My husband and I watched th3 much anticipated (translated: hyped) summer science fiction series premiere of Falling Skies last night via TNT. I must have missed something the first time around, because I did not pick up from the story (what was actually aired, not what was hyped in the pre-premiere ads) what happened to the Earth. Yes, some information was revealed through observation, like the lack of any electronics as a result of the alien EMP bombardment.
A discussion I’m following at the GoodReadsScience Fiction & Fantasy Book Club likened this story to a cross between H.G. Wells’ The War of the Worlds and Pat Frank’s Alas, Babylon. I’ve read both of those books, but I’ve only posted a review on Alas, Babylon (click here to read my review). From what I can tell from the first two hours, there is some similarity to Frank’s vision, but so far not much to Wells (at least the aliens haven’t exhibited a penchant for succumbing to an Earth virus or bacteria).
I learned this morning, when I read the discussion thread mentioned above that the alien invasion occurred six months prior to what I watched in the first two episodes. That the aliens wiped out 90 percent of the human population and for some unknown reason needs to enslave the younger members of the remaining humans (but nukes or otherwise disposes of older ones). Basically, what’s left of humanity is in survival mode, on the run and severely out-gunned.
Most of the writing was predictable and the acting mediocre (and I expected a better performance from Noah Wyle). The special effects adequately portrayed the aliens and their technology, but failed to wow me. I enjoyed seeing Dale Dye in a cameo-like appearance in the first few minutes of the first episode and I loved Colin Cunningham‘s portrayal of a post apocalyptic leader of rogue criminal gang (although with a complete breakdown of civilization, what defines a ‘criminal’ except the memory of peace and freedom held by the survivors). Quite a change in roles for Colin, from his days as an Air Force officer in the Stargate program.
I’d rate these two episodes three stars and I do plan to continue watching the series. I will hold out hope for better acting and writing, since the prospects for either in the science fiction genre is slim at best. I’ll take what I can get to wile away the summer.
Once or twice a month, my employer allows employees to wear jeans on a Friday, with the caveat (or a strongly made recommendation) that a minimum donation of $5 is made to a local charity, selected by committee and announced a few days in advance. A couple of weeks ago, we supported the America Red Cross in response to the Joplin tornado disaster.
Yesterday started off normal enough. Snoozed through a couple of alarms. Woke up feeling a bit woozy, so I took it slow. I fed the dogs and let them rummage around in the back yard. I descended three flights of stairs (well, half flights anyway in my strangely split four-level house) and found something to wear to work. I made sure Terry was awake and ready by six so we could take the Bonneville to the repair shop for an alignment and rotate and balance of its tires. Then I sat on the front porch waiting to be picked up by my vanpool, having asked the backup driver to pick me up at home so Terry would have a vehicle.
The commute to work was uneventful and I began my workday with a green tea, toasted wheat bagel and banana from the Baristas in the library’s lobby. Ninety minutes later, the wierdness began with a text from the backup vanpool driver (our regular driver took the rest of the week off to close on her new house and start moving in). Receiving a text from him is not unusual, but one that asks me to call him at my first opportunity is. So I called him.
He needed to return to Leavenworth to deal with a family emergency and was trying to find a way to 1) get the van to me so the other two people in the vanpool had a ride home from work (I’m the second backup vanpool driver) and 2) get back to Leavenworth. I told him I’d call him back after I found my boss to ask if I could help him return to Leavenworth. My boss, being the awesome guy he is, had no problem with me helping out so I called Jim back and gave him the go ahead.
Another ninety minutes wound by, as Jim wrapped up a project at his work, and we were off on the return trip to Leavenworth. You couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful day. A light north wind, crystal clear skies of a vivid blue, no haze or humidity (I could clearly see the horizons, meaning visibility exceeded ten miles or more). Jim elaborated on the situation at home (which I won’t go into here but rest assured it was not life threatening, just a logistics nightmare for him), when my phone rang with a number I didn’t recognize. I answered it tentatively and was relieved to hear my uncle’s voice. The weirdness wrench ratcheted up another spoke.
