I’m not sure it’s fair to give her the rank of Captain right away but hey. She just wants to help. By which I mean, she wants to go to Iraq so she can offend and horrify Muslims by her very existence. I was thinking, she’s kind of a double-threat. A dog made out of pork treats.

P.S. Yes, I had Rupert’s permission, begrudging though it was, to put those objects on her. I asked him if I might go to jail for putting official Army gear on my dog and he said it was unlikely - though I think that secretly, he’s of a mind that jail wouldn’t be a bad punishment for what I’ve done here.

Hurrah! His paperwork was expeditiously processed yesterday and they put him on a plane almost immediately late in the afternoon; he landed at DFW at 10:30 last night. And yes ladies, he looked smokin’ hot in his uniform. Oh lord. I was tempted to test social boundaries and fellow travelers’ patriotism by jumping him right there at baggage claim - I mean, are people really going to say anything to a guy in uniform? - but I controlled myself.

The uniform did come in handy at one point, which is when while boarding that flight, the agent stopped him and said, “Would you like to sit in First Class, sir?” Well of course he would, thank you very much. So that was nice for him.

Sunny, however, was not so moved with patriotic respect. Poor thing thought he was a stranger at first, looking all weird and smelling all weird. I tried to videotape her reaction but she was just stone-cold confused; she didn’t seem to “recognize” him until he’d taken off most of his uniform and let her smell his skin. Maggie, being orders of magnitude more intelligent (seriously), had no such trouble and instantly reverted to her worship-the-alpha persona. She loves him extra-special and it’s pretty sweet.

This morning, while having his first cup of good coffee in almost two months, he’s unpacking the gobs of Army-issue stuff he brought home. He left here with one small duffel and returned with that, an enormous Army backpack-duffel thingy and the heavily-laden backpack in which I’d shipped his laptop to him. Seemed like 500 pounds of gear, I swear. I’m sure his neck felt great!

Anyway, as I’m sure you can guess, it’s a lovely homecoming and we are both ecstatic that he’s back here with his little family. He’s got a ton of shit to do this week to get reintegrated back into his life, and he’s going back to work on Monday. He has to do that before health insurance kicks back in, which has to happen before he can start seeing doctors. He does have 180 days of Tricare coverage but isn’t really sure how that works.

He asked me this morning about how I and many of you had wanted to send stuff to his unit when he was over there, and asked if we’d still be interested in doing that. He got to know a lot of those guys, and got their contact info, and asked that if he found out what they need once they deploy overseas, if we could help make that happen. I said absolutely yes. So info on that will be forthcoming. I’m also still checking out all the troop-support groups some of you mentioned in my last post about this; there’s really no limit to what we can do if we’re motivated enough. Rupert has said that it’s great he got to come home, but those guys still have to go, and he wants to do something for them. I’m all for that idea.

Well all right! I’m simply stoked today. My man is home and the world feels right again, and I feel incredibly lucky. He was only gone 7 weeks, which is nothing compared to what most military families go through, but I tell you it taught me some lessons that I won’t soon forget. I have a whole new sympathy for the pain of this problem, to say the least. Thanks again to you all for helping me get through it.

Now time to go stand in his little home office room and stare at him while he organizes his stuff, and see what else he has to give me. I’ve already co-opted his dog tags and a set of his Captain bars. Probably be wearing his uniform before the day is out.

How did I manage to stay totally ignorant for 36 years of the number one reason Muslims are batshit insane?

A St. Cloud State University student in a teacher-training program at Technical High School left the school in late April because he says he feared for the safety of his service dog.

The school district calls it a misunderstanding, and officials there say they hoped Tyler Hurd, a 23-year-old junior from Mahtomedi who aspires to teach special education, would continue his training in the district.

Hurd said a student threatened to kill his service dog named Emmitt. The black lab is trained to protect Hurd when he has seizures.

The threat came from a Somali student who is Muslim, according to Hurd, St. Cloud State and school district officials.

The Muslim faith, which is the dominant faith of Somali immigrants, forbids the touching of dogs.

Am I the only moron out there who didn’t know this? I was in touch with the fact that I have limited intelligence and poor knowledge of pretty much everything but it still surprises me that this somehow escaped my awareness, especially in the last several years.

Anyway. Ed Morrissey at Hot Air writes that as usual, the powers that be went with the side that “threatened capitulation or violence” instead of the side that is right. Absolutely, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the article’s dateline was London or Paris, but we’re talking about Minnesota here folks.

I would say that I wish the dog had bitten the backward-minded asshole who didn’t like him, but we all know what would happen then. First poor Emmitt would be put down and then someone would issue a fatwa on all dogs and we can’t have that. Sunny and Maggie already have their hands full defending themselves from squirrels, kittehs, and neighbor children on rollerblades.

Oh, god. I just realized something totally awesome: I have the power to make Muslims unhappy and uncomfortable without saying a word! All I have to do is get close to them with my evil, unclean, sinful dogs.

Crazy people. Crazy. Spending your entire life without ever touching a dog is simply no way to live.

Tim Minear was executive producer and writer on ‘Firefly’, ‘Angel’, ‘Wonderfalls’, and other fine television shows. Check it out: I found out last week that he reads my blog.

True story. He even left a comment on my post about ‘Firefly’, which kinda made me lose bladder control for a second. We exchanged a few emails, and I got his permission to quote him. I’d been fawning all over the show and his part in it, and he told me there was no need to, because:

It’s way cooler that the broad behind the best written blog on the web likes the show — in similar words, right back atcha…Best written blog. Seriously.

