unexpected soft spot for children, and his driving desire for a father figure’s approval—Jacob, in this case. These “emasculating” incidents only seem to deepen my love for Ben because they further move me to pity. Erasing his memory of Sayid’s attempted murder? DUMB. It smacks of the writers going, “Oh shit, we forgot about that. Eh, the Temple can fix things and selectively erase Ben’s memory.” This sums up most of my feelings about this season: as though the writers kept consistently taking the easy way out of things.

So why do I keep watching? Hell, I’ve given J.J. Abrams and Carlton Cuse five years of my attention, might as well see it through to the end. I’d like to see if they answer any more of my questions (of which there seem to be growing instead of diminishing number), but more than that, I’m invested in seeing the resolution of a few characters: Ben (as I have mentioned before), Sun and Jin, and Sawyer/James. I’ve ceased to care about anyone else.

What keeps someone watching a show after it’s jumped the shark? (And honestly, I felt Lost jumped the shark somewhere in season 3.) Characters you care about, of course. Part of the reason I felt this season fell so flat is because I got practically nothing about the characters I adore (except Ben). Writers of Lost, I don’t give a shit about Jack or Kate. I know that they are your contracted leads. I am fine with that. I will admit wholeheartedly that Evangeline Lilly is really easy on the eyes. But I also want her character to die in the most awful, pointless way. She ruins everything. Jack I bear less hatred for, mostly because I think he’s just a whiny angst muffin. “My dad didn’t love me enough!” (sob) “He was unnecessarily harsh to me!” Boohoo, assmonkey. Suck it up. It ceased to be sympathetic a very, very long time ago. “Wah, Kate doesn’t love me!” (In this instance I do feel sorry for him, mostly because Kate can’t seem to make up her own fool mind.)

Kate is unlikeable for a myriad of reasons, the chief and foremost being that seems to be a black hole of love angst. Sawyer and Jack have been circling her for 5 years now, slowly getting spaghetti-fied into annoying saps. But more than that, Kate is obnoxious because she is ostentatiously the show’s moral compass. “We must do this because it is right!” Listen, lady, you’re a criminal on the run. Just saying “we must do this because this is right” isn’t going to cut it. (Note to self: fix this about your female protagonist.) This is where the writers shot themselves in the foot with her: she’s proven in her flashbacks that she’s amoral and cares only about herself (until Aaron comes along and even then, she conveniently used him to cut her sentence). So positioning Kate as your moral judge is a terrible, terrible idea, and one that won’t sit well with an audience not enamoured by Evangeline Lilly’s beautiful blue eyes, gorgeous hair, and aristocratic nose sprinkled with adorable freckles. Or even those who are.

For now, I will return to reading my one trashy YA novel and my other not-trashy-at-all YA novel (recommended to me by Russ) and let my bitterness stew. Carry on.

Firstly, whoever created this is a graphic genius. S/he should have my brainchildren:

LOST Showdown

My favourite is Ben’s look of utter bewilderment by “You will be stunned!” (Benry, I love you!)

Last night I took Rachel to Hot Yoga (offered by Yoga to the People): her first, my second. Rachel fared better than I in terms of “first times” (as you might remember, I was an absolute wreck the first time I went) but she swore she would never do it again. The instructors did say the second time is much, much easier. Well, they were right. I think I went from being able to do 20% of the poses to being able to do about 85% of them, a drastic improvement, methinks. And no nasty brownouts this time although I had to go into savasana more often than I hoped. Hot yoga is not something I think I can regularly practice, but in terms of detoxification? It is tops.

Case in point: how absolutely amazing I feel this morning. I woke up at the crack of dawn feeling like a new person. (I also passed out around 10:00pm.) Yippee!

On the other hand, my love for Benjamin Linus continues to grow.

On the other, other hand, Jack clearly has no idea what he’s doing. He’s almost as annoying as Kate. No, scratch that; no one can be as annoying as Kate. What happened to Jack? Not that I liked him much to begin with, but this season he has become an utterly different person.

Carry on.