Ron and his wife Treva were traveling from Iowa to Kansas, about to pass through Kansas City. Ron was calling for some traffic avoidance tips and a flood update (because he knew I-29 was closed north of the metro area and didn’t know if any of the other area interstates were also affected). He thought about taking I-635 to avoid downtown, but for some reason I thought I-435 would be better. Not being a cyborg with a built-in GPS nor owning a smart enough phone to check while riding in a van, I soon remembered that I-35 doesn’t really connect with I-435 on the northeast side of Kansas City (i.e. the Liberty area) so I-635 was his best bet (with a short dogleg on I-29 to get from I-35 to I-635). Soon after we agreed on this route, my uncle’s cell phone lost service and we were disconnected. I didn’t attempt to call back, since there didn’t seem to be any point and I didn’t want to bore Jim with more inane family logistics.
I called Terry, who was asleep (nothing unusual about that) and asked if he wanted to pick me up this afternoon from the parking lot. He said no, groggily. I asked Terry to unlock the front door so I could retrieve the Firebird keys without digging through the bottom of my purse for my seldom used house key. Jim dropped me off and I soon followed in the Firebird. I jumped back in the van, after wishing Jim safe travels for all of his family, and headed back to Kansas City. My phone rang again on the way back but this time I did recognize the number … it was my mother. Weirdness strikes again.
I had just seen her the evening before. She went to Cushing after work on Tuesday to have blood drawn prior to her surgery scheduled for Thursday morning. She started feeling light-headed to the point of passing out and couldn’t drive herself home. I was still at work Tuesday afternoon when she called me to take her home. It takes me an hour to get home and when I did arrive, another roofing contractor was on-site measuring the house for a roofing estimate. I needed Terry to follow me out to Easton, so I had to wait until the roofer finished his measurements and queried us on our requirements.
So when I received the call from my mother late Wednesday morning while driving away from Leavenworth, I worried that I would now have a huge dilemma if I needed to help her again, since there is no other backup driver for the vanpool. Imagine my relief when my mom called me from her work to tell me the surgery was canceled because her doctor fell and hurt his back (no, I wasn’t happy the doctor hurt himself, just that my mom was all right). Surgery would be rescheduled in two to three weeks. This was a relief to me, since I had several projects I was juggling at work.
I got back to work and parked the van in my building’s parking garage, clear down on the third level (because it was the middle of the day by now and all the best parking spots were taken). I missed the health enhancement lunch seminar I had registered for because I didn’t get back until 12:30 p.m. Back at my desk, I continued working on my projects.
My cubemate of nearly fifteen years has a major project percolating this week, with a major software upgrade and rollout scheduled to start after work on Friday. Adding to her already high stress level, her sister called her Tuesday to tell her their 90+ year old mother’s kidneys were failing and that this ‘was the end.’ So Marge is hoping her mother lasts at least until next week so she can get this upgrade behind her. Marge’s backup plan for the upgrade? She asked me if I had an hour or so on Friday to go over her upgrade checklist in case she had to hop a plane to New York for a funeral. Sure, I said (wincing internally). Firm-wide software upgrades are my specialty.
The rest of the afternoon proceeded without further weirdness. I sent an e-mail to the other vanpool riders, telling them I would leave the Plaza at 4:00 pm and arrive at Hallmark headquarters by 4:15 pm. Just as I was cruising down Grand through Crown Center, my phone rings again. I saw it was my hubby calling me so I answered it. He’s calling to ask me when I will be home as the Bonneville is ready to be picked up. I explained that I still had to drop off one rider in Kansas City, Kansas, but hoped to be back in Lansing by 5:00 pm (when the repair shop closes). I told him I’d call him after dropping her off with an update on my time.
