A few months into eighth grade, I changed schools for three weeks, then moved to a tiny town (Elgin, population 700 at the time). Justine and I lost contact with each other, and my fanatical obsession with "Battlestar Galactica" was slowly eroded and replaced with things like Atari's Megamania, Rick Springfield ("Hey, that's Zac!!!") as Dr. Noah Drake on "General Hospital", Jon-Erik Hexum, "The A-Team" (okay, so that Templeton Peck fella DOES look a bit familiar...), M-TV, and---you guessed it---Duran Duran.

It was good, though, that I had that year or so of total imaginary playing, I think. It was the year when a crooked stick turned into a lazer gun for shootouts in the backyard among the falling leaves. When odd bits of "consumables" in the school cafeteria were sniffed, and then termed "mushies". The year that school was cancelled for a few days because of an amazing blizzard, and we recreated "The Gun On Ice Planet Zero", and threw snowballs at the side of the house, trying to hit Cylons, until we were told to stop. When we used the manual alphabet to communicate important fleet messages to each other during Friday morning Mass. When there was a week or two when we had convinced ourselves that Sr. Malachy, the school principal, was actually Imperious Leader's sister, sent to destroy mankind from a convent that was actually a Cylon basestar. (She was finally identified as the long-lost sister of Baltar, and the Cylons knew nothing about her. She DID kind of resemble John Colicos...)

And, of course, the year when I first began to realize I was growing into a woman, and learning to kiss, and flirt, and hold conversations (albeit one-sided) with a boy by practicing on that well-worn pinup of Dirk.

If ever I have the chance to meet him, I'll have to remember to thank him.

A Small Visual Flashback:


Yes, this is my seventh grade school picture. Can we say dweeb? I thought so. And this is part of a report I had to do for Language Arts. We had to write a book about ourselves, and somehow my "Autobiography Of A Seventh-Grader" has managed to survive all my cross-country moves so far. Not only was Mom not too pleased that I insisted on including "Battlestar Galactica" in my report (Dad just chuckled and went back to his newspaper), but as you can see, I didn't quite understand who did what behind the scenes.

I got a "B" on this thing.

Yes, and this is me now:

This photo was taken at the bar where I work by one of my fellow employees, my Excellent Friend Evelyn. I think it's dated around May or June of 1999.

I swear, I'm not quite that Casper-shade of white. But the little dweeb didn't grow up TOO badly, now did she?

Please, please, please...if you have any interest sparking in your mind at all about reviving "Battlestar Galactica", click on this link. They'll tell you all you need to know to help with the campaign. It won't take much time or effort from you, but if we all contribute, we can make a difference.

Click here to support the Battlestar Galactica revival effort!

BattlestarGalactica.com. The name says it all.

Go for it. Visit BattlestarPegasus.com. Commander Cain is waiting...