"Vacation, all I ever wanted..."

The first week of break turned out to be not very break-like, but more of a preparation for the rest of my time off from school—time off that seems like it will be pretty full, dominated by work that is going to lay the foundation for a lot that I need to accomplish in the upcoming third term.

The first few days were pretty loose and relaxed. I slept A LOT, napping more than once a day on occasion. I read the Guardian most mornings, and plodded through the web-based copy of the New Yorker I receive (thank you, online subscription). I spent a lot of time in coffee shops, trying to convince myself to go do something, then failing and not caring. One of the more productive things that hasn’t got anything to do with schoolwork: my friend Max and I have taken up jogging together on Sundays (we were at it again today). Max is a pretty big runner, and I can usually get myself out two, three times a week, but we’d both fallen out of the habit during our respective Stage Two Practices that essentially took over our hearts, bodies, and souls February onward. As one of my goals during this break was to get back into shape, having a running buddy seemed a very novel indeed, especially considering how much I loathe running. Truly: there’s nothing I dislike greater than starting running again after a long absence—but then after it becomes a routine, I start craving it like a crack fiend. Addictive, but at least it’s a healthier habit. But starting out is always so dreadful. Having company at least once a week is nice. And in all truth, we came to the decision to run together in order to “train” for a hash.

My friend Abby first told me about hashing when I visited her this summer while she was doing Doubt in Cape May, where she is huge. We got onto the topic of things I needed to do while I was over here, and suddenly she gasped and squealed out: “You have to go on a hash!” Now, before your mind wanders to illicit places, no, “hashing” has nothing to do with marijuana, though it does involve some kind of substance abuse. Essentially, you follow a path that has been laid down for you on the road with chalk markings or piles of sawdust (apparently) and you jog for quite a while. The catch is: the path always leads to a pub. So after you’ve jogged for a substantial amount of time, you drink. I think it’s genius, and all the more reason to bother with running in the first place. And I’m pretty sure Max agrees with this. Abby did tell me, however, that on your first hash, you’re meant to drink your first pint from your shoe, which sounds just awful. I’ll keep you lot posted on our progress.

In my effort to get into shape, I also registered for some yoga classes. The first day I went, I saw a London fox standing by the entry way to the studio. My deep-rooted affection for these little guys makes me believe this was a very fortuitous sign. The studio I’m going to is kind of a trip, in that the company seems to be the UK equivalent to the yoga corporation I used to work for (strange that phrase: “yoga corporation…”), which is both reassuring in its familiarity, and bizarre in some strange, almost cross-dimensional sense. “Yes, Spock—it would appear they promote the practice of yoga on this planet, too…” I hope it won’t take too long to get my practice up to snuff, and I think that the yoga will compliment the running nicely. I may even go to Pilates. But let’s not push it just yet.

But as I said, so many paragraphs ago: meetings. Wednesday I sat down with classmates Ariana, Poppy, and Loukia and discussed plans on developing work we’d started to touch on and generate during last term (a concept that is Ariana’s, so details will be scant here). Ariana is looking to have us present the piece in both London and in a couple towns in Germany this August, which means I won’t be flying home in July as originally planned. (The topic of when I’m actually going back to the states is a pretty hot one right now, but we’ll get to that in another entry.) The work that we’re doing with Ariana is new to me (here’s a hint: it’s largely NOT text based), is pretty exciting because of the newness, and I really like the concept she’s shooting for. Even the challenge of working in this manner is pretty freeing all on its own, and that’s been great so far. I look forward to more of the same over the coming months.

That evening I also caught The Lady From Shanghi at the BFI, and am once again convinced that I need a wardrobe akin to the women of Noir cinema. And a gun. Yeah, that would be good…

Thursday I met with Nick Wood, head of our course, alongside my fellow Space (in) Between cohort Mauro, to feedback on the success of the sessions, and in an effort to get The Space incorporated into next year’s first term offerings. The school is currently reviewing, revising, and re-writing the course as it stands, so there may be room to squeeze it in. Or there may not be. Either way, it was a good meeting, and it was nice to see that the head of the course would take the time out of his very busy week to discuss our findings and the possibility of adding this program to the schedule. We’ll see what comes of it.

Friday consisted of back-to-back meetings of my Stage Three Practice group, and my RMO group. In the first meeting, Chad, Maria, Hedva, Lisa and I basically discussed what attracted us to the project we’re going to be working on, and what our personal goals were as artists concerning our work for the piece. Then we generated a list of movies, plays, anything really that we knew about that dealt with a meal or consumption.

The second meeting with my RMO group was to discuss the upcoming "Great Orchidaceous Travesty," where THE BAND, our research experiment of beat-like quality, will be making its debut to an organized audience. I say “organized audience” because we always perform in public, gleaming our audience members from passers by, or unsuspecting produce shoppers, but this will be the first time we play in a venue where people will actually be watching us as part of an evening of bizarre cabaret acts. I am, admittedly, nervous. We’ve never really “performed” like this before, and will be short one group member, who’ll be replaced by another classmate who’s never seen our work and hasn’t rehearsed with us yet. It will all turn out one way or the other, I suppose. And if something does go terribly wrong, we’ll have a chance to redeem ourselves, as we perform again for a second time a fortnight later on the final night of the "Travesty." Anyway we’ll be wearing hats, so that’ll be good.