Dodging traffic on I-70 as best I could in the top-heavy sluggish van, I managed to make it to the Legends (via Parallel) by 4:45 pm. I called Terry and told him while I might make it to our house by 5:00 pm, he might want to call them and see if he could pay the balance over the phone and then we could just pickup the car after I finish driving the van back to Hallmark in Leavenworth. Terry said he’d call the repair shop. I called him again as I was passing Wallula church, the highest point on K-7 that overlooks Lansing and Leavenworth from the south. He was waiting out by the mailbox and the repair shop said they usually hang around until 5:15 pm or so.
I pulled into our court at 5:01 pm and got Terry in the van and introduced him to the other rider. I proceed to the repair shop (less than a mile north on Main Street aka K-7/US-73) and dropped Terry off. Then, finally, I could head to Hallmark and park the van. I said goodbye to Chuck and hopped in the Firebird to return home. Terry left the garage door open so I wouldn’t have to mess with the front door.
Since Wednesdays are band practice nights for WolfGuard, I volunteered to cook supper. We had a couple of minute steaks already breaded, so I quickly fried them and made some instant mashed potatoes. We had left-over gravy from two nights ago, so I heated that up as well. We ate a salad and then started in on the regular meal. Then Terry’s phone rang. The drummer was calling. Weirdness ratcheting higher yet again.
The drummer informed Terry he was probably moving to New Mexico in July to pursue a job. Not great news for the band, but not much you can do about it in this economy. Practice proceeded as best it could, since the lead guitarist was out-of-town for work this week and next. Songs sounded good, tight and relaxed. I always enjoy being serenaded with classic rock and metal.
Another roofer showed up just before band practice (second one today and probably the fifth this week) and the Rotts went nuts. Over their obnoxious barking, I gave the roofers permission to climb all over my house and measure. Terry spoke to them a couple of times, but wasn’t impressed with their professionalism (or lack there of). They later called back with their estimate, which was low but didn’t meet our requirements, and will probably not be considered in our final decision.
The band began arriving and I changed into work clothes to mow the back yard. For the last couple of weeks, a teenage girl has been mowing my front and side yards, leaving only the back yard for me to mess with. Since rain was forecast for the rest of the week, I needed to get the back mowed. Besides, I didn’t want to waste time this weekend mowing, when I could be enjoying Father’s Day with my hubby and my dad.
Band practice wound down during the nine o’clock hour. I read chapters from a couple of books and retired upstairs to sleep. Terry came up to cuddle for a few minutes and we discussed the roof, other remodel projects, including a call he had with a local interior designer (between roofers) and the band. Eventually, he went back downstairs and I drifted off to sleep, praying that Thursday dawned quietly. Less weirdness would be welcome.
Addendum (after lunch Thursday): I forgot another call I received last night. Receiving calls is a bit unusual for my cell phone (outside of the ones from Terry of course). I can go days without my dumbphone ringing. Oh, actually I forgot another call from the morning. My dad called me shortly after eight o’clock in response to a Facebook status update I posted Tuesday night. My status updates can be a bit obscure, but meaningful if you have a couple of key pieces of information.
After I finished mowing the back yard, I attempted to call my daughter, Rachelle, who has been in Boston all week. The UNT Collegium singers (and the Baroque Orchestra) performed at a music festival there on Tuesday and Wednesday was the sightseeing day. I wanted to get her impressions of Boston. She returned my call after I’d gone to bed, just after ten o’clock Central (or eleven o’clock in Boston). I could barely hear her over what sounded like a riot. Not being much of a sports fan, I had no idea the pandemonium that had descended upon Boston after the Bruins beat Vancouver 4-0 and won the Stanley cup. Hockey hooligans aside, Rachelle related the highlights of her walk along the Freedom Trail (all six miles of it), including the old North Church, Paul Revere’s house and the USS Constitution. She hoped to catch some of the old homes on Beacon Hill before flying home to Texas Thursday morning.