Now, clearly this man is insane, but still. Could I possibly have an endorsement more cool than one from someone behind the brilliance that was ‘Firefly’? I’m pretty sure that’s a no.

By the way, I’ve been told by many of my commenters how awesome ‘Wonderfalls’ is so I’m ordering that from Amazon, which I expect will blow my mind on many levels, not least of which because Minear mentioned that Jewel Staite has a recurring role and because he said that show is more like my blog than ‘Firefly.’ No joke - loss of bladder control here.

He found my blog through Instapundit, in case you wondered (he was on the Glenn and Helen show a few years ago). Thank you, Glenn Reynolds. You have helped me on my way to wresting control of all Earth from the powers that be.

Um, no.

75 percent of the seniors headed to Dallas community colleges can’t read above an 8th grade level, and others can’t add or subtract.

That’s 75% of the ones headed to college. Good lord. It would be funny if it weren’t a tragedy.

What is funny is that clearly, the reporter who wrote the article can relate to the subject matter. For example, here’s a paragraph in its entirety:

Showing over the last three years, an average of 75 percent of the DISD students enrolled in classes took at least one developmental education course.

And how about this:

…principals are given a $10,000 bonus based upon how they’re students do on TAKS scores.

Nice work there, reporter person. Maybe you could sit in on one of those remedial writing classes?

My parents got married in 1965 and their fourth and last child was born in 1972. That would be me. Mom was young, as brides tended to be back then - married at 17 and a full passel of kids by 23. She loved it. She loved being pregnant (always told me she felt healthiest then) and loved babies and loved being a mother. She didn’t go to work until I started school, and she used that time to do all the things you wish every mother did.

She made some of our clothes for us, she cooked all our meals from scratch, she kept a clean house, she was affectionate and sweet. Not to mention smart. I’m not sure about my three siblings but she’d pretty much taught me to read by the time I hit kindergarten and she took us to the library once a week for years and years. I knew from the time I could read and write that learning was the most important thing I needed to do.

She played the piano and taught any of us who wanted it how to play, too. We had an old beat-up upright piano with some of the ivory missing from the keys, and I begged her to write the names of the notes right on them. She did, and I became nearly surgically attached to that piano until I was grown and gone.

As we got older, even though she worked full-time by then, she still did all the things mothers do today that makes them so busy - three of us had weekly music lessons (violin for me and my brother, flute for sister Becki); she drove us and sat through the lessons. Must have been bored OUT OF HER MIND. She took time off of work to take us to things like my regional Spelling Bee in 6th grade. (I came in 11th place. Poop. Got a nice dictionary out of it!) She organized us like a well-oiled machine and would make a list of “chores” for us every Friday, to do when we got home from school. Even put us into alternating teams - Rick and Rachel do dishes, sweeping, mopping. Becki and Debi do laundry, dusting, vacuuming. I honestly don’t know how else you could possibly do it with four kids, it’s like a platoon or something.

I can’t detail every aspect of life during the 18 years I lived with my parents, but my overall point is that my Mom worked her ass off for us. Dad did too, of course, but it’s not Father’s Day yet. Heh. (They’re still married, by the way, with their 43rd anniversary coming up.)

1975 - comforting Becki. Nice pants!

We didn’t have much money back then. Dad had a good job with IBM, Mom worked as a secretary, and we had enough but it was tight at times. Four kids! I can’t even fathom how they fed us. Seriously. But still, we took trips, we saw the country, we saw museums, we were exposed to things many of my friends weren’t. My parents signed up for a weekly classical-music concert thing at the civic center-type place in town; we went to the Smithsonian when I was 9; we were probably the most well-read kids in the whole neighborhood.

It wasn’t all perfect; but that’s what makes us normal. My parents went to a church none of us kids particularly cared for very much and that caused a lot of conflict in later years. But do you know what? I’m glad for it. I’ve always thought that if everything had been done exactly as I wanted when I was growing up, I’d be a real asshole by now, out in the real world where almost NOTHING is how you want it. And the thing is, at some point you have to ask yourself if whatever your parents did that you didn’t like was done out of their true, sincere belief that it was the right thing to do. I asked myself that question and the answer was yes.

And the other thing, more apropos to this post, is how my Mom, intentionally or not (I really don’t know, need to ask her) subverted the worst parts of what that church was trying to teach her three daughters. It was one of those churches that treats women like second-class property. “Wives, you exist to reflect your husband’s righteousness” - that kind of shit. According to that church, the ONLY goal of girls should be to learn how to be a good wife, find a husband, and spend the rest of your life reflecting his glory. It made me want to vomit. But that awful lesson just never, ever “set in” with me and my sisters.

1982 - fashion show! Debi had such hot boots.

Mom didn’t sit us down and say, “you know, the church is wrong.” It wasn’t words, it was actions. All she had to do was treat us like individuals, like real human beings with our own worth completely independent of what any man or church had to say about it. We each had our own talents and our parents fostered those as much as they could even within the confines of the church rules. Dad was a lot more “into” the church and quite a bit more of a hardass about it but even then, he still treated us all as worthy individuals who had more to offer than being someone’s wife. (In fact, when I was 19 and on a road trip with him, he told me NOT to get married anytime soon and to get my ass in college post haste, but of course I didn’t listen. That’s why I didn’t get my degree until I was 31. I’m dumb.)

