The Reality of Science Fiction

Science Fiction. It's the genre that people love to poke fun at - myself included. Almost anyone can safely recite the normal stereotypes about sci-fi shows and their fanatics. Fans of anything that contains the United Federation of Planets and the USS Enterprise are generally the target.

Recently, however, there has been a reemergence of the genre. Earlier this year, Star Trek was reinvented for a new generation of fans; and was done so rather successfully, I might add.

For the first time since forever, there was a Star Trek film that kicked major ass, and didn't go into needless 45-minute scenes where there was a debate between a Captain and his Number One about how the Prime Directive would be not breached while visiting a pre-warp planet in order to formulate a report on the telepathic abilities of the Vespaccian Vorknuckle flower and its ability to prevent mass hunger of the dancing Monkeydolphin Birds of Yawndoze Prime.

Having said that, it still provided many lowest common denominator scenes in the form of spatial anomalies, black holes, time travel, imploding planets and spaceship laser battles.

You see, sci-fi is often a victim of its own success. Pioneering space opera franchises like Star Trek often create the pop-culture benchmarks and set fictional references for subsequent sci-fi shows; doomed to become overused parodies of themselves.

How often have we heard of matter transporters, laser guns and hyperspace in things other than the show in which they originated?

This is often why all science fiction is lumped together in the one category. And it is here that Battlestar Galactia provides salvation for the genre.

Battlestar Galactica lived through several different incarnations in the late seventies and early eighties. It never really became hugely successful in mainstream society and only gained a small legion of cult followers.

In 2003, however, it was remade into a re-imagined made-for-tv miniseries, which blasted new life into it as one of the most popular science fiction shows of all time, having only just now in 2009 had its series finale after four and a half seasons (Season 4 came in two parts due to the writers' strike) countless webisodes, one made-for-DVD feature-length movie, the announcement of a spin-off series and even the plans for a feature film by Bryan Singer, the director of the first two X-Men movies.

The first thing you notice when you slap on the DVD is how very real it all feels. Aside from having one of the highest special effects and computer graphics budgets of all time for something made specifically for television, there are no aliens with two heads walking around the place. While there are robots, they are the creation of humans and not some ancient race of space-faring lizard people. On the space-going vessels, "Engine Room" is about as technical as the jargon gets. The guns shoot bullets, not plasma bolts while back on planet the modern society depicted thrives on a heavy mix of greedy neo-liberalism which extolls the virtue of wealth, owning a petrol-guzzling all-terrain vehicle and a house with sweeping water views.

This is perhaps when the cataclysm that nearly wipes out the human race hits home so strongly. It is not done with a Death Star, but with a nuclear holocaust by people who may indeed resemble a neighbour, a friend, a lover.

The show makes many startling yet cautionary points about how we should take responsibility for previous mistakes: technology comes at a price; wars don't end once an armistice is signed; and, possibly the most shocking parallel to the real world post September 11; the role of religious fundamentalism and political extremism.

Battlestar Galactica departs from the traditional space opera in that instead of having an entertaining or trivial role, the clash of political ideologies and mutual hatred of oppising religious faiths take a front seat throughout the entire series. The polytheistic humans have an official religion; and even more interestingly, their machine creations (and brutal enemies), the Cylons, have an agenda given to them by what they say is divine will.

The parallels don't end there, as throughout the series - as the galaxy is traversed - the brutality of terrorism and moral crusades, evangelical devotion, sectarian politics and even suicide bombings are portrayed graphically and realistically in a contemporary critique of current events being played in the real-world arena. Not bad for a so called "sci-fi" show in which the characters are literally 100 000 light years from Earth.

Battlestar Galactica is more than just a piece of science fiction. It is a parallel of the modern world located in the depths of empty space. Its purpose isn't intentionally to boldly go where noone has gone before; yet in terms of cinematography and social commentary that is exactly what it does. It challenges us to see past cultural and racial stereotypes and to sympathise with the suicide bomber even though he kills more of his mates than he does the enemy.

I previously made the mistake of thinking that all science fiction was the same. Battlestar Galactica is not. It is the show that may indeed be the salvation of the prime time TV space opera genre. Even though it's over, its influence will hopefully be felt for years to come.

So say we all.

Face it! You can't name that face!

As I'm slightly drunk, tired, and due in to work in about six hours, I thought it was about time I added a little bit of comedy to the scene.

The inspiration for the bundle of laughs that I'm certain you are about to have when you read this blog comes in the form of a trivial little incident that everyone takes for granted...often talked about, rather awkward and very much a problem in modern society.