I saw the waxing moon last night near Spica and Saturn. Twenty-two years ago, the moon was full while I labored to bring Rachelle into the world. Compared to her brother three years and four months earlier, childbirth the second time around was quick (but not painless). Terry and I got to the hospital room sometime between midnight and two o’clock, and by 6:24 a.m., we were the proud parents of a six pound twelve ounce baby girl. Later in the morning, I weighed her down with the longest name in our Mossy microcosm: Rachelle Gwendolynne. The first feature I remember from that day were the fingers on her hands … long and beautiful.
In 1990, just before (or after … ah the memory fades as I age) Rachelle’s birthday, we traveled from Wichita to Easton to see my mom and dad’s almost finished new home. My paternal grandparents were also visiting and wherever the Andreas gather, there you will find a multitude of cameras and the obligatory (and in some case less refined) posing for family snapshots:
The Mosses (circa 1990)
Once Rachelle was old enough to walk, she participated in my brother’s wedding as flower girl (Derek was the ring boy):
Rachelle as Flower Girl, Derek as Ring Boy at Brother’s Wedding
I knew Rachelle would be a musical phenom from an early age (she was singing before she talked I swear), but she also excelled as an artist (both 2D and 3D). Here is her self-portrait for 2007, done as an art project her senior year in high school:
One of these June twelfths I hope to spend this most happy day with my daughter. One of these Junes she will actually be here, near me, rather than hiking the mountains of Colorado (June 2007, 2008, 2009) or half a world away in Germany (June 2010) or on a jet plane to Boston (June 2011). Perhaps twenty twelve will be the year I hug my daughter on June twelve and wish her a very Happy Birthday in person.
The first anniversary of my Grandmother’s passing is tomorrow, which also would have been her eighty-ninth birthday. I preserved an electronic copy of her obituary and my memories (compiled a couple of days before she died). I still have not had the courage to view the video I recorded of her memorial service held last June at Foxwood Springs chapel. I at least backed the raw video files up to a DVD though (something I should have done months and months ago).
All of Doris’ children are gathering in Ohio to attend her youngest granddaughter’s wedding this weekend. I shall miss them, as I miss her, and wish Katy and her groom abundant joy and prosperity in their new life together.
Dreary Early Sun Over KCMO Skyline Wed 08 Jun 2011
I can’t seem to shake this funk I’m in. All motivation for any activity has evaporated from me. I could blame it on the heat, but that would be a lie, since I’ve felt wonky from back in May when the lows at night were still in the 40s. I have many hobby and home projects I could be planning and prepping, but the minute I get home, I just wilt.
Terry tries to make me smile in many gracious and loving ways, and it helps me get through the evening. He makes fresh sun tea for me and greets me at the door with a tall glass of it. He grills and smokes the most amazing cuts of meat. He creates delectable appetizers, salads and side dishes, all ready and waiting for me the minute I get home. And even though he’s chronically ill, he manages to keep the house in tip-top shape, despite Apollo’s ability to shed three or four times his weight in fur.
I complained about cloudy skies, yet when the clouds disappear and the sun bakes the Midwest to a toasty 100 degrees in early June, I can’t be bothered to drag up the telescope and attempt to see the supernova in M51 (near Ursa Major). I can’t justify staying up late (and by late I mean past 9:30 p.m.), waiting for the sky to darken, since I must be up by 5:00 a.m.
Rachelle (mid-May 2011)
I forgot to buy a birthday card for my daughter, who turns twenty-two this Sunday. Not that she’d be home to receive said card. She’s traveling, again, to Boston next week. In fact, she’s on a plane Sunday (her birthday). It’s been five or six years since Rachelle has actually been home (or even in the same state as me) to celebrate her birthday. She tends to travel routinely on her birthday. Last year, she turned twenty-one while studying abroad in Germany.
