I sang a song of John Crichton

And was so moved by my own lyrical spot-on-ness that I decided to repost it here for you all.

John Crichton isn't male. John Crichton is human.

Now we could start a long philosophical discussion on why "human" in today's Eurocentric cultures is represented by 'Good Ol' boy' attitudes...but then we might miss the joke of John Crichton.

John is lovable because he doesn't know his ass from his elbow. He's out there in space, completely out of his league and he's going on bravado. The joke is he's impressing nobody and the deeper joke is...he knows it. Even when he wins one it's considered a fluke. Because humans, represented this way (think Alien or Starship Troopers or...well...any masculine centered Sci-Fi ideal) aren't very impressive.

Oh, yes! We can suspend belief but in the real big scary world, Ripley would have been toast. We are, when compared to the vast universe, small, weak and feeble-minded.

But...we like to think we would kick butt.

What makes Farscape the best Sci-Fi show ever is they wallow in humanities frailities.

John Crichton is us...he likes to think he can kick butt even though he is scared out of his mind, lost and lonely and knows he is going to get kicked instead...he loves where there is no hope...he hopes where there is no chance...and when...against all odds he kicks butt...we have to feel proud of him.

**SNIFF**I do so love that show!

Hate is a force of attraction...hate is just love with its back turned...

And so I asked for S7 of Buffy and my sweetie delivered it to my holiday stocking...all tied up in a bright bow.

I would like to say that on another viewing the end of Buffy got better.

I would like to say that...but I can't! It stank. In some ways it stank more than ever. There was the scythe...and Angel...and the costume jewelry version of a coherent plot. There was the stupid villain and the even stupider solution of spreading misery to the masses. A solution based NOT on the strength of the heroine but on blind luck and magic. Seven years of character development were blown carelessly into the wind like the seeds of a dandelion...SIGH! The core theme of the series became...not growing up but growing doughy.

Yes, my hate was simmering. Then, I made the mistake of watching the Joss Whedon retrospective. The one where he counts down his favorite episodes and waxes rhapsodic about his actors. I didn't want to cry but I felt the tears pricking my eyelids and worst of all I felt that old familiar urge to give that awful...AWFUL man a hug.

"We could have gone on...but I ran out of energy," he said. And it was almost...ALMOST the admission of guilt I needed to start to let go. But then I remembered how Buffy made that speech in the kitchen about Spike not being there alone and then went and threw herself at Angel and how ANGEL had made a deal with evil people to get the magic pendant and not only didn't he bother to mention it...there were never any consequences and I kick my urge to hug under the bed. You can't make it up to me with snuggly reminiscence Mr. Girl Power.

Write your way out of this mess you created...if you can!