Battlestar Galactica junky
Mike and I don't have the same taste in television programming. He likes animation with adult humor: Family Guy, The Simpsons. I like anything with Chris Noth: old re-runs of Law and Order, Sex and the City.
If we had time, we might find that we like other—maybe even current—programs, but our TIVO memory is full of Dora the Explorer, Diego, Blue's Clues, and Sesame Street. You know how it is.
Last year Mike's friend turned him on to a new TV show, Battlestar Galactica. Mike watched and Mike liked. A lot. He started a campaign to get me to watch it. There were promises of popcorn, snuggling, and cheap wine. I was not interested.
I tried to care, but I just couldn't. His desire for us to watch more TV came at the same time I was trying to cut down on my nighttime TV watching so that I could spend more time writing. I resisted the urge to put yet another "must do" item on my never-ending list.
And then Season One came out on DVD. In a moment of weakness, I agreed to watch the introductory miniseries with him. I agreed because he promised fresh-popped popcorn, and I agreed because I want him to feel like I actually do care about the things that he does, even though in this case, I didn't.
And... the show is great. It's less a science fiction series than it is a drama that happens to take place in outer space. It has sexy and strong babes, hot under the collar hunks, gruff but with a heart of gold father figures. It has intrigue, drama, suspense, good writing, compelling storyline, and sometimes hot babe-on-babe fight scenes.
Here's the part that you knew as soon as you read the title to this post: I'm hooked. The show is not only great, it's addictive. She who did not give a frack is now a Battlestar Galactica junky.
Being a junky can be OK as long as you've got what you need to get high. But we just finished watching the final episode of Season One last night. The good news is that there are 10 episodes of Season Two that I have yet to watch; and lucky for me, Mike has copies of them. The bad news is that after I have watched those ten episodes, there won't be any new ones left to watch and I will be ALL CAUGHT UP. In other words, NO MORE DOPE.
This is exactly what I did not want to happen. Now, I am going to have to devote one night a week to catch each new episode as it comes out, making sure that no other events are scheduled on that night and resenting them if they are. I'm going to have to obsess on the BG website, reading blogs and lurking on bulletin boards. I'm back in the 90s, dishing about Melrose Place and Beverly Hills 90210 at the water cooler.
At least my husband's trying to spend more time with me rather than less. Maybe someday soon we'll be wearing matching BG shirts and I'll be blogging about the convention we just attended. Oh my.
If we had time, we might find that we like other—maybe even current—programs, but our TIVO memory is full of Dora the Explorer, Diego, Blue's Clues, and Sesame Street. You know how it is.
Last year Mike's friend turned him on to a new TV show, Battlestar Galactica. Mike watched and Mike liked. A lot. He started a campaign to get me to watch it. There were promises of popcorn, snuggling, and cheap wine. I was not interested.
I tried to care, but I just couldn't. His desire for us to watch more TV came at the same time I was trying to cut down on my nighttime TV watching so that I could spend more time writing. I resisted the urge to put yet another "must do" item on my never-ending list.
And then Season One came out on DVD. In a moment of weakness, I agreed to watch the introductory miniseries with him. I agreed because he promised fresh-popped popcorn, and I agreed because I want him to feel like I actually do care about the things that he does, even though in this case, I didn't.
And... the show is great. It's less a science fiction series than it is a drama that happens to take place in outer space. It has sexy and strong babes, hot under the collar hunks, gruff but with a heart of gold father figures. It has intrigue, drama, suspense, good writing, compelling storyline, and sometimes hot babe-on-babe fight scenes.
Here's the part that you knew as soon as you read the title to this post: I'm hooked. The show is not only great, it's addictive. She who did not give a frack is now a Battlestar Galactica junky.
Being a junky can be OK as long as you've got what you need to get high. But we just finished watching the final episode of Season One last night. The good news is that there are 10 episodes of Season Two that I have yet to watch; and lucky for me, Mike has copies of them. The bad news is that after I have watched those ten episodes, there won't be any new ones left to watch and I will be ALL CAUGHT UP. In other words, NO MORE DOPE.
This is exactly what I did not want to happen. Now, I am going to have to devote one night a week to catch each new episode as it comes out, making sure that no other events are scheduled on that night and resenting them if they are. I'm going to have to obsess on the BG website, reading blogs and lurking on bulletin boards. I'm back in the 90s, dishing about Melrose Place and Beverly Hills 90210 at the water cooler.
At least my husband's trying to spend more time with me rather than less. Maybe someday soon we'll be wearing matching BG shirts and I'll be blogging about the convention we just attended. Oh my.
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