And speaking of hats, on Friday I also visited the Victoria and Albert Museum with my friend Caitlin to peruse a hat exhibit that is currently going on there. It was great, and if you’re in London reading this, please try to check it out before it goes away on June 1st.

Friday night I also caught the first half of a student production of Hamlet. I say “first half” because I left during intermission and held up in the theatre bar for the rest of the show. I may just be burnt out on the play (it is my favorite, and I even carry a miniature copy of it around in my purse—God Bless the Globe gift shop), so that may have been why I felt the need to leave. That being said, I have only ever walked out on two pieces of theatre, and this was the second. I actually have a lot of opinions on certain choices (mostly directorial) made during the time between 1.1 and the middle of 3.2 (they cut right after "Give me some light: away!"), but I’ll keep them to myself. I will say, though, keep an eye out for one George Taylor. He played Polonius and was by far the best thing up there in my opinion, and was the one actor that made me think, “Maybe I should stay...just until after the arras scene.”

The rest of the weekend was quite literally spent wholly confined to my dorm room, while I cleaned, read, and continued to sleep for a good long while, when not watching downloaded American television on iTunes. And touching on that briefly: some of you may have noted an absence in any blog entry relating to the finale of Battlestar Galactica. I have had so many random post-finale discussions, that to delve into one here just seems wasteful. Be that as it may, I will say I enjoyed it, though could have done without the coda, and that I also sobbed through the last thirty minutes or so. And no: I am not ashamed.

Rest in peace, Galactica.

This week I am meeting my RMO group to discuss how our dry run of our research presentation went, and prep a little for our final presentation. I have two meetings with the Ariana group scheduled, THE BAND will perform, and I’ll be catching the first part of Romeo Castellucci’s trilogy of Dante’s Divine Comedy, Inferno at the Barbican. I also have a couple days of transcription work at Central, typing out some research presentation or other for £££.

That was a long entry and is probably just an indicator of what the next few weeks will bring: massive fullness. But this I vow: I’ll keep finding time for naps somehow.

Miss me?

I thought you might have.

I know, I know--I've been away. My apologies. I've been super busy since I got back, so let me give you the general run down, and I'll plod through specifics later.

Saturday, 10 January:
I land around 6AM--forty-five minutes before scheduled to do so--in Heathrow airport to light flurries and the sound of a screaming child (if I've learned anything from my last two trans-Atlantic flights it's that all children should only be permitted to travel by boat). I pick up my luggage, ride the tube to my halls, drop off my bags, get a shower in, go for coffee, and then head out to the first day of Devoted and Disgruntled. While there, I run into the costume designer from my senior year show in college--Amazing! Interesting discussions ensue. (I will actually do an entry on this, so fret not the lack of details herein.) I go home early from the event and go to sleep, as I'd been up for about 30 hours straight<--I cannot sleep on planes, especially when Braveheart or On the Waterfront is offered as entertainment.

(York Hall, set up for Devoted and Disgruntled goodness.)

Sunday, 11 January:
More D&D, including a session about doing theatre in elderly homes, which brought back fond memories of this book.

Monday, 12 January:
Last session of D&D in the morning, and then off to school, where I saw The Five Obstructions and The Perfect Human, to help put into perspective a future speaker's topic of discussion. Good movies, and I recommend you definitely check out Five Obstructions if you are into the film making process. And if you find the time, scroll down and watch The Perfect Human--it is on this very blog!

Tuesday, 13 January:
Class consisted of gathering with the other MA courses at Central and sitting through presenter after presenter, discussing topics they had spent time researching. We are doing major research projects ourselves this term (to take place of our weekly lab work), so this whole week of speakers, workshops and the like were meant to give us a framework of understanding what it is we're meant to do. Some of it was useful. Some of it wasn't. It's amazing how boring some people can make theatre when they're reading a paper they wrote about it, after they've spent fifteen minutes really engaging you while they set up their discussion. It's kind of a shame, really.

Best part of the day was when my friend Caitlin gave me a necklace with a Dalek charm on it. For those who don't know (and I am guessing many of you do not), Daleks are the greatest adversaries of the Doctor (Dr. Who, people: that doctor). Caitlin and I love Dr. Who, though it must be admitted the reason rests almost solely (if not entirely) on David Tennant. But we're fine with that.
I swear to God I'm not a geek.

Wednesday, 14 January:
First Wednesday back at Swiss Cottage meant the return of the greatest coffee I have ever found in my life. Jason is the man who runs the coffee stand in the farmer's market we have in front of school on Wednesday and Friday, and besides having great taste in books (he loaned me a Fante volume that I really need to finish...someday...), his coffee is impeccable. Seriously. I would not kid about coffee.