I opted to stay home this weekend and not travel like the rest of my father’s family to Ohio for my youngest cousin’s wedding. My dad is on the road now, heading east, while his brother is on the road, heading west from Virginia. The impromptu Andrea family reunion will converge upon Ohio this evening and continue throughout the weekend.
Next week, my mom is scheduled for surgery, for which I’m taking a day off to transport her to and from the hospital. At least she has finally found a blood pressure medicine that has few side effects. The following day is my aunt’s birthday, another one I routinely forget but this year I will get a birthday card and I will send it to her. I even put it on my calendar with double reminders to text me on my cell phone.
Dad and I (circa 1980s)
And a week from this Sunday, is Father’s Day. I’ve reminded the ‘adult’ children to get their cards and gifts in the mail soon. I just hope my dad makes it back from Ohio in time to celebrate, not that we need an excuse to take him out to dinner.
My son and his wife are prepping for their interviews. More on that after the fact, as I don’t want to jinx anything.
I used the word (or contraction of two words to be precise) ‘can’t’ many times in this post, something I usually avoid vehemently. I strongly believe that ‘can’t’ never did anything. Perhaps if I purge ‘can’t’ from my system, I’ll also free myself from this funkiness.
My husband and I trade salvos across the DMZ of household organization, not constantly, but consistently. I am highly organized virtually, but lack motivation for the more tangible aspects on the home front (I’ll let you translate that however you want). Terry is just highly organized (I will refrain from further labeling or categorizing in the interest of keeping the peace).
With the prospect of a mostly rainy three-day weekend to look forward to, I’ve decided to de-clutter the front closet. Tonight, Terry and I will inventory all our winter coats and jackets, with an eye towards donating most of them to GoodWill Saturday morning. I also plan to relocate all the orphaned games from when Rachelle and Derek were children, possibly storing them in the closets of their old bedrooms. I can make better use of that shelf for storing kitchen-related items, since our house does not have a pantry (beyond a small cabinet-like area next to the refrigerator). I envision reclaiming some of my counter space and pantry space by storing the crockpot, blender and other small appliances on the shelf in that closet.
Terry also suggested a couple of days ago that we finally work on Rachelle’s ‘green’ bedroom. This is the room I hope to turn into an office/library/reading room. Her ‘purple’ bedroom requires a lot more work, including purchasing a shredder to permanently deal with documents of a sensitive nature that we no longer need to store but can’t really just throw away intact. Once we get that clutter dealt with, we can finish remodeling the room by installing the wood floor. We removed the carpet for Rachelle in both rooms to help ease the symptoms of her asthma and allergies.
When I need to find something at home, I rely heavily on my photographic memory (not audio-graphic, just photographic … if I’ve seen it, I remember it) and my brain’s ability to find the memory with a speed that sometimes rivals an internet search engine (but is slowing as I age, sadly). Terry … just calls me … or yells for me (if I’m within earshot).
While I can remember, almost with install recall, whatever I’ve seen, Terry amazes me with his ability to remember, replicate and improve what he hears. He puts this ability to exceptional use as a rhythm guitarist (because he also possesses impeccable timing) for his band WolfGuard. I hope he’ll get an opportunity to compose a few more originals soon as he’s also a gifted composer. I’m looking forward to their next gig a week from Saturday and hoping they book a few more shows over the summer.
It’s a long-running joke between us that when I receive the phone call that begins with “I can’t find … ” from Terry, my first response is “And you stood in the middle of the room and couldn’t find it …” meaning if it didn’t jump up and bite him, he couldn’t find it. This happened today, but only in reverse. Terry couldn’t find his cell phone (therefore he couldn’t call me to ask where it was and I was too far away to hear him yell). When he did find it, he called me to tell me he couldn’t find it from the middle of the room, but once he moved towards his favorite recliner, he spied it under something, where it had fallen on the floor beside said recliner. Predictably, I laughed. He ended the conversation abruptly, responding to an urgent call of nature, to which I replied, “Yes, please don’t stand in the middle of the room and do that.”
