Watching Battlestar Galactica

This show is a little like crack cocaine. Or, you know, how I imagine crack cocaine would be. I can't remember why I ever started watching it—maybe because it's on Friday nights, and Friday nights are tired and slow for me, mentally speaking. Mary McDonnell had a lot to do with it (because who would make a more level-headed president for the 49,604 human survivors of a nuclear apocalypse?), and Edward James Olmos (because who else would you want watching over the safety of those same 49,604 souls?), and the fact that it's freaking awesome and so goddamn smart you have to cry, scream, pee in your pants and catch your breath at least once in every episode. It's also funky and sneaky and byzantine—you have to watch hard, man, starting with the miniseries—and profoundly disturbing on a creepy, cagey, crawl-under-your-skin level that none—not one—of those bloody crime scene/cop pseudo-dramas with all their bodily goo and zany in-your-face MTV camerawork and Morbidly Earnest Dialogue can ever hope to match. This show is all about life and death, and it makes you believe it.

They went off the rails into some bizarro religious prophecy territory last year that I (naturally) wasn't wild about, and I didn't care for the miracle cancer cure they worked in a couple of weeks ago to save Roslin from a certain death (so in the space of two short months, she's ordered a military assassination, been implanted with Cylon blood, and outlawed abortion—against her own personal beliefs—to save the human race), even though I understand and am in complete agreement that you can't let Mary McDonnell go once you have her. All in all it's a masterful and tricky proposition that has you occasionally rooting for the bad, robots...or at least finding yourself questioning your own closely held personal beliefs, because you see their point of view that clearly. And we're not talking Tony Soprano bad here, we're talking end-of-civilization bad.

It also happens to bring out the very best in the TWoP recappers, which hasn't been the case since the heyday of Aaron Sorkin at his very Sorkinest.

But here's the thing: Now that Arrested Development is, at least for the interim, dearly departed, and Gilmore Girls is knee-deep in yet another period of severe sucking, and Scrubs looks to be on its way off the schedule soon, BSG is all I'll have left.

Except the season finale is March 10. !!