Anyway. She was a good mom. That is what I am trying to tell you. But being a good mom has its price, and for her, that price was never being able to seriously pursue or achieve her own personal goals that had nothing to do with her husband or children. One of those goals was to get a college degree. After my two oldest siblings left the house, Mom started taking night classes at the local community college, one at a time. She did that for years, one class here, one class there. Working full-time and with two teenaged girls at home, it wasn’t easy but she plugged away. Not to mention that there was absolutely NO moral support on this subject at church, which was her main social outlet. But she did it anyway.

By the time all of us kids (and one grandchild they helped raise until he was 5 - not mine!), were gone and out of the house, Mom was in her late 40’s. She had a good job that was rewarding in many ways, so she concentrated on that for many years. But at some point in her mid-50’s, she realized that now there was nothing to stop her. So she put on the figurative helmet and boxing gloves and she started kicking some ass.

While still working full-time, she started taking night classes at the community college again. Some of the courses she’d taken in the distant past transferred and some didn’t, so she had a full two years of prerequisites to knock out. I am sure it was quite the nightmare for her, but she got straight A’s. I’m talking solid 4.0 GPA with no exceptions. At first she was just going to shoot for an associate’s degree but she realized there was no reason to stop there. So instead, as soon as she finished all the prereqs, she enrolled at a 4-year university. I can’t remember exactly when but at some point while at that school, she was able to finally quit her job because she had scholarships and such. Dad made enough money to support them of course, but I think Mom still wanted to contribute, and besides she was at a private school, which was expensive.

She earned her bachelor’s degree in no time, with a perfect 4.0 GPA, in 2004. By then, she knew what she wanted to do: teach at the college level. So immediately after finishing the BA, she enrolled in the Master’s program at another university. One year later, she had it. Again with straight A’s and honors. Right out of the gate, she had offers from various community colleges, technical colleges, and even her alma mater, to teach. None of these are full-time gigs, of course; they give you one class at this campus and two classes at another, for example, and you get paid by the class, not a full-time salary. But sucked it up and drove all over the Metroplex for a year or so, doing that.

Over a year ago, she got the job teaching where she is now, one of the best private universities in Texas (and the nation, actually). She plans to start working on her PhD this fall.

Mom turns 60 this summer, and she is finally doing a paid job that she truly, truly loves, for the first time in her life. She never gave up, never said it was too late or it would be too hard and just wasn’t worth it. She just did it. Sometimes I’d worry about her, working so hard on her degrees even in the face of health problems and all the crap that comes up in life, but then I would think to myself, she managed four ankle-biters at once, she can manage this. And she did. And now rich, spoiled college kids call her “Professor Lucas.”

And people wonder where I got my attitude about stupid girly shit; maybe this will clear things up. I was raised by a woman who went from housewife to secretary to college professor; who raised four children to be decent, hardworking adults; who has stood by my father for 43 years through some extremely difficult times; and who always made me understand that my most important asset was not my uterus or my house-cleaning skills, but my brain. She’s not perfect but I wouldn’t want her to be because then I could never relate to her.

Her own mother died when Mom was 27 years old and Mom’s younger sister, my aunt, was 16. I can’t fathom what it would be like to lose your mother so early in life, and I’m immensely grateful that I’ve gotten to witness what a woman who is also a mother can accomplish beyond the child-raising years.

So Happy Mother’s Day to all women who have done or are doing what I never will. I respect you in ways you may not understand based on what I’ve said in the past about having babies. The thing is, knowing how hard it is is precisely why I don’t want to do it. I admit that I’m too selfish and too lazy to be a good parent, and that automatically means that I fully grasp the weight of what you have taken on. That’s why I admire it so much.

Mom and my brother Rick, 1967

This post is for not only my Mom but all of you. And for Rupert’s mom, who I’m sure is having the best Mother’s Day of her life because her only child does not have to go to war again. And for my Grandma, Dad’s mother, who I don’t write to enough. And for my sister Becki, who has had some very rough times with her son in the last few years. I love all these women and hope they know that they are appreciated even when it doesn’t feel like it.

Rupert is coming home!

He’s not exactly thrilled as to the reason, though. This is one of those cases where good news comes with the cost of bad news. Here’s the deal:

Ever since I’ve known Rupert-Not-His-Real-Name, he’s had pretty bad neck/shoulder pain. Just a few weeks before he got his return-to-duty orders, it’d gotten noticeably worse and he started looking for a chiropractor. He found one, who did x-rays, which showed subluxation of a few of the cervical vertebrae, compression of the cervical nerves, and some degree of probable herniation. Chiropractor started treatments (traction, exercises, etc) but Rupert was only able to go three times because the orders came and his life went from busy to crazy-scary-busy.

His initial medical in-processing at the first base wasn’t very thorough and none of this was addressed. He wasn’t worried about it too much then because this has been a chronic thing he’s lived with for a while. But that was before he got to the base he’s at now, where he joined his unit and started doing field training, which involves wearing the body armor and helmet for hours each day, days which stretched to 18 hours with no respite. I don’t know why it never occurred to me that officers would have to wear the armor and helmet, but it just didn’t. If it had, I would’ve been worried about this a lot sooner.

About two weeks ago, he started dropping things with his right hand and had numbness and tingling in his arms, and the pain his neck became terrible. He went to the Army doctor, who did reflex and nerve tests and said “this is not good.” Doc ordered an MRI last week, and in the meantime told Rupert that he probably had pinched nerves and disc problems, which they’d likely treat with steroid injections and anti-inflammatories and whatnot.