We met in the afternoon with the tutor who will be leading us through our research this term (and incidentally will be filling in for the performer's movement tutor while our course leader is off doing research on the history of movement directors) to present our topics. Each group had five minutes, after we'd all taken an hour to compose our presentation according to a graph model that was given to us. In research, it seems, people are very much fond of graphs, charts etc. It makes a person feel official, and it's fun to decide what color to make different parts of a pie chart showing percentages. The most fun part of the actual presentations for me was chiming out, "BONG!" at the five minute mark--Heidi was timekeeper, and a little sick, so I stepped in to BONG when the tutor reprimanded her for not projecting enough. A silly thing, to be sure, but it caused me much joy to participate in such a way, bringing about the full realization of the sneaking suspicion I'd had all week and month previous: I don't want to be an academic, and research for the most part bores me. But doing research is part of what makes this a master's program. Uh oh. This may become an "issue." We shall see.

Afterwards, I went to the first evening of our MA-ATP Speaker Series. The dramaturgs have been commissioned to bring in theatrical practitioners to speak (duh) about their jobs in the theatre today. That evening, we had as our guest Christopher Campbell, a very nice, interesting, and engaging man, who spoke to us about his job as Deputy Literary Manager for the National Theatre. No small fish here. He spoke about play selection, actor requirements when plays are selected for them, playwright insecurities, and why the National puts on so little new work--and it's not because every play they get is shit, either. It was a very enjoyable talk, and I look forward to more in the future.

On the way out of school to go grab dinner before Slumdog Millionaire that evening with friends, myself, David (dramaturg student who brought in Campbell), Campbell and my friend Poppy ended up in the lift together. The doors closed, and suddenly there was a mighty "THU-THUNK!!!" We had dropped a little, and then gotten stuck in between floors. The fire brigade had to come and get us out! Luckily it didn't take too long, and the company was very pleasant. David had given Campbell a bottle of whiskey as a gift for coming, and I kept joking her should open it up.

Caught Slumdog Millionaire, as already stated above, and may have found an affordable gym with a pool right by school. Very exciting.

Thursday 15 January:
I skived off ("played hooky"). I wish I hadn't because there were a couple workshops I heard about later that sounded interesting, but the sleep was very precious. I also had a really nice jog, and somehow ended up at King's Cross. Thought about checking for Platform 9 3/4, but decided to save it for another day. Also came to the realization that jogging in London is a near futile venture if you're not in a park: the sidewalks are WAY too narrow, and people seem confused/put out/ignorant of the concept of MOVING OUT OF THE WAY of the jogger who is going for time. Goodess sakes, people. It's almost as bad as people who smoke while walking, but never enact the common courtesy to move the cigarette out of the way when another person passes by closest to the hand holding said cigarette. I guess no one gets blinded by smoke, ash, or otherwise when room isn't made on the sidewalk, and surely no first degree burns are earned, but still: it sucks.

When I got home, I bought an impromptu ticket to a show for Friday night.

Friday 16 January:
More coffee. I love you, Jason.

Went to school to attend a function a classmate and I are trying to run every Friday called "The Space In Between." Basically, it's a big cross-sharing space for the different strands to come together and show off to each other what they're learned, what they already know, what they're interested in exploring. The hope is that out of these sharing sessions people will be able to find other students who are interested in investigating/developing the same kind of work, which would maybe lead to a collaboration for festival work. I should explain: during third term, our course puts on a festival of original work. A lot of the more noteworthy companies/practitioners that came out of this program moved their festival piece to Edinburgh the same year they were finishing their dissertation, so it's possible what we do here could lead to greater things. The sharing sessions would also hopefully be a place to showcase developing work for feedback, or to derive inspiration about your own work from what other people are bringing in. I thought it was a little ambitious to start off the first week back with a session, but I showed up with a Viola Spolin book in hand, ready to play.

I was the only one there.

I made use of the time by perusing the Spolin text (thank goodness I had brought Theatre Games for the Lone Actor<--I had a sneaking suspicion this was going to happen) and making a list of the things I had learned about living a theatrical life, in case, of course, I am ever called to give such advice. It's quite the list, I assure you. In any case, we hope that this week's SIB is more successful. We can only hope.

When I got home from school, I had a surprise package in the mail. My friend Logan had sent me Battlestar Galactica replica dog tags for none other than Kara Thrace! It came on a perfect day, as BSG premiered in the states that night. I did my part by honouring the occasion and wearing the dog tags to the theatre that night.

(Two science fiction accessory pieces in one week, is pretty geeky, I guess...

But they were gifts!)