The following information provided to the group members as reading aids in e-mailed handouts:
About the Book:
The Rainbow by D.H. Lawrence
Within weeks of its publication in 1915, The Rainbow was condemned by British authorities. A London court ordered the destruction of all copies seized from its publisher, leaving in the hands of oft-bemused readers fewer than 1,500 copies of the novel that would later be recognized as D.H. Lawrence’s masterpiece.
Its timing proved particularly unfortunate for The Rainbow, whose anti-war heroine sparked public outrage as World War I entered its second year. This fueled the controversy already surrounding the novel, which the National Council for Public Morals had targeted for its potential to demoralize the public through indecent language.
Both the politics and sexuality expressed in the novel are components of an intensely individualistic philosophy that Lawrence sought to articulate in this fictional chronicle that follows three generations of the Brangwen clan. The story begins in 1840 on a farm in the rural midlands of Nottinghamshire and traces one family’s social, geographical, and religious expansion during the upheaval of the Industrial Revolution. In a genre style similar to that of the Dutch artist Pieter Bruegel the Elder, Lawrence depicts the importance of food and drink within the context of everyday people’s lives and the events that matter to them: weddings, holidays, christenings, and funerals.
The central character is Ursula, who is introduced as a young girl. The development of her consciousness becomes the chief occupation of the novel even as she pursues her education and a romance with her first love. Her story is continued in Women in Love (1920).
This novel falls within the broader definition of Victorian literature, though its author is certainly a product of the Victorian age and the events of the novel fall entirely within that timeframe.
About the Author:
D.H. Lawrence (1885 – 1930) grew up in poverty in the Nottinghamshire town of Eastwood, which would serve as the setting for his early novels, including The Rainbow. His mother Lydia encouraged his education and their close relationship has been the subject of much critical debate.
D.H. Lawrence
Lawrence worked for a few years as a schoolteacher, though his poor health forced him to quit soon after the publication of his first novel, The White Peacock (1911). This debut was populated by idealized versions of friends and family, as Lawrence often created characters inspired by those he knew. His first commercial success was the essentially autobiographical Sons and Lovers (1913).
A prolific writer, Lawrence churned out multiple drafts of The Rainbow amid a stormy romance with Frieda Weekley, the wife of his former teacher and a mother of three. The couple fled to her native Germany and traveled widely, returning to England two years later to marry after her divorce was finalized.
Lawrence began associating at this time with members of the influential Bloomsbury Group, particularly writer Katherine Mansfield and philosopher Bertrand Russell, with whom he fashioned an unsuccessful plan to establish a revolutionary anti-war political party. A string of ill-luck and hardships – including suppression of The Rainbow – followed.
In 1920, the couple continued their travels and Lawrence returned to prolific form, writing several novels, travelogues, translations, scholarly works on literature and psychoanalysis, and poems in the years to come. Malaria nearly killed him while living in Mexico and his health never fully recovered. In 1928, he published his most controversial novel, Lady Chatterley’s Lover; unexpurgated editions of the novel were unavailable for more than 30 years.
Lawrence succumbed to tuberculosis in 1930. His ashes are enshrined at Kiowa Ranch near Taos, New Mexico.
Discussion Topics for The Rainbow
Much of The Rainbow focuses on conflicts and tensions that exist between people in romantic relationships. As you read about Tom and Lydia, Anna and Will, Ursula and Winifred, and then Ursula and Anton, consider the degree to which these characters and their struggles touch on your own experiences with romantic love.
How might we use this novel to trace and understand industrialization’s effects on the lives of rural English people in the nineteenth century and early twentieth century?
How is Ursula a product of a transitional age, one that moves from an agrarian-based economy and culture to an industrial economy and culture?
Lawrence wrote that The Rainbow is “like a novel in a foreign language.” What elements strike you as unusual, perhaps difficult to translate or understand?