Rupert sent me the MRI images (they gave them to him on CD) and just looking at them made my neck throb. I’m no radiologist but even a monkey could see plainly that the spinal cord is squashed and the disc at C6-7 (I think) is not exactly where it should be. He had to wait almost a week to see the doc again and get the official results, which happened this past Thursday. Verdict: severe disc herniation, exiting nerve root compression, and spinal cord compression. Treatment: surgery.

Rupert asked what the risks would be if he put off the surgery until after his deployment, and the doctor said that was not an option. He said that the herniation is so severe that it drastically increases the risk of paralysis if he sustains an injury to the area, and since the most common injuries in the Iraq war are traumatic head injuries from explosions and rollovers in the HMMWV’s, this is not an acceptable situation. Not to mention the body armor (which is about to get even heavier for all troops) and the helmet, which put great stress on the muscles attaching to those vertebrae, which would make the whole condition worse every day that passed.

So doc started the REFRAD (release from active duty) paperwork on Thursday. What’s interesting is that on that very same day, there was a big story in the news (big to the Army’s PR department, anyway) about how there have been 43,000 medically unfit troops deployed since 2003.

WASHINGTON — More than 43,000 U.S. troops listed as medically unfit for combat in the weeks before their scheduled deployment to Iraq or Afghanistan since 2003 were sent anyway, Pentagon records show.

This reliance on troops found medically “non-deployable” is another sign of stress placed on a military that has sent 1.6 million servicemembers to the war zones, soldier advocacy groups say.

…According to statistics, the number of troops that doctors found non-deployable, but who were still sent to Iraq or Afghanistan fluctuated from 10,854 in 2003, down to 5,397 in 2005, and back up to 9,140 in 2007.

Rupert suspects the timing of that news may have been a tiny stroke of luck for him, seeing as how only days earlier, even when the doc already kinda knew what the MRI was going to show, they were talking about medications and injections and exercises. But on that day, the doctor was all, “No way, no how, you’re going home, Cap’n.” But good grief, even without that report, you’d hope it would be an automatic decision not to send someone with this particular condition to a combat zone.

(Especially when you consider that people are making a big deal about those 43,000 medically undeployable troops - if you read the whole article, you’ll see that a great number of them simply needed allergy medication, dental work, or new glasses. Not spine surgery, fer crissakes.)

Anyway! Yeah, I’m kind of ecstatic, to say the least. Not that it’s awesome that my boyfriend has to have his neck cut open (they do it from the front and just shove your larynx and everything out of the way - ewww), but still. I think we’d both much prefer that over him spending a year in godforsaken shithole Baghdad.

Actually I can’t speak for him on that point. In fact, while he’s relieved in a sense, he is also disappointed. He wouldn’t have declined to resign his commission all these years and wouldn’t have shown up when called (many do not even bother - estimates put it at about 40-50%, which I’ve seen confirmed anecdotally in several places, including what Rupert told me about the group that showed up when he did) if he didn’t have a real desire and willingness to do this thing, to fulfill what he considers his duty as a patriot and a volunteer.

The last seven weeks have not been fun for him to say the least, but he never complained, even when I practically begged him to. He’s always just said that this is Army life, he knew what he was signing up for, and he was going to make the best of it. When he called to tell me the doctor’s news, at first I flipped out all happy-like but could tell he wasn’t feeling the same way so I asked him how he really did feel about being sent home. He didn’t say much except that it was a pride thing; a soldier thing. He feels like he’s letting people down. It doesn’t matter to him that he’s already done his duty, already is a war veteran from the first Gulf conflict and Panama, and that this is completely out of his control - he wanted to fulfill this deployment because he thinks it is the right thing to do.

I don’t even know what to say to that except that I wish there were more people on this earth just like him.

So. The REFRAD paperwork got started on Friday; his commander has to approve the release and it has to go through some channels, which takes a few days. His unit went back out in field for ARTEP training so Rupert had to stay behind and basically will sit around all weekend playing tiddlywinks. He still has to work in the TOC but most everyone’s gone so there’s not much to do. The paperwork should be signed and completed on Monday morning, and he should be home by Tuesday. He’s going to get the surgery taken care of right away so he can go back to work within a few weeks. So I’ll get to be his own private nurse while he’s laid up; maybe I should get a uniform? Rowr!

He will have to stay in the IRR (individual ready reserves) and could still be called back up in a few months after he recovers. We don’t know how that’ll work out but I’m keeping my fingers crossed that having two of his neck vertebrae fused together will exempt him for the rest of his life. Of course, President Obama will be ending the war and bringing peace upon mankind right around January 20 so I guess I shouldn’t worry about a thing. Hope!Change!

Many of you wanted to send things to Rupert’s unit when they got to Baghdad, and so did I. As I’ve mentioned, ever since Rupert was called up, I’ve felt like an asshole for never doing anything for the troops before. This is still true and I still intend to try to remedy it. So I want to start supporting one of the existing stuff-for-troops groups but I don’t know anything about any of them, so I’m taking suggestions. I could even start my own, the Rachl Lukis Troop Goody Fund or something. Maybe me and my readers could “adopt” a certain unit? I know many of you are married to or otherwise related to currently-deployed troops, maybe you can help me pick the best path for this.

And finally, I have to thank you all again for all the support and encouragement and prayers you’ve been throwing my way since this all started. It has been immensely helpful to me and has made the whole thing less painful. Until two days ago, I was still working on resigning myself to this and it was most unpleasant, but hearing from people who’ve been through it or who just simply care was very comforting. I hope I can return the favor to someone else some day.