I have, of course, just returned from my 5-Year Reunion. Don't get me wrong - and by no means misinterpret me either = The Reunion itself was not the awkward part. But as many unfortunate people were well aware earlier, "Hey, mate!" is a frightfully unsubtle way of covering up for the fact that you know the guy's face but are completely at a loss for what his name is.

Having spent a significant portion of my life with many of these blokes, it still came somewhat as a surprise to even me that I did not seem to have forgotten anyone's names as I drew deeper into the social depths of The Reunion. I did slip a couple of times where I wasn't quite fast enough to get an entire congo-line of handshakes totally synchronised with names, but I can honestly say that out of all the handshakes I received in the form of "Hey, mate" I gave a lot more back with the correct name to the correct face.

Which is why the following event disturbed me so profoundly I may never actually recover.

Halfway through the night at The Light Brigade (the second pub of the night after we were pre-emptively and unjustifiably evicted from the first) I briefly stepped outside to meet a friend who had just trekked in a taxi to be there.

Knowing he would have a hard time getting past the bouncers, I courteously informed the bouncer that I would be walking back in a minute, and that someone I knew (well, I really knew everyone) would be arriving in a minute or two. Within no time, he was arriving at the door.

That's when it happened! In the process of preparing the rock-solid argument in anticipation of the upcoming minefield of not-so-diplomatic bouncer negotiations trying to get my friend into the pub my eyes fell on a totally unknown-yet-somehow-familiar face.

BUGGER! 100% naming accuracy ruined! Who is this artful dodger that has managed to have a familiar face yet evade my face-naming detectors and stand next to me without even saying a word?

This is what must have been happening to all those poor souls who could remember I was "that guy" or possibly even "that guy with the funny twitch" (on account of my mild tourette syndrome) but not my name. My sympathies go out to all of you, now, for I can now see how horrendously embarrassing this situation truly is.

But my story does not end there, for the awkwardness continued. This cunning fellow who I could not put a name to...get this...smiled at me! NO! NOT THAT SORT OF SMILE! Just a polite "hey, mate" sort of smile. (You all have dirty minds and should be ashamed of yourselves to whoever thought there could be a sexual innuendo in those last few sentences!)

This guy was with a few others who I didn't recognise at all, including one or two members of the fairer sex.

ALARM BELLS! As far as I know, this Reunion is not a Wives and Girlfriends zone. But I'm sure I know him!

So meanwhile this guy is smiling at me out of some sort of mutual recognition of our mutual lack of recognition.

SHIT SHIT SHIT! He's a teacher! I know he is! (At least I think I know he is) however; he's too buff to be Mr Kelliher (Geography teacher, Year 10); he's not quoting A. A. Gill and Oscar Wilde like Mr Morrow (Senior English teacher); and if I got the previous two wrong, at least I know he definitely isn't my HSC French teacher (Madame Giovannetti - the sparrow with the roar of a lion, the ferocity of a bear and the gymnastics abilities of the finest acrobats from Cirque du Soleil.)

Of course all this is happening as I'm trying to prevent what must be North Korea lobbing a few missiles over to the U.S. just by trying to get my mate through the door if the bouncer is anything to go by. And of course, because my usually elephantine memory is failing, I forget to smile back, so I can only assume that I'm giving this mystery chap one hell of a death stare.

Meanwhile, this politely smiling bloke begins to look mightily uncomfortable, with awkwardness increasing exponentially as a fucntion of the death stare that I don't yet realise I'm giving him.

The bouncer yields. We are let in to the bar (finally) and everyone feels happy. Everyone except for me. This is not like me to remember a bloke's face and not his name. At least not with people from school.

Time wears on and people gradually head for other places - because I have work in several hours, I go home.

My computer is on so I decide I'll quickly do the midnight facebook check. I click "open" on internet explorer. The website for The Sydney Morning Herald (my homepage) loads, and...

GODDAMMIT! Sitting on the main page, blazing in full glory to the right of the headlines is the "All Men Are Liars" blog by Sam de Brito. No wonder his face looked so familiar...

What did I learn from this? Well to be fair, I had had a beer or three, so to be honest, I doubt Mr de Brito will think much of it, or even remember when he wakes up some time on Monday next week - he is such a party animal if his blogs are anything to go by.

But if you don't leave here with any moral-of-the-story message or valuable life lesson (odds are you probably won't as I am still slightly drunk and am only writing this because I can't fall asleep despite my torturous weariness), try never to use "hey, mate" ever again.

Just grin, ask their name, and bear it...

And if anyone disagrees with anything I've said, just submit this entire blog in handwriting to Mr Morrow and get him to do a masterclass on it.