The London International Mime Festival is running till the 25th, and Friday night was the first show I caught. I saw Seeking Oedipus by Theatre of Silence Ex Machina at the Southbank Centre. It was a pretty solid show, and I enjoyed the physicality. But the most striking thing about the piece was this HUGE inclined plane that made up most of the set. You really appreciated how athletic the performers had to be to work on that--they were running, jumping, leaping, climbing, and sliding all over that thing. And then at one point Oedipus walked up the rake backwards very slowly. His quads must have killed him. What was nice about the actual narrative of the story was that they basically told you all of the exposition covered in Oedipus as the stage action. There was no "mime chorus," though that phrase conjures an interesting image. The actor playing Laius was by far my favorite. He was also the hottest. (Whatever helps...)

Saturday 17 January:
Met with my research group around the corner from my halls at the Welcome Collection in the morning (more about our topic of research and methods at a later date), and then heading home to watch the premiere episode of BSG I had downloaded from iTunes. (Holy Frak!) Then I wandered down to the BFI to catch part of a program of Charlie Chaplin's early films. The double-reel contained Pay Day and The Pilgrim, and the event started by showing the audience some old footage of when Chaplin first came back to the UK from the states--throngs of people at Waterloo, crowds that really wouldn't exist in that size or clamour again until the Beatles. It was wonderful, and seeing the films was a wonderful compliment to the mime/clown activities of the festival as well.

Sunday 18 January:
I slept. I needed it. And read Othello. I realize I've been neglecting Shakespeare for a while now, and that has to stop. So I promised myself that every Sunday I would read one of his plays that I hadn't read yet--and no, having seen a performance doesn't count. Next week: King Lear.

And that's all for right now. Tomorrow a lot of the North American Stronghold heads out to a bar on Leicester Square to watch the Inauguration. I'll let you know how that goes, and I promise to try to be more diligent about updating you guys about my life happenings. I promise to try. I promise.

For the Record...

If anyone wants to buy me anything from the upcoming Battlestar Galactica Auction, I would love you forever. My favorite piece is Lee Adama's watch, something that I've actually been perusing the internet in search of for the past few years. Anyone know some good replica makers? I don't have $300-$500 to spend on something Jaime Bamber wore, but I'd settle for a really good copy and a lower price tag. Again, though--my undying love is on the table here, people, and it's worth less than $1,000 (apparently). Just saying.

(PS: That dress Tricia Helfer is wearing above is set to catch $10,000-$12,000. That actually seems cheap to me.)

I still say I'm not a "geek."

(That picture is frakkin' hilarious.)

A request came in from my friend Raz that I blog about the mid-season finale of Battlestar Galactica. I promised to indulge him (and bi-proxy, myself) if he responded to said entry. So for those of you who haven't seen the episode yet--beware! Spoilers below! And for those who watch, please feel free to enter the conversation.

This discussion is partly due to a wonderful e-mail I received from a long distance friend who occasionally discusses the show with me, and brings me these when he visits. (I also have the Classic Colonial Viper, and the Colonial Viper Mark II. Thanks, Enrique!) I'm going to paste in some of his points (which are great) and expound a bit in some places. So hopefully this will be an interesting dialogue for those of us "in the know."

Okay, so a few huge things happened this episode: 1) The four Cylons in the Colonial Fleet were revealed; 2) The Viper that the resurrected Kara Thrace came back in started receiving a radio signal; and 3) The Fleet finally made it to Earth.

Now, it's interesting that they made it to Earth, considering that has been the goal for the past four years--every episode has dealt with this journey on some level (except maybe "Unfinished Business," though I love that one {and YES: it IS because of the Starbuck-Apollo sex, I'm not too proud to admit it}). We really have come to the conclusion, the journey is over. This of course is paralleled by the fact that this is the last season of the show. But I was really expecting them to hold off on Earth for as long as possible, maybe until the last episode even. So now the arch of the show is not just about getting to Earth, but rebuilding a civilization once you've found a place to settle--and apparently peacefully with the Cylons.

But what an Earth.

I have to say, it's totally true to scifi fashion that they show a desolate, post-apocalyptic Earth, and Ron Moore's hinting over the past two years or so that Earth might not be what they're expecting pretty much gave that away. But this was just so visually desolate a place that it was jarring. Below is a panorama someone on the web made up of the long establishing shot taken down on the planet's surface. It's pretty well done, I think:

The whole place hearkens back to that poster of the colonial soldier on his knees in front of the burning Caprica, the one in the pilot's prep room that they'd all touch on their way to the hanger deck. From one desolate wasteland to another...

It will be really interesting to watch them all deal with the reality of Earth. I'm looking forward to how the civies ("civilians" for all you non-military personnel out there) deal with this--will there be some kind of up-rising? Will/Would Tom Zarek have something to do with it? (I still don't trust that guy a 100% of the time...) And how will living peacefully with the Cylons work out, if at all?

Let's talk about the Cylons for a sec. Worst idea that civilization had (silly Natalie) was to give the Centurians free will. I mean, seriously? That's just "aaaasking for traaaagedy" as an old Bostonian friend of mine used to say (hence the extra "aaaaaaaa's"). Will the Centurians want to settle peacefully with the humans? Will they even want to take orders from their Cylon "masters?" Will the skinjobs and the humans end up bonding together in some kind of fight against the Centurian models? Will they remain loyal to the four, in particular, Torey, who has gone all fanatical about "being with [her] people" but dismiss the others?