What else can I say? I feel like an enormous crushing weight has been lifted off my soul, and even though I’m not the praying type, I literally got on my knees and cried and said “thank you” after getting off the phone with Rupert on Thursday.

Now I must get off the computer and get busy. The dogs and I have tried to maintain some level of civilized habits and cleanliness around here but we still have work to do before our alpha male returns. I can’t have my man come home to a messy house and dirty dogs so I need to get crackin’. I’ve always liked cleaning house but this time is extra sweet; it’s like I’m nesting before having a baby.

P.S. I’m going to try to have a video camera ready so I can capture the reunion between man and dogs next week when we get home from the airport. Sunny is going to completely lose her shit, 100% guaranteed. I’ll post it and you will laugh and feel the joy.

In light of recent allegations involving Sunny Lucas being deeply involved in an illegal squirrel-fighting ring, the press descended on her Texas home Friday, demanding answers. The ridgeback refused to cooperate, saying only that she could neither confirm nor deny a lifelong hatred for all varmint-type creatures. After muttering something under her breath that several reporters say sounded like, “Smelly little fuckers all deserve to die by my jaw,” she then returned to her sofa and began a nap, which continues as we go to press 8 hours later.

Below the fold: bonus microphone-in-face pic for all your LOLdog needs!
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The Brits are seriously losing it.

British Airways takes beef off the menu to avoid offending Hindus

For decades the national dish has been a staple meal on the national carrier.

But now British Airways has taken beef off the menu for economy passengers amid concerns about its “religious restrictions”.

The airline has instead switched to a fish pie or chicken dish option for the so-called “cattle class” passengers.

BA’s second-biggest long-haul market is to India, where the majority Hindu population do not eat beef because of their beliefs.

Great heaving sighs. I don’t even have commentary; I just wish the Brits would admit they don’t even care about trying to pretend they have their own identity anymore. Queen Elizabeth will be wearing a forehead dot or a burqa before you know it.

First, since almost all my posts about TV shows now are about actual quality shows as opposed to Real Housewhores of Orange County or The View, I had to change my category label from “You are watching bad TV” to the mindblowingly clever label “Television”. I just can’t be stopped, my brain is THAT MASSIVE.

Second, I’ve re-watched a couple more of the Firefly episodes and am so pregnant now that I should probably see a doctor. Today while eating lunch (Taco Bell, don’t be jealous), I watched the 3rd one, where they come across an apparently abandoned ship that should have 16 families on it but is empty until they see all the bodies hanging from the ceiling - Reavers! we’re humped! - and then the Alliance shows up and that dude who used to be on Melrose Place interrogated them one by one. I almost choked on a nacho chip when he got to Jayne, who sat there silently while the camera showed us the troops back on Serenity discovering all his knives and guns. I didn’t even notice that the first time. So now I fully realize I must watch the entire series at least once more; it’s my duty as a new convert.

Aaaanyway, third thing is, last night I continued my Battlestar Galacticapalooza (really, I am not getting enough sleep because of all these great shows), and discovered such a major, glaring, offensively obvious script/plot/storyline loophole that I actually exclaimed out loud (startling the dogs so bad that Maggie barked). “What the FUH-HUH-HUCK?!”

Now before I share the source of my displeasure, I will freely admit that yes, I know that I would enjoy TV and movies more if I would just relax and not worry about silly things like making sense, consistency, and logic. I know this. And a great big tough shit to that, sir. Because I fully believe that most of the time, it would be just as easy for the writer or director or whoever is in charge of this stuff to have it make sense as to have it not make sense. It’s their choice and I get testy when they chose the latter.

So here’s my problem.

The last episode I watched was towards the end of Season 2 (don’t remember the episode title), the one where Lucy Lawless comes on as a reporter who has unlimited access to Galactica so that she can make a piece about the military people, because the civilians of the fleet are all pissed off about the incident where some Marines shot into a crowd and killed four people. She turns out to be a Cylon, which actually did surprise me, and the whole thing reminded me of being 23 and loving the hell out of Xena, Princess Warrior. But I digress.

At one point, suddenly the radar thingy picks up a couple of Cylon raiders headed for the fleet. Immediately the ship goes go Condition 1 and they scramble the fighter pilots to take out the enemy. This has happened more than once, to say the least. Also during this episode, you hear a lot from the pilots about how hard they work, how long their days are, how they have about 5 minutes to get to the plane, do weapons check, whatever-else check, and get out the tube. Or else the entire fleet will die. They’ve lost so many pilots, they have hardly any left and no new ones are being trained, and so on. Major pilot shortage. Okay. Makes sense.

What does NOT MAKE SENSE is when, in the same episode, Lucy Lawless happens upon the pilots’ group bunk, in which she finds Captain Adama, Starbuck, and several other (of the very few in number as they keep reminding us) pilots prancing around in various states of undress as though they had all just gotten out of the shower. They were in towels and underwear if they weren’t laying on their bunk.

Why, in any known universe using human logic, would that ever happen? Wouldn’t the pilots be on 24-hour shift coverage? Wouldn’t they at all times have at least one of their best pilots (Lee or Starbuck) on duty; in other words, not in the shower and/or naked at the same time? Know what I mean?

I know jack shit about military operations and I’ve never been on aircraft carrier at war, but I think I’m on solid ground when I insist it would never work that way. There is no day or night in space, for one thing, and Cylons don’t exactly plan their attacks based on common business hours of operation such as 9 to 5. They show up for killin’ when they want to show up for killin’. There would be no group showertime/bedtime for the decimated pilot population.

