Battlestar Galactica: the momma of all crack pipes

Here's something for the moral majority:

I'm not sure what poses a greater addictive risk to American people, nay, THE FRIGGIN WORLD: Crack? Big Tobacco? The T-mobile Sidekick? Smack, crackle and pot?

Or Battlestar Galactica. . .

There's this quote by Capra that says that film is like heroin. I used that once on an application essay for the GLCA Arts Internship back in 1998 (which P says was the best year of our generations lives, more on that later). And it's true. But maybe it's more along the lines of ectasy or cocaine. TV is like heroin. That's been cooked with crack cocaine, stir-fryed with shrooms and seasoned with MSG. And Battlestar Galactica is like the mother of all crack pipes.

And I've got Netflix jacking that shit right into my veins with a DVD drip.

I came into the game a little late, watched a fair amount of the end of Season 1 and some of Season 2.0 out of order on Scifi. And still I was hooked. So I joined Netflix and I've been racing to catch up before Friday's premiere of Season 3.

This show is incredible. If anyone wants to be a writer, is a fan of great TV, TV-on-DVD, scifi, drama, adreneline or life -- you need to be watching this frakkin' show. In a world where the Emmy's honor Two and a Half Men and ignore Battlestar Gallactica, there's no more noble effort one can make than to watch BSG like your life depended on it. I'm so hooked I've gotten much less writing done than I should have. And if I don't catch up soon my girlfriend is going to disown me.


Rent it, download it, purchase it -- now. So so good. It's like life taking a pleasure stick and ramming it up your what-have-you. (Or for the moral majority, it's like sweet, utter contentment on the family porch with the 700 Club playing in the background. Yee ha.)

And Crewman Specialist Cally (Nicki Clyne) is just so yummy.

Ps. Jane Espenson wrote an episode for Season 3!! Hoo-ha!

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