August 26, 2005

BSG 2×7 “Home Pt. II”

Filed under: Uncategorized — MalSnay @ 11:40 pm

Spoilers, bitches. Just so you know.

This episode essentially wraps up the open plotlines left over from the first season’s finale. In that episode, “Kobol’s Last Gleaming pt. II“, Roslin convinced Starbuck to disobey Bill Adama and take the captured Cylon raider to Caprica to retrieve the Arrow of Apollo; a three-Raptor scouting party including Dr. Baltar, Chief Tyrol, Callie, and Crashdown was shot down over Kobol and stranded; ordered to relieve Roslin of her authority, Lee pulled a weapon on Col. Tigh and was arrested by Colonial Marines; Roslin found herself in the Galactica brig; on a successful mission to destroy the Cylon basestar over Kobol, Boomer M1 (who had earlier botched her suicide) learned for certain that she was a Cylon, and later put two rounds into Bill Adama’s chest.

This led to a situation known as “fucked beyond all recognition”, and considering it took roughly two-hundred and eighty minutes of episode time to “repair” what went wrong in 1/7th of that time, the assessment was quite correct. Things of course didn’t improve with the 2nd season premier — actually, they got a lot worse. And then worse. And then even worse. First, the Galactica inadvertently lost the fleet. Then found the fleet, but got boarded by Cylons. Then Tigh declared martial law and Marines shot up a bunch of civilians and Lee led a rather low-key mutiny on the ship to free Roslin.

There will still be repurcussions from this arc for episodes to come, but I misted when Roslin’s party on Kobol, anticipating a Cylon attack, sent Lee out as a scount, and he stepped around the tree, and aimed his handgun right at …

… his dad.

And there’s Lee, all ready to be disowned for his insurbordination, his mutiny, and instead he gets a big gracious hug and a “Y’know, I never knew until now what my dad meant when he would say ‘psh, these kids today’.” And there’s Starbuck, looking more contrite then when she told Bill it was her fault (indirectly, anyway) his younger son was dead, and Bill Adama’s all like “Aw, aren’t you cute when you’re not smokin’ a cigar and slugging my XO. Shit girl, all’s forgiven. Don’t go stealin’ no more ships now …”

And there’s also Roslin’s reunion with Billy, who you’ll remember, refused to accompany her on her secretive flight away from Galactica, unwilling to take further part in an action that could result in massive bloodshed. The real-world explanation is that Paul Campbell had to audition for a pilot and was unavailable — it played well, this way, with Billy coming with Bill Adama as his emissary. I wonder if Roslin had kids — killed on Caprica — and I wonder if, in the wake of the Cylon attacks and the flight for Earth, has come to view Billy as she would her own son.

Bill Adama’s reaction to seeing Boomer M2 is, uh, not unsurprising. “You bitch! I’m going to smash your skull in! Bitch! Oh – oh – my heart! Arrrrr…!”

Boomer M2 is a sly, cunning little con who plays back when bad people try to play her. Too bad for James Remar, who going against Zarek’s orders, plots the double-assassination of the Adamas and tries to enlist Boomer M2 to his cause by telling her Boomer M1 was murdered at the sanction of Galactica‘s crew. She’s all like, “Yeah, totally, I’ll take Bill, you take Lee.” Then when he’s like “Now!” she’s like “Eat lead Remar, you motherfrakker!” The lesson contained herein — never try to play a Cylon.

Turns out Baltar doesn’t have a chip in his head which allows him to see Six — so, is it a chip invisible to Cottle’s CAT machine, or is Baltar just out of his friggin’ mind? Or is Six, as she claims, really an angel from The One True God? Looking at the evidence, he can’t be crazy — Six has said way too much accurate (if sometimes cryptic) stuff about what later transpired. The mystery deepens … in any case, it was good to see the Julian Bashir lookalike get a bit more screentime this episode, as the last few he’s been stuck in the background doin’ not much of anything.