As for Mr de Brito, check out his blog at http://blogs.smh.com.au/executive-style/allmenareliars/ It's always entertaining, painfully honest and just so much fun to read.

And I'm sorry I gave you the mother of all death stares.

City-specific Patriotism

I was on the bus on my usual commute from home to the city, and a few stops along the way, a wild-haired, ever-so-slightly hippie yet still reasonably dressed man got on. He asked the driver in a thick North American (not to be confused with a specifically US American) accent if he stopped in the city.

Slightly pointless if you ask me, when it clearly displays CITY beside the bus route number. I thought nothing of this until we got to the final stop, and he clearly wasn't getting off the bus.

"It's the last stop," I politely informed him.

"Oh, thanks so much," was his earnest reply.

I thought nothing of this until I began to check my iPhone because I had just received a message on it.

"Oh, aren't the iPhones just great? I've got over four-hundred apps on mine!" boomed the North American accent.

Trying not to be put off by this sudden intrusion of my own personal space, I smiled, agreed with him and told him that I had only just bought mine. When this was followed by a silence as if he was expecting more conversation, I inquisitively asked him where he was from.

"Oh, a beautiful part of the world called Niagara in Canada," was his overemphatic reply.

"That sounds wonderful. How long have you been in Sydney?"

"Oh, about thirty-five years. Sydney has got no style though. It's a very cold city. Nobody is friendly. Nobody has a smile on their face."

(What the hell did you just say? Did you just insult my city? How dare you!) - At least, those were my thoughts. If only I was quick enough to say something outrageously Oscar Wilde-like and witty. My lame reply was, of course, more along the lines of:

"Oh, well they say Melbourne has style. But comparing Sydney to Melbourne is a bit like comparing New York to Los Angeles."

"Oh yes. I definitely agree. Oddly enough, I went to school in both those cities. There isn't any other city in the world like New York. Anyway it was nice to talk to you. I'm off to the Queen Victoria Building. Goodbye."

Needless to say, I was incensed. How dare this man who I don't even know happily tell me that he hates Sydney and then power walk his way down to the heart and soul of my beloved city and expect himself to get away with it. Let's just say that since I'm not a violent person (and just about to be late for work) I let him go and we went separate ways without incident.

Several things, however, did not seem to add up. He had been living in Sydney for thirty-five years, so how exactly is it that he didn't know how to catch a bus that simply goes over the Harbour Bridge to the City? Secondly, if he had been living in Sydney for thirty-five years, why hadn't he moved back to his "beautiful" Niagara?

When it comes to understanding the subtle niceties of inter-city rivalry between Sydney and Melbourne (for all and any foreign readers), Sydney is the glitz and glam, wham-bam-thank you, ma'am, bronzed Aussie beach surfie, rely on all our internationally-recognised iconic landmarks, sunny weather, big city, rollercoaster road sort of city. Melbourne is the theatre-going, Greek coffee-drinking, floral display award-winning (mainly due to the year-round wet weather) city whose only asset that Sydneysiders really envy is an efficient tram public transportation system. And despite claims to the contrary, shopping is equally good in both cities.

Any Australian will understand this and every Australian, no matter which side they are on, will always do what the Romans do when in Rome - that is, flatter the city they are presently in.

So, what makes this Canadian from Niagara so special? Why does he get to criticise a city use a get out of jail free card?

I certainly don't go to New Orleans and say "Gosh, this place is a dump! Why is all this rubbish here and why are so many houses deserted?" I don't say this for two reasons. One, it's disrespectful to all those who have lost their lives and livelihoods in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, and second of all, it's likely to offend anyone who comes from there.

As a side note, I was actually in New Orleans during 2002 (well before Katrina) and I thought it was a rather insipid and windswept ghost town, but that was during the middle of winter and I was only there for two nights...the jumbalaya was delicious. Not many other people I know get to boast about having eaten alligator stew!

Back to this man from Niagara, perhaps ignorance was his defence, perhaps he thought that this information might be useful to me. But criticising one's city is a bit like criticising one's country, or mother, or racial background. Your city is linked to your past and your present. It by no means defines you, but it certainly has a say in why you are the way you are.

So really, I should pity this man, not be angry at him.

After all, he has been stuck for thirty-five years in one of the most awesome cities in the world and hasn't unlocked the key to enjoying it.

The only thing Niagara has got going for it is a bit of water trickling down a rock.

Faith and Religion: Is there a reason?

A wise (and slightly eccentric) Psychology lecturer, while telling his class of the nature of individual differences, and to whom I was only half-heartedly listening, digressed and briefly discussed religion. My ears perked up. As someone who feels very disenchanted by the faith I was baptised into, any discussion on the merits of religion leave me somewhat cynical. As a result I hardly ever attend my local parish Church - or Church at all for that matter.