Am I right? Wrong? Or just analyzing shit waayyy too much? Yeah, I know.

In any case, I love it so much it hurts. I think I love Firefly more, but even though they’re both space shows, they are completely different. Actually I was thinking, Firefly isn’t even really a sci-fi show - it’s a comedy and a brilliant one at that. Galactica is dark and frankly depressing, and brilliant all the same.

And I have to say that even though there is some fine man-candy on Galactica (who really, really need to run around in towels more often), my most favorite character is Laura Roslin. I am absolutely in love with Mary McDonnell, in a totally non-lesbian way. She’s oozes self-control and dignity and I just want to find her and make her be my personal mentor. I was digging Starbuck at first because she’s such a bad-ass but now I’m weary of the ever-present hostile smirk. Love Petty Officer Dualla and Chief Tyrol; hate Gaius Baltar. Who by the way looks so much like Desmond from Lost that it’s scary, right down to the hair and accent.

(Speaking of Lost…oh lord. I might have to start blogging that one, too, after the last two episodes. I may alienate some people there, though, as I don’t have my finger on the pulse of Lost fans enough to know whether or not I’m the only one who hates Jack and Kate with burning, burning HATE. I actually want to see Ben or the freighter assholes kill both of them dead but I know they won’t and that makes me sad.)

Dr. Helen links to this Men’s Health magazine article with grim detestation, and I can see why. It’s called “8 Things She Hates About You — Don’t know why she’s angry? Now you do…”

The author, Lisa Jones, says her boyfriend never knows why she’s mad so she is forced to give him the silent treatment until he figures it out. Hoping she can save other morons, I mean men, from bumbling through life having no clue why their woman is acting like a stone-cold bitch, she lists by number things men “tend to do” that women “tend to find annoying,” such as:
-You stop trying
-You ask how much our new haircut or handbag costs
-You talk to us as if we’re one of the guys

I’m not even going to blockquote it; you really gotta read it to get the full punch. I’m just going to write a helpful very-slightly-altered version to balance out the evil karma resulting every time one of these articles is published. I’m compelled to go after other women like this for one primary reason: they embarrass me and bring shame upon my gender with their superficial double standards. Someone’s gotta fight back and guys can’t do it lest they be accused of piggery and sexism.

Let’s see this published in a major women’s magazine (please note that all I did was change gender pronouns and some material nouns, and slightly tweaked the situations; the snotty, condescending, and borderline hostile tone is straight from the original, as is 95% of the text itself - I’ll probably get sued for copyright infringement):

……

8 Things He Hates About You by Larry Jones
Don’t know why he’s angry? Now you do…

Most of the time my girlfriend has no idea of what sets me off. Which is why I’ve prepared this handy inventory of things women tend to do that we tend to find annoying. If you study up, you’ll be able to stop repelling the men you want to meet — or aggravating the one you have. And we men can continue not telling you why we’re mad, because we’ll figure, “Hey, she should know already!” Besides, who said this would be fair?

Annoyance #1
You leave your crap at our place.

Actually, we really don’t mind if you leave a few things around. A clean pair of panties here or a spare toothbrush there — no problem. But when we start seeing pieces of you (literally) all over the place, we tend to go off. Like when we find your pubes in the razor we shave our face with, or smelly bottles of nail polish on the nightstand, or nasty strands of your hair all over our pillow. Please clean that up before we see it and want to gag. And then we’ll promise to be better about leaving beer bottles on your kitchen counter. Do we have a deal?

Annoyance #2
You expect us to buy you expensive gifts such as jewelry…

…yet conveniently you never buy us anything. Until we’re sharing a bank account with you, we’re not all that interested in your opinions on how we should or should not spend our money. And if we are sharing a bank account, here’s something you should know: Reminding us when we’re in the throes of post-big-screen-TV-buying bliss that we just blew all our disposable income for the month is not going to endear you to us. The perfect girlfriend response: “Wow, [awesome/sweet/bad-ass] new [electronic/mechanical/tool item]. I guess dinner is on me tonight!” Then wait a few days to bring up your financial concerns, by proposing we both start saving for something we want to buy together.

Annoyance #3
You talk to us as if we’re one of the girls.

If you have any romantic inclinations toward us, please don’t call us “Shnookums” or “Cuddlebear”. Otherwise we’ll assume we’ve already been relegated to infant status and start thinking of you that way, too. Also, you’ll rarely find us holding entire conversations in Desperate Housewives or Sex and the City quotes. Similarly, we don’t talk in numbers the same way women tend to. We’re happy to see evidence of your improvements at the gym, but we really don’t need to know how many fractions of a pound you need to lose before your sister’s wedding. We also couldn’t care less about your designer handbag, that sale at Macy’s, or the number of calories in a tuna salad. And fantasy-wedding-dress anything will make us flirt hard with the waitress. No, the conversation doesn’t have to be all about us, but we do want you to shoot for topics of mutual interest.

Annoyance #4
You speak of the future too soon.

Women seem to have perfected a special way of talking about the future that makes it clear they expect us to be a part of it whether we like it or not. Or maybe you don’t know you’re doing this? For instance, you frequently mention your sister’s wedding in another state 6 months from now and you’re already planning how ours will be better. Or we have a monthlong international business trip coming up and you insist on coming for a weekend visit even though we’ll be too busy to spend time with you. If you picture us in your future, try not talking about these things in such a way that we won’t stick around for it.