Although the novel depicts England in the Victorian era (roughly 1840-1905), the novel is in many respects modernist. Lawrence concentrates on the inner consciousness of his characters and relies on symbols to add depth to his plot. Including the rainbow itself, what other symbols does the author rely on to convey meaning?
An amazing episode, written by none other than Neil Gaiman, a well known popular award winning science fiction author. Again, I’m too lazy to write my own synopsis, so please visit the Wikipedia article on The Doctor’s Wife episode if you need more info.
My favorite snippet of dialogue from this episode:
Idris: You ever wonder why I chose you all those years ago? The Doctor: I chose you. You were unlocked. Idris: Of course I was. I wanted to see the universe so I stole a Time Lord and I ran away. And you were the only one mad enough.
This episode is overflowing with revelations about the TARDIS (it’s female and likes being called both ‘old girl’ and ‘sexy’). We see more of the TARDIS (well, Amy and Rory running through endlessly similar corridors while the villain, House, terrorizes them). We see other dead TARDISes (or is it TARDI ??) and revisit the Tenth Doctor’s console (Tenant’s desktop so to speak). Definitely a four star rating.
I may never know what happens to Destiny, or Eli, or Young, or Rush, or any of the other marooned survivors of the Icarus Project and the lone Lucian Alliance member. And I think I can live with that. Given the circumstances (the cancellation of Stargate Universe during filming of the second half of the second season), the writers, producers, directors and cast managed to give us, if not complete closure, at least a stay of execution and a glimmer of hope with last night’s ‘Gauntlet‘ – the final episode of the entire Stargate legacy (transcript available here).
The drones were kept to a minimum, thank goodness. So I’m not entirely sure what the title of the episode represents. Is it a reference to running the Blockade? Or the proposed plan to skip this galaxy, without refueling (because of the Blockade) or resupplying (again because of the Blockade) on an extended FTL jump to the next galaxy?
Everyone got a chance to return to Earth and say goodbye (quite a fete to accomplish in just 24 hours). Young will finally get some rest (definitely the running gag of this episode). And the loser in the game of musical stasis pods remembered to turn off the lights. At least, the CGI guys didn’t beat us over the head with any more cliches, having Destiny fly off into the sunset (or the closest non-Blockaded star). Rather, Destiny just faded away.
I came to the Stargate series late, when my mother asked me to record the inaugural pilot episode of Stargate Atlantis. I had seen the movie in the mid 90s (what science fiction fan hadn’t?). I became intrigued by SGA, but felt a bit out of my depth, as I had not watched SG1. At the time, Syfy actually aired science fiction programming both during the day and during prime time viewing hours, something which becomes increasingly rare as noted by the founder of Gateworld in his recent article entitled ‘How Wrestling is Killing Science Fiction‘ and sparked a response via Twitter from an executive at the Syfy channel. Anyway, SG1 was still in production so I was able to watch current new episodes and catch-up on all the previous seasons in the matter of a few weeks or months.
I admit I didn’t care for the direction SGU took two years ago, compared to the other two series. I realized quickly someone somewhere at Syfy or NBC or Universal or MGM attempted to ride the coat tails of BSG. While I enjoyed that gritty re-imagining of the squeaky clean original Battlestar Galactica, I had a bad feeling that trying that with the Stargate universe (notice the un-capitalized version of that word) would fail. And for much of the first season of SGU I remained skeptical. But the second season, and the looming cancellation, seemed to spark better writing or better performances or both.
Thus I’m left with but one weekly avenue for my science fiction television fix: Doctor Who.
For a series finale, ‘Gauntlet’ of course falls well short of the ‘wrap-up’ bar, so in that light I’d only give it three stars out of five. However, given the circumstances and hurdles overcome by the hamstrung production, I’ll fondly remember this episode with perpetual hope, four stars and a heart-felt ‘well done’ to one and all.