And speaking of Torey--I'm excited for someone to kill her off. Not as excited as I was when Cally died, who I just couldn't frakin' stand (next one on my list is one of Baltar's harem, the one with the son and that stupid face). No, with Torey I just see her as being REALLY evil. And I don't see any chance for redemption with her--she's made this choice to embrace her "perfection in the eyes of God," totally abandoning where she came from, and hasn't looked back. It's made her...kind of boring to watch, really. Oh well. In any case, an interesting dynamic to look out for will be how she and D'Anna get along during the rest of the season--if D'Anna will defer to her (being that Torey's one of the five, and therefore some kind of leader to the Cylon race), or try some co-leadership, or if they'll end up having a falling out over their own separate ideas of the chosen fate of the Cylons. And is Tyrol ever going to find out that Torey killed Cally, or what?

Moving along, I loved the reveal of the four, and all their own separate reactions. Torey's was pretty predictable, though I was surprised she didn't just out them all right there on Galactica's hanger deck. I loved Galen's shrug and smile, and Enrique said it pretty well in that, "He knew he’d get found out sooner or later and seemed glad that his fate was no longer in his own hands." So true. (I love Aaron Douglass so much.) Anders's was great--he loves Kara so much and was so worried about her reaction--which wasn't much, considering what she said to him at the top of the season about shooting him in the head if she found out he was one.

But of course Tigh's was the best. One of the most unsuspecting candidates for being one of the final five, watching him struggle with this has been the most interesting to me. It was just the most human, which is ironic, considering. When he finally gets up the guts to tell Adama that he's a Cylon and there's that smile on his face when he suggests the plan to air lock himself, it's just awesome. He's so happy he's found a way to in the end be the man he wanted to be, that he can help his friend. And Adama's reaction was great (although, I think Eddie was pushing just a little...), that total breakdown--I think some people would frown on that sequence, saying it's completely uncharacteristic of Adama, but never has the character had such fundamental parts of his life come totally unhinged. Imagine finding out a friend that you knew for thirty years is actually the thing you've spent your whole life looking out for and fighting, and what you thought they were fighting too? I can't--though part of that is because I haven't lived thirty years yet to know anyone that long.

On a side note, I'm glad they made that timeline distinction: if the Cylon war was forty years ago, and Tigh and Adama have only known each other thirty years, then there's no way they could have known each other during the first Cylon war and have possibly served together during it. This has been a question that's come up again and again this season amongst my friends, so I'm glad that got cleared up. This also means that Tigh could have been "produced" during the first Cylon war, or shortly there after, and then "released" into human civilization.

On another side note, Michael Hogan should have won an Emmy for season three.

And lest we not forget--Caprica Six is pregnant now. That's a whole Cylon baby. True love? Or only true love because Tigh was thinking of Ellen? Or can the Cylons pro-create with each other, but it only works when a final five is part of the equation? Does that link to the Roslin/Athena/Caprica Six joint vision at all? And the opera house is demolished, so, the location is obviously not meant to be taken overly literally, but now that they're at the sight of the place, need we be more wary?

Let's go back to Earth for a bit. They show a Geiger counter in the final sequence, so we know the planet (or at least this immediate area) has been victim to some nuclear bombing. So other questions follow this: who destroyed this last colony of man? Did this colony develop nuclear technology, or were they discovered by something else that used this weapon against them? How long ago did this occur? And why did this happen? And are there any survivors in this wasteland?

And if Starbuck has been here, why the frak didn't she know about this? This also brings up an interesting discussion between Enrique and I, that Kara Thrace is the actual "dying leader," not Roslin, and he writes rather compellingly:

"I’ve said, and many believe, that title of the dying leader as described in the Scrolls of Pythia, was mistakenly attributed to Laura Roslin and that the true dying leader was in fact, Kara Thrace. If this is true, and the rest of the prophecies and writings are true, the dying leader was supposed to lead the way, but never make it. Much of the religion of the Lords of Kobol, though polytheistic, parallels Mormonism and has a lot of references to Judeo-Christian faith. The prophecy of the dying leader has a lot in common with the story of Moses and the exodus from Egypt, and though Moses led the people to the promised land eventually, he was not allowed in because he doubted God. If the dying leader is not supposed to make it to Earth, and Starbuck is indeed the dying leader, one of two things must be true: 1. This is Earth and the Starbuck we see is not Kara Thrace; or 2. This is Kara Thrace, but we have not arrived at Earth.

"This becomes exceedingly complex when we consider Kara’s “death.” Her connection to the Eye of Jupiter helped the Colonials get as far as the nebula before she died. But her main contributions that directly led to finding Earth happened after her resurrection. That would mean that the fake Starbuck, the fake leader was responsible for leading everyone to earth.