Annoyance #5
You stop trying.

You have us as your husband or boyfriend. We’re committed to the situation, and all is good. But pretty soon you stop trying to impress us — and we don’t like that. “Now that we’re married, she never tries to ‘be sexy’ anymore,” says one friend. “If she wants to come on to me, she needs to ditch her gross hair scrunchy and sweatpants and make an effort. Otherwise she ain’t getting any. Also, there are no blow jobs and it’s more routine, which I hate. After 7 years, a woman’s got to bust some new moves.” Or at least bring back a few of the retired ones that used to work. Like simply bringing home a pizza, a bottle of whiskey, and some silence when we’ve had a bad day. Bring back the sex and silence. We want the sex and silence!

Annoyance #6
You blatantly look at gossip sites.

We don’t care that you know every detail of Britney’s tragic life, and we can’t change the fact that you might occasionally browse the fine and varied selection of paparazzi sites on the Internet. But if you’re looking at gossip blogs on a computer we also use, kindly delete your history. We don’t want PerezHilton.com to pop up every time we want to do some porn surfing or, worse, when my buddy Jake is over and a gay man at a fashion gala appears as we’re showing Jake something online.

Annoyance #7
You turn down sex.

When it so happens that we’re the one who wants sex and you’re the one who doesn’t, we find your refusal to be confusing and irritating. Reassure us that we’re attractive and that you love us, but that you just aren’t in the mood. It helps to throw out a hint at what’s going on — that you’re tired, depressed, anxious at work, whatever, says Aline Zoldbrod, Ph.D., a Boston-area psychologist. That way we won’t obsess or be too pouty or aggressive. If we happen to be fresh off a boys’ night out liquored up and ready for sex, which you’re refusing, tread extra carefully. Horny can change to emotional, crying wreckage very quickly when your man has a couple of shots of Wild Turkey in him.

Annoyance #8
You talk too much.

That’s why we ask you out via text. Texting is fast and easy and leads to sexy banter — and saves us a lot of time hearing about your cat’s latest shenigans when all we want to know is if you’ll have dinner. Calling a woman to ask her out may be more personal, we suppose. It takes more effort (and balls) to risk being stuck on the phone listening to your latest office gossip, which is exactly what you find so sexy about our doing it. Okay, it’s an unfair burden for us, but since when has that mattered? “So many women are conditioned to freely talk at great length about whatever they hell they want that it has created a serious time-management crisis for men,” says Kristina Grish, author of The Joy of Text: Mating, Dating, and How Not To Be an Insufferable Princess.

…

There. I believe I have restored a tiny bit of balance to the universe. You know, honestly, I read articles like the one I’m mocking and I sincerely do not understand why men even bother trying half the time. If there are as many women out there cheering in agreement to that kind of article as I think there are (you go, girl! tell those dumb men how it’s gonna BE!), all I gotta say is it’s a very fortunate thing that men have such intense sex drives and therefore are willing to put up with so much shit just to get some, thus continuing the existence of our species.

Remember the Great McCain Debate? (Here, here, here, here, and here.) I dropped it because (1) it got boring and (2) there wasn’t much else to say until the Democrats picked their candidate.

Well they’ve picked their candidate, for all intents and purposes, and it is one Mister Barack Obama, He Who Will Fix Your Broken Souls. And time has passed, and we know much more about Obama than we did then, and now I should very much like to know what people are thinking.

Has anyone changed their minds and decided that after all, you will vote for McCain even though you still hate him with fire? Do you still consider him to be as dangerous and liberal as Obama? Et cetera.

Army of Dog says the whole thing is like poker, and I agree completely. So of course I’ll be voting for McCain because it is not mathematically possible to convince me the country would be better off with him for the next 4 years than with Obama. I’m just wondering if any minds have changed based on the whole Rev. Wright controversy and such.

In case you didn’t manage to get through the 200+ comments on that other post debating the very existence of God, you might have missed where David Colborne crafted the most brilliant, moving, timely, appropriate, meaning-frought, and profound prayer ever written. Just my opinion. I hath named it…The Blogger’s Prayer:

There is no God. Only Rachel.

Our blogger, which art in Texas,
Hallowed be thy name.
Thy ridgeback come,
Thy will be done, in blog,
As it is in the ‘Net.
Give us this day our Daily Hate,
And forgive us our comments as we forgive them that comment against us,
And lead us not into vegetarianism,
But deliver us into pork treats.
For thine is the blog, and the power, and the helmet, for ever and ever.
Amen.

A-men!

UPDATE: Because only a little blasphemy is never enough, future Secretary of Awesome, David Colborne, has compendiumed (what? I can make a new word) the Online Sunny Prayer Book. May it bring you peace and joy as it has for me.

Because I’m pretty sure I ovulated at least once per episode when I marathon-watched the series last weekend and am now quite possibly pregnant even though the only man in my life is on the other side of the country wearing body armor by day and sleeping on a cot in a barracks by night.

(I hope people understand what I mean by my whole ovulation theory. It’s not dirty; it’s science.)

Mal: “Now you only gotta scare ‘im.”

Jayne: “Pain is scary.”

Yeah, stud. Tell me more. Rowr!

I don’t know what I like more about this show, the dialog or the actors. I’m not sure I’d like the dialog with different actors, and I’m not sure I’d like these actors with different dialog, but why make it complicated? The show is shiny. (Edited to add later, after watching a few episodes twice - I’m so full of shit. I would love most of these actors on anything, and I would love this dialog at least a little even if spoken by Rosie O’Donnell.)