Oh, yeah – Six? With her hair pulled back into a ponytail? Hottest she’s been.

So we finally see the Tomb of Athena we’ve been hearing so much about. It’s a big grassy field. “So where were we before?” someone asks. “The lobby?” Roslin says. See, they were in this big cave-chamber with statues, and Starbuck put the Arrow of Apollo on the statue of Apollo’s drawn bow, and suddenly she, Roslin, Billy, and the Adamas are standing on a big grassy field.

On Earth.

See, it’s complicated, but essentially Earth is located — well, we all know where its located, but the characters don’t — so they figure Earth is located where the twelve constellations which mark the twelve colonies can all be seen. Also, Lee recognizes a nebula which he figures can serve as a directional guide. “That’s a far way out,” Bill Adama observes. On the other hand, now they actually know where they’re going.

Best Scene:

The flight pod, with a ton of Galactica crew and fleet dignitaries present. The deck is scuffed and dirty — interesting to compare with the miniseries when it was polished and clean, y’know? Anyway, Bill Adama introduces Roslin to scattered applause. Before she can speak, he begins forcefully clapping his hands, and the assembled crowd follows his lead. It’s rythmic at first, and then the dam breaks and everyone seems to recognize that things are going to get a lot better and it becomes all freeflowin’ and “Woohoo! The Red Sox Win The World Series!”

Things I would have liked to see:

Someone — someone! — be surprised that Helo is still alive. Apollo last episode (granted, he’d only just met Helo before all the shit went down in the miniseries) didn’t say “Oh, wow, Helo, you aren’t Cylon food.” And in this episode, neither the Chief, nor Commander Adama acknowledged Helo in like regards. Also missing: Col. Tigh’s “You gotta be frakkin’ kidding me!” when he sees Starbuck. Might’ve been a bit much to pack into the episode … go figure.

Next Week …

What is Sci-Fi doing next Friday that they’re prempting Battlestar Galactica for? I suppose I could check the schedule but … meh … lazy. Anyway, what this means is that it’ll be two weeks to see Xena: Warrior Princess do her “Mean Liberal-Leaning Reporter Demands to Know Why Tigh Ordered Marines to Fire on Innocent Hippies” impersonation, and a month until Michelle Forbes does her guest stint. She’s got her own Battlestar. It’s bigger.

Hooray!

Filed under: Uncategorized — MalSnay @ 2:35 pm

I don’t know if anything today could have cheered me up more than seeing that Tron put in some overtime and get the old banner resized and up. Thank you!!!!

The FUCKING Oxygen Sensors

Filed under: Uncategorized — MalSnay @ 2:17 pm

I’d tell you the long story but I’m still seething about unrelated work matters regarding Silent Fucking Bob that I might relate later, after I don’t feel the overwhelming urge to implant a blunt object in Gary’s fucking skull.

Short story:

Show up at the shop at 7:30. They get the car in the garage right away. I get the car back at 9:30. Check engine light is off and oxygen sensors working normally. By noon, the check engine light is back on.

So I’m fucking taking the fucking car fucking back in on fucking Monday at fucking seven fucking thirty in the fucking morning.

I want oxygen sensors that fucking work. Why is this so fucking difficult?

I don’t know, I’m not a mechanic, maybe it is difficult, but I swear, maybe they need to call Toyota and say “Hey, those sensors you sent us are fucking defective. Give us different ones.”

yawn

Filed under: Uncategorized — MalSnay @ 7:04 am

… off to fix the sensors i go

The Pizza Turd & The Con Artist

Filed under: Uncategorized — MalSnay @ 12:17 am

Told to me by Greg, an incident that occured at his other store:

“So I get the phone, and its this kid who’s just ordered and he says there’s a big turd on his pizza. And the driver who took his order snickered, so I thought he was playing some prank. But the kid insists, ‘there’s a turd on my pizza’ and I tell him to bring the pizza in and I’d refund his money. An hour later, he still hasn’t shown, so I call his number. There’s no answer, but I get his voice mail. The message is like, ‘Hey, this is Eric, home of the effin’ shit, man, leave me a message, I’ll hit ya’ back.’