"But perhaps the writings have been misinterpreted. We already believe that have been since the Colonials believed Roslin to be the leader and we believe Starbuck to be. Perhaps “dying” leader has been misconstrued. Perhaps the leader is one who dies, therefore cannot step foot in the promised land, though the resurrected leader may. What if Kara is like Gandalf – Gandalf the Gray would not see the final fall of Sauron, but Gandalf the White would be instrumental in Sauron’s demise. It’s still Gandalf, but not quite. And maybe the writings intend that but the meaning is lost in endless interpretation by the writer’s of history, who as we know in our own world have used religious texts to say what they want about faith. Could Starbuck have been the dying leader where Starbuck the Gray does die and never makes it to Earth while Starbuck the White passes through time and space to lead mankind to the promised land?"

Ten points to Enrique for connecting more scifi/fantasy lineage here, as well as Moses.

But bouncing off of this for a moment, I just want to point out, referencing major event of the episode #2: No one has addressed the frakking Viper. So it shows up, in mint condition with either a hidden message inside of it, or having some kind of higher technology that allows it and only it to receive the coordinates of Earth. On an apparently demolished society, who sent the message to the Viper? Granted, we only saw one part of the planet, so we don't know that the whole thing was destroyed, but it does raise the question of not only who was there before, but also, who may be there now? I wrote to Enrique:

"Okay, so, Starbuck is some kind of prophet/scriptural leader, whatever, I'll take it. I'll take her as the true dying leader, whose born again self can enter paradise (nice Moses connection btw). BUT: that still does not explain the fucking Viper. Who built this thing? Who put a fucking homing device in it? Did whatever civilization that existed on Earth have the technology to send that Viper back, and also build it, AND also find an unconscious resurrected Kara Thrace to put in it? Something is up there, and I think that a lot of clues as to what happened on Earth will be found in that Viper."

Then of course the question of the fifth and final Cylon comes up. Is the fifth there, on Earth, waiting for them? The five have supposedly been to Earth before, so, it would follow. And D'Anna says distinctly "four are in your fleet" not five, so where's the last one? And was it that final Cylon that sent the signal to the Viper's computer? There is an idea that the identity of the fifth deals with characters from the upcoming Caprica, particularly focusing on that first hybrid we see in Razor--apparently he was once a human named Daniel Graystone, the father of the Cylon race, if you will. If this is true, then it goes beyond humans creating Cylons--in a sense, the Cylons have human blood in them. So that's interesting. Enrique thinks Kendra Shaw may be on the table for being the fifth, as the hybrid in Razor calls her his child, and why else would they spend so much time developing a character like that. He wonders if we'll see her again.

And the unification of two peoples, watching the Cylons and humans need eachother in order to both arrive at Earth, even Starbuck remarking that whoever is sending the signal to the Viper wants the humans to find Earth with the Cylons, is a really interesting theme, and I'm wondering how that will fall together with the show's mythology.

There's a lot more to talk about, but this has already taken about two and a half hours to write, so I'm a bit spent.

An overall criticism of the episode is that I felt it was rushed, that it could have been done in two hours. But because of the writer's strike, I believe that held up its development process, and had the strike gone on any longer I believe the episode was to have actually to have been the show's finale, not just the midway point of a very drawn out season (no new episodes till at least January 1st, 2009--it's going to be an eternity!). That said, I'm glad it's not the end--I was kind of worried Ron Moore would dump them on the planet, show that it was imperfect, and be like, "Well. That's it!" That would have sucked.

I'll be back in the states briefly this winter, so I may catch the first couple episodes over here, but the majority of time I'll be watching in England, however they do it over there. I hope I can find BSG enthusiasts over seas, which I don't think will be too difficult. But it won't match watching it with my friends over here. So guys, please raise your drinks and wish me well next year on your Friday nights, and I'll raise mine to you--give or take five hours.

So say we all!*

(*PS: Did you know that Edward James Olmos ad libbed that line in the mini-series during that final scene, just started yelling it and expecting people to join in {because he IS the commander of the fleet, after all} and then they did? And now it's in every sacred text, every formal toast, every rallying cry of the show. God I love actors.)

"You fuckers think just 'cause a guy reads comics he can't start some shit?"

This title is a little misleading and obviously profane, but I love the movie, and it's not completely inappropriate.

Today I went to Philadelphia (the city with the strangest layout EVER) to a Wizard World convention. Wizard World is basically a company that runs a series of conventions for a mish mash of sci-fi, comic, fantasy and the like. I'm not really hooked into the convention circuit (I'd never actually been to one till now, and this one wasn't all that huge), but a friend of mine and fellow Battlestar Galactica enthusiast Logan, who follows this blog, found out that there was a very special BSG guest working the VIP section of the convention this weekend: Katee Sackhoff.

