The Battlestar Galactica party.
I am a HUGE science fiction fan (no, really?)
I was eight when Star Wars was released.
I read the comics and the novelization of the movie (that's the book for you who are asking "What's a novelization of the movie?) before I ever saw it on the big screen.
And when I finally got to go see it ... that, my friends, was a monumental day.
I can tell you things about the day I first saw the "first" movie (that's Episode IV for you who aren't in the know):
- We were living out in the country at this time. My mom was married to a biker guy who was, well, at that point in his life, not a nice father figure to a quiet, smart, book-loving kid (me) ... who happened to be the only boy in the group (I had two sisters, he had custody of his two daughters from his previous marriage) I was in 2nd grade when we moved out into his place in Gustavus. He called it attempts to toughen me up. I call it abuse. Thankfully, we only lived there two years. Also, thankfully, he's dead now. My mom was pissed when my response to hearing he was dead was "Good." She was even more pissed when asked me if I was going to the wake and I told her only to make sure the fucker's really dead. She told me not to bother going. I didn't.
- We went to see the movie at the theaters that were inside the Eastwood Mall. There were two screens. It was playing on both.
- We took the kid who lived in the next building over in the apartment complex we lived in (Royal Mall in Niles. It was shitty then. It's shitty now.) before we moved in with "Biker Guy."
- The kid's name was Jason.
- He was five.
- He was in kindergarten.
- I read him, and probably the rest of the theater, the opening crawl, partially because he couldn't read, and partially because I had it memorized.
- Before I saw the movie, I had read the book, twice, I had the comic books (three issues), and the action figures. I had them all in the car.
- We ate at McDonalds after picking up Jason.
- We had a white car with a maroon interior.
- I had a Filet-O-Fish.
- I don't remember ever eating another one, but I do remember I ate one that night. (Hey, special moments in life have special memories, no?)
- I couldn't wait to see it again.
On the heels of the success of Star Wars came a host of other sci-fi titles. Some were good, some were total crap.
Most were total crap.
The original Battlestar Galactica, however, was different, in my mind.
It was amazing.
I remember going to a friend's house when I was in 6th grade to watch the movie on HBO because they had HBO and we had tin-foil wrapped around an antenna wire and a bootleg Cinemax converter on our (probably illegal) cable we had in the projects in Warren.
So we had the Friday night porn (DUDE - I SAW BUSH on TV in 1979 (no, not the politicians) and proceeded, like most 12-year-olds, to beat my meat like it owed me money, before, during and still to this day.) ... he had the cool movies.
I remember watching the movie.
And wishing like hell I could watch the show.
But I had an older sister who would not let me watch anything, ever.
Back in those days, we had one television. Unless it was broken, then we had a black-and-white one we borrowed from someone placed on top of the broken on, that we'd have to wait until one of the Murphy Brothers could find/scavenge/steal the parts to fix.
Mom worked for them under-the-table answering phones and notarizing titles.
I worked there scrapping out TV's ($1 each) and going on delivery runs ($1 each) with Howard, who had a bad back and couldn't lift TV's, and a speech impediment and couldn't pronounce his L's right. I spent 10 minutes one day looking in his truck for a wrench when he wanted his lunch. But they were good guys. Honest guys. Could fix anything with tubes. Or tires. Always good to us. In fact, I rented an apartment above their TV shop later in my life.
My older sister had to watch Little House on the Prairie, which was on NBC the same time Battlestar Galactica was on ABC.
And when the NFL was on, I'd go to the bar my mom was working at and drink coke and watch the games because it my sister would watch Shirley Temple movies on Channel 33 that went up against the AFC on Channel 21 and the NFC on Channel 27. Yep, three channels back then. And I never got to pick which one to watch.
And no, I haven't forgotten.
ANYWAY ... I loved the original Battlestar Galactica.
And when I heard the Sci-Fi channel, the same channel that brought us the biggest douchebag in the universe (shout out to my South Park homies) was re-doing the show, I shuddered.
And vowed never to watch it.
Especially when I found out that "Starbuck" was female?
A cigar-smoking, card-playing female Viper pilot?
Not in my universe.
And I avoided it.
Until a couple of weeks ago when I was in a hotel flipping channels unable to sleep and found myself watching some kick-ass action show that looked futuristic yet employed old technology.
Bullets, not lasers.
Wheeled vehicles, not hovercraft.
People, not CGI characters.
And after about 30 minutes of commercial-free viewing, the credits started rolling and announcer voice said, "Keep watching, we're playing your favorite Battlestar Galactica episodes, back-to-back, with limited commercial interruptions."
W-T-F! I'm liking this shit.
So my next trip to Best Buy found Season 1 in my shopping cart, then home to my shelf, where it sat, mocking me, for a few weeks, because I tried to keep it real.
Yeah. I just got done watching the miniseries ... just the 3-hour miniseries.
I f'n loved it.
Now I'm going to watch the first season, and then get the 2nd season on DVD as well on my next trip to Best Buy.
Because I need to be addicted to another TV show that's on cable ... and I don't have cable.
In other news, Pat Green's show at the House of Blues was a lot of fun. He's a hell of an entertainer, and Chris Skrobot, my motherfucking hero, was solid as ever on the guitar. It was nice to see Chris looking out over the crowd and recognizing and acknowledging friends and family who made the drive from Columbus and Pittsburgh and all over the state to see him play.
He's one hell of a guitar player.
My only complaint is with the HOB. They would not let me bring my camera in (either my new one OR my old pocket-point-and-shoot). Chris, being new to the tour, tried to get me a photo pass but wasn't able.
HOB security said no pass, no camera. And they wanded everyone who came in.
So imagine my surprise when there were literally dozens of people with cameras, snapping pics during the entire show. I was turned away and had to take my shit back to the car, but I saw FIVE people with cameras the size of my Canon and at least 20 people with point-and-shoots, and none of them had a photo pass.
And I'm not bitching because I didn't get my camera in. Sometimes it's more fun to rock out than worry about getting the angle/setting/light right for the shot you want. And I enjoyed the show immensely.
I just want the rules to be enforced across the boards, that all. Either no problem with cameras or no cameras. The hit-and-miss shit gots to go.
To those who have sent me emails about today, thank you. September 4th is a day in my life that is important for good and not-so-good reasons.
To sum it up quickly, Greg Joseph sings a song on his new CD "American Dreams" (buy that shit. It's good) called "Two Suits" ... about having one for weddings and one for funerals.
September 4th is that song, in a day, for me. I had a funeral (my grandmothers) ... and while I didn't have a wedding, I did meet the one I should have (and probably would have) married, oddly enough, just hours after my grandmother's funeral.
It was her birthday (the girl, not the grandma), she came to the bar I was working at. It was love at first site.
We started dating within the week.
We were together until she was killed about 15 months later in a car accident.
I found out about it when, as news director for a radio station, read it on the air at 6:03 a.m. on a Saturday morning.
Talk about starting your weekend off on a bad note, eh?
September 4th is also the 1 year anniversary of my MySpace blog. My first entry was all about the girl, but it died with my original MySpace profile died on December 15th.
And honestly, I'm kind of glad.
While it was nice to get it out there, as my now-dead friend Sue said "sometimes's it's good to spew it out and let someone else digest it," I really have no desire to revisit it.
I think last year I finally got on top of it (after 13 years) and put it behind me.
This year I'm reflective in a good way.
Happy for the love we had, not the love I lost.