Upon first glance Sofa and I are certainly not people you would ordinarily expect to be friends, let alone best friends. Hell, I didn’t expect to be friends with her either: when I first arrived at our flat, she answered the door in a white skirt, green Lacoste polo, Rainbow flip-flops…and a genuine pearl necklace. I had eyeliner smudged across my lids and was wearing torn jeans, my ratty old chucks with drawings all over them, and a Ramones t-shirt. She was a charming Southern belle from Virginia with aspirations to a diamond ring by spring; I was a quirky sprite of an Asian girl from California who came to England to stalk Carl Barât and be a Libertine. That was our first meeting.

Of course, we are each more complex than the personas we put on; I was the one that ended up with an engagement ring on my finger (a pink plastic heart with a smiley face on it from the Jersey Shore, thank you) and she was the one who had the more libertine lifestyle when we returned to New York. We lived together for three years before I decided to leave Manhattan for more space and less rent, but what I miss about our time as roommates were the weekend afternoons being less-than-productive: watching hours of TV (…we once spent an entire day watching Kyle XY on ABC, running to the bathroom only during commercial breaks), eating the entire Chinese food menu, and drinking the girliest, fruitiest wine coolers we could find. So we made do on a Thursday night after work and she introduced me to her new favourite show Bones.

Bones

Bones is a cute, surprisingly well-written police procedural TV show in the vein of Law & Order or CSI. She, Dr. Temperance “Bones” Brennan (Emily Deschanel), is a rigidly scientific and rational forensic anthropologist. He, Special Agent Seeley Booth (David Boreanaz), is a bit more of the fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants sort of guy who relies on instinct. They are partnered together in order to solve cases and are assisted by a team of well-rounded characters, whom Booth affectionately calls the “squints.” (They’re scientists and spend much of their time peering at things.)

The show is exceedingly likeable. It’s funny, witty, and heartfelt and there isn’t a single character I dislike. Sofa’s love is reserved for the potential romantic tension between Bones and Booth, but for me? I love the dorky sidekicks, especially Dr. Lance Sweets, a hotshot young psychologist (and a really cute actor). I just want to ruffle his hair and play “Got your nose!” with him (I know that sounds weird, but it’s totally true). He plays off really well against Bones and Booth, all earnestness and eagerness to show off and please. But as for Bones and Booth themselves, well…

Fox Mulder & Dana Scully

I have said before that I am a serial monogamist when it comes to my television: I can only be faithful to one show at once. My current relationship is with LOST, but le grande passion of my life was and will always be The X-Files. You mention “rational and scientific female doctor” and “goofy intuitive Special Agent” and the first couple that comes to mind is Dana Scully and Fox Mulder. Mulder and Scully play beautifully off each other and for me, Bones and Booth will be nothing but a pale imitation of them. I think perhaps it’s because the writers of Bones make it very clear that Bones and Booth are intended to be a romantic couple (I believe they are in a relationship in the book series the show is based on). The characters might say they’re “just partners” until they’re blue in the face but everyone else knows that is not the case, especially the writers and producers.

But in the case of The X-Files, I believe the opposite situation occurred: the writers and producers (well, mostly just Chris Carter) denied romantic attraction until they were blue in the face, but the characters very clearly had other ideas. That was in part what made their relationship so interesting to watch because their romance was never intentional. It was a strange amalgamation of David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson’s amazing screen chemistry, character development, and the plot throwing them into situations in which the other is the only person they can trust. The growth felt organic, although the show ultimately betrayed me by never fucking showing us the moment of consumation. I mean this in the emotional as well as physical sense. For me, the logical point in time in which Mulder and Scully should have gotten into a romantic relationship was between the fifth and sixth seasons, right about the time of the movie (about halfway through the show’s run). Alas, by this time, Chris Carter had come to the realisation that his two leads’ unresolved sexual tension (UST…ah fandom terms I haven’t seen in a while) was a total cash cow and denied his fans ANY RESOLUTION WHATSOEVER. GRR. Instead we have this weird cop-out of “did they or did not?” where Mulder declares that he loves Scully but she believes he’s drugged, they kiss on New Year’s Eve, Scully leaves Mulder’s apartment where he lying naked in bed, and she discovers she’s pregnant while he’s abducted.

