Friday, January 16, was the arrival day for most of the conference attendees. It also happened to be the day that SciFi Channel was premiering the first episode of the final season of Battlestar Galactica. I know this not because I am a regular viewer of the re-imagined series. Honestly, it's not because I dislike the show--the episodes I've caught (mostly season 1) were smart, stylish, the new Cylon's are fierce-looking, and let's face it, Jamie Bamber is smokin' hot. But I can't seem to stay awake past 9:30 PM nor find the discipline to string two consecutive episodes together.
Anyway, I knew about the final season premier because several blogging colleagues (who shall remain nameless) who were planning to attend the conference had remarked that we absolutely must take a break from the important business of drinking on Friday night in order to watch Battlestar. Apparently in the Friday premier, a cliffhanger from last season--the identity of the last Cylon infiltrator--would be revealed.
Well, that was the plan. The Radisson Hotel in Research Triangle Park, our lodging for the conference, had Sleep Number beds. It had a well stocked bar, featuring tall frosted pilsner glasses of Blue Moon Belgian Wheat Ale. It even had free DSL. But alas, the SciFi Channel was not to be found on any channel.
FRAK!
When I arrived late Friday night because of a Houston flight snarl, instead of being regaled with talk of what Number Six wasn't wearing, whether Edward James Olmos cracked a smile yet, or the identity of the last Cylon, I found a relatively deserted bar (apparently the ocean bloggers were making too much noise) and many disappointed Battlestar fans.
The next two days consisted of building anticipation from sci-fi fans looking forward to watching the season premier once they got home, along with a proportional volume of not-so-veiled threats levied against anyone brazen enough to spoil the plot. I was unequivocally shushed on Saturday night when I dared to just mention the name of the show during a conversation! I'm not going to go so far as to suggest I feared for my life, but let's just say I considered smashing my beer glass against the bar and brandishing the jagged shiv while backing my way towards the exit.
I love that sort of fervor when it comes to sci-fi fandom. As an ardent Doctor Who geek ever since I watched the third incarnation of the Doctor (John Pertwee) in the early 70's to the building anticipation for the eleventh Doctor, I know the feeling of total immersion in a genre. I'll grant that bio-mimetic Cylon clones and Capt. Lee Adama walking around in a towel are a lot more compelling and hip than a sonic screwdriver and Davros. But whatever your sci-fi flavor, it's remarkable to observe how it not only taps into our imaginations, but our emotions as well.
1 comment:
Ah, you missed the vigorous Buffy/Watchmen/Fables/etc. nerd-out that occurred over dinner. As I blurrily recall, Mike suggested that maybe eliminating the giant squid from the Watchmen movie wasn't so bad - and was nearly killed by the evil glares emanating from around the ocean-blogger table.
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