Sackhoff plays Kara "Starbuck" Thrace on Battlestar Galactica, and apart from being a really great actress (who also has the benefit of working with really great writing, it must be said), her character is totally bad ass, complicated, the lead gun of the Viper pilots, and generally fucked up in the best way possible (except for this season, where she's borderline psychotic, which is troubling). In short: I think she is the coolest, and after Princess Leia, she is next on the list of "Scifi Characters Who I Would Like to Emulate in My Life." She's even above Xena--that's how you know it's serious.

In any case, she was reason enough to get me out to the capital of my least favorite state (I'm from New Jersey, this kind of prejudice happens) and finally attend a convention. Other great attractions were Garth Ennis, writer/co-creator of Preacher, lots of random fandom merchandise, and PA Jedi, that demonstrated their own choreographed lightsaber fights and drills, and offered up maybe the one redeeming quality of the state that you never visit, you just have to drive through it to get somewhere else. I have to tell you, the fights really weren't bad, and I enjoyed the fact that they took themselves so seriously.

(The bottom picture was a pre-choreographed fight, being done by people who I believe were Not associated with PA Jedi. The best part was right before the "kill" was going to happen, the little boy on the left there {see him?} ran in with his light saber and stabbed at the attacker. Cutest. Thing. Ever.)

I'm a dork, borderline geek. It's something I keep pretty close to my chest, but those who know me know that it's true. I'm not a HUGE geek, and far from the designation of "nerd," which seems to require an extra level of dedication and girth of knowledge that is beyond the circumference of my cranium and my patience, and I have mixed feelings about the whole thing. There was a bit of shaming in elementary and middle school from my friends regarding my dork/geek interests--I learned early on that Star Trek: The Next Generation ("TNG," as we call it, in the circles I barely frequent) was not going to make me any more popular or any less awkward, but I still see my enjoyment of it as a real release and important in my personal development at that time in my life. But due to the initial shaming, I never really let myself develop my geeky side fully, or made it develop it in more acceptable ways: musical theater, an innate knowledge of Shakespeare, etc. (Reading that back, neither of those is actually any more "acceptable" are they?) So now, when I'm in a room full of true geeks and nerds, I get intimidated. I've never played Dungeons and Dragons. I cannot program HTML. I do not LARP. I tried reading comics when I was younger, but found I was too overwhelmed by how much I didn't know, the mythologies so vast and had been going on for so many years before I was even born, and I kind of shut down on the idea. I fear math. Essentially, I hide my dorkiness and geek tendencies because, quite frankly: I feel like a fake. I haven't the pedigree. Or the balls.

And on that note, there's also something about being a girl in that kind of environment. Women always have to reach a hypothetical bar set by men, it seems, and here it is no different. In dork/geek/nerd society, two ideas seem to exist about women:

1. That they have koodies and know nothing about the world, such as why it is so important the Federation crack down on violators of the Prime Directive; and
2. That they are massive sex pots, with HUGE breasts, that go around hunting prey in form of animal/man/beast/alien/living dead/what-have-you, in a chain metal bikini with nothing but a sly remark and maybe a claymore to hold that material up. (And let's face it: the costume is already too small.)
   

Both views seem pretty sexist, pretty immature, and the latter one pretty...hopeful? But in either case, it sets up a precarious set of ideas that makes it hard to infiltrate geek society and still be respected. And still be recognized as a woman. And as it happens in my case, also as a straight woman. Which is probably why I love Starbuck so much--because her character can do all of these things.

But getting back to what is supposed to matter in this blog, what does any of this have to do with art or me? Well, here is a whole sub culture of people who gather because of their common interest in a specific kind of art. They decide what is acceptable, what is cool, and what is not. They show, in an unapologetic way, the force of an audience. And that force is something that any artist who wants to make a connection and any kind of commercial progression in their career has to tap into. This is also why I think crowd psychology should be studied in theatre school.

And again, as addressed earlier in this blog, the identity issue: a chief reason people enjoy art is because they identify with characters. They can see themselves (or would like to see themselves) making those choices, winning those battles, getting the girl to take off her chain metal bikini. And in no subculture is this more blatantly prevalent than the dork/geek/nerd one. (We'll save a larger discussion on LARPing for another time, but you follow me so far.) The same thing that happens on stage happens between a boy and his comic book. Or so we hope.

I admit the end of this entry is a bit ramblesome, but it was just a really cool day, and I wanted to share it with you all. Now grab your gun and bring in the cat!

That was a Battlestar Galactica reference right there.

"This is a lie..."

That title's a reference to the Cure, if anybody cares.

Katie--this one's for you. Mostly.

Okay, I want to take a moment and talk about narrative structure. Partly because the thing fascinates me so, and also because it came to mind the other day when thinking on older "Battlestar Galactica" episodes, and what they mean to teach us about this season.

This post will have nothing to do with grad school, I assure you, though it will talk about art in a way and so I'm going to scrape by posting it here on that justification. And furthermore, it will fulfill a dream of mine and one GreedyGreen's desire to discuss narrative structure over blog. We had hopped for video blogging, but that shit is just too frakking expensive. (And yes: I will be using "frak" to excess over the next few months. And no, I will not apologize.) So here's a poor man's version of what could be, of what may have been. You may not understand the example I give and the ponderings thereafter if you don't watch the show. Suck it up and start renting the DVDs.