Payoff is a huge thing when it comes to romance. In some ways, Mulder and Scully’s relationship is realistic. We all knew they were in love with each other and the characters (and the actors) did too. When they did start a sexual relationship, it didn’t change how they interacted with each (as well it shouldn’t). I like this aspect of it—that entering into a sexual relationship didn’t change a thing. Too often in order to manufacture tension, TV shows often have the main couple get together, break up, get together, break up ad nauseum, rinse, wash, repeat. What I didn’t like was not being shown the moment Mulder and Scully decide that this is what they mutually want. I wasn’t asking for much: no romantic flowery declarations of undying passion and devotion (not that it would have been keeping in with character), just a simple reciprocated “I love you” and a kiss would have been fine. (Yes, I realise this sort of takes place at the end of season 8, but the show had kind of jumped the shark by then.)

Now I’m in the mood to watch some X-Files. I’ve also noticed that emotionally reserved, rational female and emotionally direct, intuitive male is a romantic combination I adore. Mulder/Scully, Bob/Dot from ReBoot, Bones/Booth, Eva and Raphael from my own novel…

LOST this season is a bit uneven. Last week’s episode was amazing; this week’s was less so. The plot moved forward an inch. Another plothole appeared. It’s really bothering me that Sun is the only one of the Oceanic Six to not have flashed back to 1977. This seems to be a hole in the worldbuilding, which I cannot forgive. I can understand Ben and Locke not being flashed back; they turned the donkey wheel and moved/fixed the Island. There is an intuitive leap there. But Sun? Why was she excluded? Also, I am liking her less and less as the series goes on, not that I liked her much in the first place. Another thing that annoys me a little: her name is not just “Sun.” It’s Sun-Hwa. Jin’s name is Jin-Soo. Korean names consist of two syllables! …except mine of course. But I am a speshul and yooneek snowflake.

Also, Ben’s creeptastic potential was significantly decreased in this past episode. Where is my crazy bug-eyed evil weasel? (His younger counterpart is sufficiently scary and bug-eyed too, but Sterling Beaumont is no Michael Emerson.) Oh Benry, I love you!

Revisions have been going, which is a miracle in my case. Going ever so slowly, but going. Kickstarting my diet has been going well too. Lost 2lbs since yesterday. I am waiting for Fresh Direct to deliver me my produce so I can make a salad for dinner. I anticipate avocados eagerly.

I am shallow and frivolous. Carry on.

Bear and I doing our best Prohibition look. All Bear needs is a gun.

The closest to a full length photograph of my dress. What you can’t see: the train, my gold shoes, and my gold toenails. Bear wanted to wear a vest with his outfit, but we couldn’t find one in time. We totally forgot about the suspenders. :(

Bex channels her inner Greek Goddess.

The best thing about this dress? (Aside from the back that the colour is gorgeous and the cut flattering?) It was $36 at Banana Republic.

Close up of our makeup.

It took a long time to make my makeup seem subtle. I did Bex’s makeup as well. The false eyelashes? Made it through the entire night; I was impressed. Check out the scary red lipstick! Not visible in this photography: my cleavage. I cropped it out.

Bex and me at the Hyatt waiting for the open bar.

Another difference between med school and high school: free alcohol. It was fairly watered down but still, tons and tons of free booze!

Bex and Oz

The Inimitable Bex and the mayor of the first years Ozvaldo Zumba. Why is he the mayor?

Then we hit up the dance floor.

Because this popular stud can rip it up on the dance floor.

We're all cheering Oz, Oz, Oz, Oz!

The DJ was spinning some good tunes and for a while I could forget my aching feet.

Bear and me on the dance floor.

Bear and I were ripping it up on the dance floor, although I spent a good deal of the night worrying about my train. I eventually had it hiked up around my knees. Isn’t my Bear handsome in his hat and suit?

Dan looks so bombed in this photo.

The drinks were watered down but you can't tell in this picture.

After prom was over we went to a nightclub down the street and staggered home around 2am. My feet still ache, but man was it a good time. :)