I’ve never had much patience for sci-fi buffs. Maybe it was the sci-fi buffs I spent my time around – I don’t know – but their (stereotypically) prickly anal-retentiveness over their genre always rubbed me the wrong way.
And so I never really understood the whole “Firefly” thing – especially the show’s fans’ anger over the show’s (I gathered from listening to the tribe talking) sudden cancellation. But working in technology as I do, I heard a lot of complaints.
No. A lot.
Never could figure out what the fuss was about.
Then, last year, I finally fired up Netflix Streaming. And Firefly – a “space western” produced by Joss Whedon – was one of the options.
So I started watching.
And about ten days later, after getting to the end of episode 14, I started looking for the next epi.
And remembering the growls and howls of my co-worker fanboys and fangirls.
And then I got angry. And then just sad and disappointed at the waste of so much…potential.
And I stayed a little of both.
UPDATE: Or not.
I guess it’s karma; for all the times I’ve yanked others’ chains, it’s probably fitting that I not only fell for a April Fools joke, but one that’s been around for a few years.
OK. The universe is at balance.
(Play that joke on me again, and you’ll be awake, facing me, and armed…)