Forget C.S. Lewis - I’m pretty sure the cancellation of this show after only one season is proof there is no God. Seven years of American Idol on the same network that gave us only one year of Firefly. Do the quantum math on that one.

I didn’t love everything about the show. Namely, Shepherd Book. He didn’t seem to have any purpose, and the mystery about his background was both uninteresting and never solved, even in the Serenity movie. Meh. But there is plenty to love otherwise. Almost more than I can even handle.

If I were a lesbian or a man, I would stalk Jewel Staite (Kaylee the mechanic) and make her be my wife just for that strawberry-eating scene alone. She herself is absolutely delicious and I am having a very hard time comprehending why she’s not on every TV show currently in production. I knew her from Stargate Atlantis, but now I can see that she is so…neutered on that show. You know what I mean? I had no idea she was so funny and sexy and completely adorable. Rarely am I so charmed by young female actresses, but this girl really is priceless.

I’m not quite sure how to blog about Adam Baldwin (Jayne Cobb the mercenary) without offending Rupert and every other heterosexual male reading this. Ladies, you know what I mean. Am I the only one with a newfound fetish for cream-colored pants on men with solid thighs? It doesn’t hurt that he talks about guns and killin’ a lot. Serious man candy. By the way, when is “Chuck” coming back????

Summer Glau (River the crazy genius) is utter brilliance. Much like Jewel Staite, it confounds me why this girl isn’t more famous. Speaking of shows coming back, where is “Terminator: Sarah Conner Chronicles”? I DEMAND IT. In the Serenity movie when she finally gets in touch with her true nature and beats the shit out of an entire room full of men, with ballet moves no less, I almost passed out from the awesomeness.

Nathan Fillion (Captain Mal) has the best lines and the best delivery. Again: why not more famous? What does freakin’ David Caruso have that this guy doesn’t? Come on! I saw Fillion in a movie a few weeks ago (”The Waitress”) and he’s funny. Cute, too. What is not funny or cute is his pants on Firefly, though. What the hell do you need pants up to your ribcage for?

The others are all great, too, including the chick playing Inara (the hooker/Companion), although she is impossibly beautiful and still somehow not as appealing as Kaylee.

I don’t even know what else to say. I promised to blog about Firefly but if you’ve seen it, you already know, and if you haven’t, you don’t care. I think the ultimate lesson really is that television executives are IDIOTS. They aired the episodes out of order, bumped the show a few times, and then canceled it before all the episodes even aired. IDIOTS. What thought processes does a person have to go through to pull a show like that from the same network that gives us years and years of pure Grade-A crap? It’s just not reasonable and I am personally offended by it.

It is with deep shame that I write this post, because tonight I realized something once and for all: American Idol is a really stupid show. And yet I continue to watch it, and worse, to blog about it. I have very little to be proud of right now.

The theme was “Rock ‘N’ Roll Hall of Fame.” SIGH. Can someone please sit down with the boomers running this clownfest and fill them in on the vast indifference the rest of us have to all their hip shit. Two weeks of Beatles, Andrew Lloyd Weber, Dolly Parton, Neil Diamond, and now this. Rock ‘N’ fuckin’ Roll. Are these people serious? And is Seacrest serious about that fauxhawk? It was particularly pointy tonight, with a slight starboard list.

Forget the order in which these morons actually performed, let’s start with the boobs. Syesha is the only girl left and if this show weren’t mostly watched by 12-year-old girls and gay men, I might think she had an advantage. First she did “Proud Mary” and sexed it up real nice-like. She shook it and worked it and spun around and flipped her hair, and I give her points for effort. Her second song was, well I don’t even know but it was slow and boring, but here’s what she did right: full top-to-bottom medial breast exposure, maximized to full effect after being judged, when she completely lost all control and began sobbing. Which had the slightly disturbing effect of causing her boobs to bounce towards and away from each other repeatedly.

Let’s move on to the ‘tard. Archuleta. Am I the only one who said “Corky?” during his pre-performance interview? The kid is just way too pleasant and harmless to be a chromosomally-intact person. Second question is, could his song choices have possibly been any more predictable? “Stand By Me” and “Love Me Tender.” No, seriously. Unfortunately, he sang so well that of course he’ll be back again. In fact he’ll probably win because America loves their choirboys. In a really special way.

David Cook brought something to the table I never thought I would have the misfortune of enduring on this show, especially after what they’ve been putting me through this season so far: a Duran Duran song. “Hungry Like the Wolf,” specifically, and it was almost unbearable. His other song was “Baba O’Reilly” by The Who, and was kinda awesome, mostly because the sound of Roger Daltry’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard to me so it was nice to hear the opposite on this song.

Last and very assuredly least is Jason, who I firmly believe is trying to get kicked off. First he sang “I Shot The Sheriff”, which made me think about wearing string bracelets and smoking pot. Simon said, “That…was…uttahly atrocious” and was very much like a massacre. Then he said, “I don’t know what you’re thinking,” and Jason cried out, “I was thinkin’ Bob Marley! Yeeeah!”

His second song was inexplicably “Tambourine Man.” Of which he forgot the entire second line and instead sang “er erm erm erm…erm?” I insist that he did that on purpose, which I kind of love. I’d try to get myself kicked off if I were him, too. Because the only thing worse than watching and blogging about this show is being on this show.

Prediction: All I have to say is that if anyone but Jason goes home tomorrow night, I will throw a fit and stop watching the show. Shockingly, my standards do have their limits.