“So I wait half an hour or so, borrow the insider’s cell phone, and call again. This time, Eric picks up.

“‘This is Officer so-and-so with the Ann Arundel County Police Department,’ I said. ‘I understand you recieved a pizza with feces on it? We’d like you to bring that down to the precinct house as evidence. I want you to know we’re taking this very seriously…’

“…At which point the kid breaks in with, ‘no, no, it was just a joke, there was no turd on my pizza…’

“But I kept going, because I was doin’ this wicked police accent and I was imagining sodomizing this little asshole with a billy club, ‘We just want you to know we’re taking this very seriously, if you can’t get down here yourself, I can send an officer to your house …’

“And by this point the kid is just panicking, he’s screaming into the phone, ‘No! No! It was a prank! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it, I thought it would be funny, please …’

“So then I finished up with, ‘Oh, you’re pranking the local pizza parlor, are you? I think I should come by and talk to your parents.’

“He hung up, and we haven’t heard from him since.”

**

Tonight, three kids showed up claiming the food they’d ordered the day before made them sick and they wanted their money back. Greg couldn’t find a record of any order matching what they claimed. The question is — were they trying to con Greg out of some cash, or could they not tell the difference between the other “Big-Three” franchise in the area and us?

**

Something similar happened to Gary once, I was there. Year and a half … two years ago? Or so. Dude walked in on a Monday morning claiming he’d gotten food poisoning from the shop the day before and was going to sue unless he got a ton of cash, upfront. Gary listened to the story, and asked him to repeat it several times, in particular: when he’d ordered the food. Sunday. He was very clear on this. According to the dude, he’d spent most of the game on the toilet, even though he’d had a bunch of friends over to watch on his new big-screen. Hugely humilating, he claimed. Bought the tv brand new, couldn’t even watch the first game on it. Wanted compensation, y’know? Gary was sympathetic, probing with his questions.

I didn’t know Gary very well then. I’d only worked there a few months, if that. Gary’s got this way of sucking folks into this relaxed zone, then fuckin’ killin’ ‘em.

Anyway, a few of the regulars were standing around listening because this jackass was all about trying to intimidate Gary. “This food is awful, you’re awful, I’ve got a cousin on the board of health, I’ll have you shut down, you’d better give in to me, blah-blah-blah.”

Finally Gary raised his hand. “Tell ya’ what, asshole. I’m fucking closed on Sunday. How the fuck did you get food from me when the door is fuckin’ locked and I’m at the fuckin’ stadium watching fuckin’ football?”

The guy stammers. “Uh … uh…”

“Get the fuck out of you you fucking asswipe before I call the police, and if I ever see you in this shopping center again, I will have the police on your ass so fuckin’ fast you’ll think you were five years old again. Get into your fucking car and get the fuck out of here before I get your license plate and report you to the police for your fucking scams you fucking mother fucking piece of fucking…” And on like that until the con-artist scrambled out the door and out of the shopping center.

I’m going to miss working for these bozos.

(“Bozo” is a term of affection, you understand)

oblivousity

Filed under: Uncategorized — MalSnay @ 12:06 am

There’s a scene in the short-lived tv series “Sports Night” where the character Jeremy tells an interested lady that he’s pretty much clueless when women are interested in him, and he wishes that they’d just pinch him or something if they’re interested, instead of leaving him to play guessing games. So she pinches him, and he says ow, and she pinches him again, and finally, he gets it.

Relating the story of The Blast-From-The-Past Bartender, quite a few co-workers and even a blog-reader or two commented to the effect of, “Man, I hope you got her number, because she took the effort to do that — that means something!”

But of course, I didn’t. Because I’m dumb like that. Like Jeremy, I need a big sign, and maybe also a clobber over the head with a 2×4 so I know to look at the big sign. Because when it comes to stuff like this, I’m totally effin’ oblivious.