Quick rant — for some reason that I don’t understand, the Sci-Fi channel promoted this episode as part of the “season finale.” While it’s certainly closely tied to the season finale, it isn’t. If you want to get technical, it’s the “pre-season finale”, but the “season finale”, is by definition, the last episode of the season … not the second to last episode of the season. “But it’s a two part episode!” No, that’s actually not a very correct expression — you want a two part episode, you take the teaser and the first two acts and label it “episode one” then take the last two or three acts and label that “episode two.” This is a story continued over two episodes. Ranting over, I’ll just summize — this wasn’t the season finale. Nor was this the first half of the season finale. The first half of the season finale will be over at 10:45pm next Friday night.

**

Not bad! We get to touch with a lot of the characters we haven’t seen much in the last eight episodes — everyone but Tigh gets at least a solid line, and sometimes more — and there’s a nice focus on “a day in the life of the fleet” … I wish I’d followed The West Wing more so I could compare how the shows are similar and different in their fictional depictions of Presidential Election Campaigns. Speaking of which — who won The West Wing’s?

There’s a lot going on in the episode, and the format of the teaser reminded me a lot of “Kobol’s Last Gleaming Pt. 1″’s teaser. Okay, I’m jumping from here into snarkiness.

Emerging from FTL jump into a solid cliff? Ouch.

I love Dean Stockwell’s line: “Well, maybe I’m a Cylon and I don’t recognize you from the Cylon meetings.” I’m going to be really dissapointed if Dean Stockwell turns out to be a Cylon.

Whoever thought Tyrol would look really crazy if he grew a beard was like totally correct.

I can’t remember the last time either Tyrol or Cally had this much screen time.

I have a hard time believing the hangar deck is ever quiet enough for a guy to go to sleep on the dirty floor. And if I was tired enough to go to sleep on the hangar floor, I certainly would leave my pants on. Geez Chief. Thank goodness you don’t wear a thong.

Weren’t the Presidential Elections supposed to happen two months ago? I’m pretty sure Zarek said in “Bastille Day” that elections were seven months off, and I’m reasonably certain “Bastille Day” happened just about right away after the Miniseries (third episode into the first season, IIRC), which was … nine months ago?

Speaking of which, I think it makes logical sense to settle on the planet. Galactica found it by accident. There’s no indications the Cylons know about it, and would it be an acceptable risk to settle? I mean, sure, it’s putting all your eggs in one basket, but if you keep running and the Cylons keep chasing, sooner or later they’ll win. I think staying on the planet — no matter how difficult it might be to eek out a living — would be worth it.

Anders - again! The meeting between his group and Starbuck’s Marines seems fortuitous, and expected — were they in contact before the mission was launched? Or did they just stumble across each other by luck? Man, those Cylons sure can set up their artillery batteries quick. Guess they stopped planting shrubs.

Roslin giggles when she gets nervous. I can relate. I could tell you an embarassing story about a right of manhood when I was nervous and started giggling and it got me in a bit of hot water, but my parents read this blog, so I’ll exercise discretion this once.

Greg told me tonight that he’d officially withdrawn his support of President George W. Bush. “Aren’t you proud of me? I’m one of the sixty-seven percent!” he told me, referencing the President’s low polling numbers.

“I didn’t wait until it became the ‘in thing’ to not support Bush,” I replied. I even made that stupid “quote” gesture with my fingers around “in thing.”

He gave me the finger.

***

The New Guy, R., was rear-ended Tuesday night, and couldn’t make it to work Wednesday, for one of those stupid school nights. Paul had a doctor’s appointment and couldn’t make it to work Wednesday either. So somehow Greg got in touch with Ogre and managed to convince him to come in and drive.

At first I was angry, because dammit, non-employees shouldn’t be taking deliveries from the hard working drivers of the Franchise, particularly after the slow and craptacular February we all had to endure.

Then I remembered that with R. and Paul out, those of us who made it in would still be making a killing — R. started less than two weeks ago and is already a better, more capable driver than Ogre could ever be. Remember when “that street sign pronounced it different?”

***

Speaking of working with Greg … Zebulon’s number one complaint is that he works too much. Alternatively, if he’s not working a lot, his complaint is that his paycheck is too small. He’s mentioned in the past maybe getting a part-time job. I don’t know why — the fucker lives in his grandparents’ basement rent and utility free. He drives a fifteen year old clunker that gets decent gas mileage. What does he need more money for?

After his shift was over, as Steve was checking me out, Zebulon started bitching about his hours again. For one thing, I don’t get why he was there at all — he bitches and moans until Steve tells him to leave, then he sits in the office and complains about not getting enough hours. Seriously, the fuck is that about? Anyway, he mentioned that he couldn’t get a part time job because “working a management job isn’t compatible with a second job.” Then he gave some blathering excuse about how Greg and Steve would find a way to cut his hours even more. (I think at this point, Steve took his eyes out, put them on the desk, and just started spinning them because rolling them wouldn’t provide the desired result).

Wish someone had told me that “working a management job isn’t compatible with a second job” when I was working a full-time pizza management job, two part-time jobs, and taking fifteen credits a semester at Towson. Oh, right — my grandparents weren’t letting me mooch off their generosity.

Wow. Talk about a total waste of ammo.

From USA Today:

A middle school student faces expulsion for allegedly posting graphic threats against a classmate on the popular MySpace.com website, and 20 of his classmates were suspended for viewing the posting, school officials said.

Police are investigating the boy’s comments about his classmate at TeWinkle Middle School as a possible hate crime, and the district is trying to expel him.

Okay, I can understand expelling the kid who wrote threatening posts on his MySpace account … I don’t get why you’d suspend his classmates who only read the threat, particularly if this is true: “According to three parents of the suspended students, the invitation to join the boy’s MySpace group gave no indication of the alleged threat.”

PS - If I went to TeWinkle Middle School, I think I would’ve shot myself in the head with a shotgun. Whose job was it to choose that name? I hope he got fired for it.

Photos of my buddy Tim posing next to Hogwarts.

“Wow, Snay. Either I’m really short, or you’ve got waaay too much free time. Hah hah.”

“I’m not worthy! I’m not … oh, lord, you’re such a loser, Snay.”

I wonder if Homeland Security took much interest when all of my credit cards got paid off in one fell swoop last summer?

The balance on their JCPenney Platinum MasterCard had gotten to an unhealthy level. So they sent in a large payment, a check for $6,522.

And an alarm went off. A red flag went up. The Soehnges’ behavior was found questionable.

And all they did was pay down their debt. They didn’t call a suspected terrorist on their cell phone. They didn’t try to sneak a machine gun through customs.

They just paid a hefty chunk of their credit card balance. And they learned how frighteningly wide the net of suspicion has been cast.

After sending in the check, they checked online to see if their account had been duly credited. They learned that the check had arrived, but the amount available for credit on their account hadn’t changed.

So Deana Soehnge called the credit-card company. Then Walter called.

“When you mess with my money, I want to know why,” he said.

They both learned the same astounding piece of information about the little things that can set the threat sensors to beeping and blinking.

They were told, as they moved up the managerial ladder at the call center, that the amount they had sent in was much larger than their normal monthly payment. And if the increase hits a certain percentage higher than that normal payment, Homeland Security has to be notified. And the money doesn’t move until the threat alert is lifted.