"nothing very interesting happens in well-lighted places."

confessions of a closet nerd

Where I went to college (at Rice, yes, in Texas), it was said that every student was a closet nerd. I found, actually, the majority of the student body to be out and proud in that regard. It was always surprising, though, when us cool kids (hah) discovered each other's hidden level of total geek. That guy doing the keg stand at the Rugby party? Yeah, he'll be getting his doctorate at Harvard in the fall. You dig?
My dweeb quotient was always pretty transparent. I was that English major who always did all the reading, I spent many nights locked in the newspaper office (editing the Arts section), I graduated with a hella GPA. I even started wearing thick, black, square-framed glasses before the hipster masses.
Recently, though, I've become a total square in a way I never could have anticipated. Two words say it all. Battlestar Galactica. I was home over the long Memorial Day weekend and my savvy (and total brainiac) little brother introduced me to the Sci-Fi channel series that revisits and amps up the 1978 series (and camp spectacle) of the same name. I had heard good things about the show, so when he suggested watching the miniseries that preceded the show, I couldn't really argue. I was immediately hooked, and have been avidly consuming all things Galactica since.
I really shouldn't have been that surprised. I've never had anything against Sci-Fi. The Star Wars films were requisite viewing in my house growing up, the first two Alien films are bona fide classics that I adore, and I totally dig the whole cyberpunk movement (William Gibson's landmark Neuromancer and Ridley Scott's Blade Runner). But Battlestar has captivated me in an entirely new way. As it portrays human civilization in the days after a brutal android attack (much like Blade Runner this is a tale of technology getting the best of us), it mixes elements of social commentary, stellar action and thrills and gripping soap opera. So, it basically Days of Our Lives for the pocket protector set.
It's also fantastic to see Mary McDonnell, one of the lost relics of 90s indie cinema, as the newly minted President. She's had an odd career, I suspect in part because she imbues each character with an extraordinary intelligence, wit and confidence (just watch John Sayles' Passion Fish in which she plays a paralyzed soap opera actress who returns to her Southern home). Too few female characters, especially in film, get to be smart, funny and lacking neurosis. As the leader of ever-dwindling human civilization, though, McDonnell gets to play to her strengths, and rivets us in the process. One can only hope that the show will lead to a great late-career second act.

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