Recently, a former high school cohort who is also a BSG fan reminded me of an episode where Leoben, a known Cylon, pulls Laura Roslin to him and whispers, "Adama's a Cylon," right before he's thrown out an airlock. This happened some time ago, and I had forgotten about it. But now, with a season geared towards the revealing of the final Cylon, the question lingers. Could Admiral William Adama, commander of the remaining Colonial Fleet and guardian of the human race as we know it on this show actually be Cylon? OR: did Leoben really mean Bill Adama at all? There are two known living Adamas: the admiral, and his son Lee (or as I refer to him, "The-hottest-of-the hot"). What if Lee Adama was the Adama Leoben was referring to? What would happen then? (For those not familiar with the series, I hope those links were useful.)

But both of these questions are based around the idea that Leoben was in fact stating a truth. The question remains: was it a Cylon trick, and a lie, or will some Adama eventually endanger the lifespan of the human race on the show? The problem with telling a lie in performance--the portrayal of lying, I should say, not bad acting which is occasionally referred to as "lying"--is that the audience usually needs to be in on it for it to be of any use as a plot device. You need that sense of dramatic irony to create tension that will help propel the play. Theatre is all about the relationship the piece has with the audience. Since we understand theatre can't exist without an audience (trust me on this one) we must appreciate the dependency therein, and even if we're trying to deeply offend our audience in some kind of theatre of cruelty situation, we must acknowledge that our efforts are useless without someone to subject that kind of cruelty on.

So: here we are with our audience. They're already in a state of suspended disbelief because they've come to watch something they know to be a play/movie/whathaveyou. They have to take what the performers give at face value. It's part of the agreement they make when they take their seat. Much drama centers around watching characters functioning in both public and private settings, the contradictions between the two being what is offered to the audience as the truth of those characters, and this is so often done that it is expected. We watch human drama because we want to know what's real, what it is to actually experience something like that, whatever the circumstances. We want all the nitty gritty shit shown to us, no excuses. So when a lie is introduced, it needs to eventually be verified for being one. The great part about Othello and Richard III is that the antagonists let the audience in on the joke; both Iago and Richard turn to the audience and pointblank tell them, "I'm going to really fuck things up for these people, just watch." The audience is allowed in, and so the lying is okay because the viewers are allowed to recognize it as a device. But when that access is denied, it's almost an act of bad faith on the part of the writer/performer. Remember that episode of "Dallas" where Patrick Duffy was discovered in the shower, still alive when he was supposed to have been dead, and the entire season that had taken place turned out to be a dream? I don't, I was too young--but I've heard tell of it. Such an action on a writer's part basically undercuts the entire journey they've taken the audience on. Unless the play was somehow a large discussion about deception, and that choice was made to show the audience that even they were vulnerable to it happening to them, it's just an asshole move. Period.

So I guess basically, getting back to BSG, I want Leoben to once and for all say that Adama, whichever one, is not a Cylon. Or see more examples of Cylons lying--which there have been many, but none recent enough to remind me what they're capable of (save the day-to-day existence on the Galactica of the four known of the Final Five...I guess there's a lot of deception there, too). If it is a lie. (And I venture to guess that it is.) And generally I'd like to see a good, solid piece of drama that may trick the audience into thinking they knew the answers, but then discovered they did not. Which is great drama, truly.

When am I getting a job with SciFi?

(Note: I did find an almost completely naked picture of Lee Adama on the web, but restrained myself from posting it here. This is a blog, not a smut show. I don't know if that's a good thing or not, but the epic hotness of Jamie Bamber was bound to be just too frakking distracting for the likes of me, and I couldn't do it. Sorry guys.)

Aw, Frak.

The title is in honor of the premiere of the fourth season of Battlestar Galactica this evening. I'm having a party with food, friends, and fun prizes...and other things that begin with "f." What are YOU doing?

So after a brief discussion with my mother earlier this morning, it seems that my specific strand (the performers) don't actually start school till...January. So I'll be stateside a little longer that I thought, though still leaving New York in August. I blame this miscomunication on my start date (originally took it to be sometime in early October) to the vagueness of the paperwork I received from Central, and the additional illusory nature of hard solid information on their website. I'm reminded of something Dylan Moran says about talking to English people: "You don't know if they've recently died or just got married." This is the kind of vagueness I'm talking about people! A little help please!

This could speak about/to the fact that I've done little thus far to promote my journey over there: beginning of the saving of various monies, starting to pack, buying a new British-appropriate wardrobe, filling out my FASA...details, details, details...

But now the question is: What the frak am I going to do during my new "swing" period? Go home to Jersey and teach yoga? It just might happen, but I'm open to suggestions.

But enough of this. There are more pressing matters at hand. Like: Is Starbuck a Cylon?

(I say "No!")