Don't get me wrong, the people there are lovely, and my local parish was always rather tolerant of little toddlers running up and down the aisle. It also helped that we had a rather outgoing parish priest who had a bubbly and witty sense of humour. But I always thought that dragging myself out of bed on Sunday mornings to sit in an uncomfortably upright wooden pew listening to bad singing, screaming toddlers and "This is the word of the Lord" somewhat tiresome and unnecessary.

Anyway, where was I? It seems that I have digressed just like the Psychology lecturer...

As he was discussing several religions, he summed up two major world religions in one word each.

"Christianity," he said, "is a religion of Love."

"And Islam," he continued, "is a religion of Peace."

That's all he said about religion before going back to the nature of individual differences, and needless to say it got me thinking. If each of these religions are filled with good things, then why isn't the world a better place?

While there isn't a clear cut, definitive answer, I would venture that the mention of religion in a Psychology lecture of individual differences wasn't as arbitrary as it seemed. Within each religion, everyone (and I mean everyone) has their individual interpretation. If every single follower of every single religion submitted to divine ruling as a collective, with no variation or difference of opinion, then the cogs of social fabric would run smoothly - at least, that is what you'd hope.

If Christianity is truly a religion about love, then why do we see hate crimes against those who facilitate abortions? Within the last two weeks, a medical doctor in the US was shot dead by a pro-life activist all because he had performed an abortion. The Pope himself has made his stance very clear on other issues such as homosexuality, contraception and the problem of AIDS in the African Continent, legitimising some Christians and their beliefs that being gay is a sin, contraception is against the will of God and that condoms increase the risk of AIDS.

The latter of these claims is totally outrageous and untrue (as prooved by our good friend, Science) but what of the will of the woman who may have been sexually assaulted? Does the Pope have the right to say that the victim has no choice but to have the baby that she never wanted, was never prepared for and did not willingly conceive? You bet he doesn't!

And as for that contentious issue of homosexuality - well doesn't the coming of Jesus and the New Testament make that not an issue at all? As far as I'm aware, the main messages of the New Testament were:

Love thy neighbour as thyself; and

Do unto others what you would have them do unto you.

Promlem solved! It's okay to be gay!

And if Islam is a religion of peace, where does September 11 come into the divine equation? When did Allah, through the prophet Mohammed declare that four commercial airliners be forcibly hijacked and used as hundred-tonne projectiles to brutally slay thousands of innocent bystanders going about their routine (and rather peaceful) lives? Nowhere! That's where!

Where am I going with this? Well you've no doubt realised that not every Christian hates, and not every Muslim wages war. In fact, the majority probably don't do either. What is the problem with these situations? Pure blind faith. Unquestioned devotion to that which is not tangiable, not visible, not testable.

Ah! What was that last word? Testable! Something which true science is. While having faith in some things is definitely beneficial - you have faith that the sun will rise tomorrow morning; that you'll wake up; that your kids are safe on their way to school or that you'll pass that eternally-loathed statistics exam you've been cramming all night for - you certainly don't know these things for sure.

Certainly, the sun rising tomorrow morning may even be explained by the sciences of astronomy and goverened by the laws of physics, so you could even argue that this is not faith per se, but knowledge - tested, predicted reliably, repeatedly observable and so on.

Where is this when it comes to religion? Where has there ever been a reliable, testable and predictable affirmation that the world is going to end ever come true? Where is the evidence that it is against the will of God to have sex purely as an expression of mutual love and enjoyment without the intention of procreation? Where is the proof that legalising gay marriage will end the world? If you're going to cite the story of Sodom and Gommorah then I am going to cite the story of Disney's Sleeping Beauty as legitimate proof that the Devil is a woman and should be present at every single baby shower.

It is not faith and faith alone that brings eternal joy, light and happiness. Strictly following faith down to the very last letter is not even possible, due to there being varying interpretations of every single faith on Earth. And many of the strictest followers of faith have brought misery, suffering and death on others.

Conversely, the knowledge brought fourth by science can be bleak and disturbing. Who can honestly say that when the sun at the centre of our solar system runs out of hydrogen, turns into a red giant and completely obliterates the Earth in a few billion years is a happy thought?

As least knowledge can provide us with the answers we so sorely seek to many of the questions we have. It is still a flawed system, though. It can't provide us with the answer to the meaning of life, but the last time I checked, neither can faith.

Reason through knowledge provided by science should be the way of the world.

And if anyone disagrees with me, feel free to do so, because it's just my individual opinion.