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Has anybody heard anything about B&C and whether we're making any headway???

Pustiu Training Camp

The ten weeks at Pustiu Training Camp were painful for all the recruits one way or another. Conflict along racial lines was rife – the Sagittarons had long been ostracised by the others, however the addition of the Scorpions had displaced everyone. The Drill Sergeant and most of his staff were ex-Scorpian Military, and they favoured the Scorpian recruits because many of them had been cadets back on Scorpia. The Celtan recruits were completely unfamiliar with military protocol, and often suffered for their ignorance.
The Camp was run by a surly, old Scorpian brute known as Drill Sergeant Malice. Wasting no time that first morning he had bellowed at the recruits assembled before him in the cold dawn light,
‘IF YOU LADIES SURVIVE RECRUIT TRAINING HERE AT PUSTIU, YOU WILL GO ON TO BE STO. YOU WILL BECOME AN AGENT OF DIVINE RETRIBUTION. YOU WILL BE GOD’S ANGELS OF DEATH WAGING WAR AGAINST THE WICKED. BUT UNTIL THAT DAY COMES YOU ARE FILTH, YOU ARE MAGGOTS. YOU AREN’T EVEN GOOD ENOUGH TO CLEAN THE FRACKING EXCREMENT FROM THE OFFICER’S LATRINE. BUT I WILL TAKE YOU, AND REFORGE YOU INTO A WEAPON FIT FOR THE LORD’S HAND. I AM A HARD MAN, YOU WILL NOT LIKE ME, BUT YOU MIGHT JUST LEARN SOMETHING THAT WILL SAVE YOU LIFE.’
His favourite phrase, always shouted at full volume, was ‘NOW DROP AND GIVE ME 50.’ No matter how fast they ran, how high they jumped, or how well they marched, he reminded them that his Grandma could do better.

Rónán accepted his fate and threw himself into the physical side of the training during the first few days – the endless push-ups, sit-ups, the parades, obstacles courses and running in the desert. However during parade one afternoon Rónán accidently drew unwanted attention from the Drill Sergeant; the heat, exhaustion and dehydration had distracted him, and his mind had wandered off watching a buzzard wheel in the thermals high above the desert. The sound of Malice bellowing in his face bought him to with a start, ‘ARE YOU EYEBALLING ME, BOY?’ he shouted. Malice’s face was so close all he could see was the man’s blood shot eyes, blazing at him.
Rónán was still stunned – staring; mesmerised by the sheer ferocity of the tirade, the words tumble unbidden from his mouth, ‘The buzzard is circling…’
Exploding with fury, Malice shouted with enough force to knock Rónán backwards, ‘STOP YOUR BABLING AND ANSWER ME. I SAID ARE YOU EYEBALLING ME, BOY?’
His tongue suddenly free, Rónán says, ‘I-i-i-i…I’m sorry, sir, I…’
‘WHAT DID YOU CALL ME? DROP AND GIVE ME 50 WHILE I REMIND YOU HOW TO ADDRESS ME. ITS DRILL SERGEANT TO YOU, YOU MISERABLE MOTHER FRACKER!’ he ranted, face almost purple now with rage, eyes bulging, and spittle flying freely. Drill Sergeant Malice proceeded to scream at the entire squad for over an hour in the baking, afternoon sun about training camp protocol. When the harangue was finally over, Malice turned to Rónán, ‘NOW DROP, AND STAY DROPPED UNTIL I TELL YOU TO STOP BUZZARD BOY!’
‘YES, DRILL SERGEANT,’ Rónán said and dropped to the ground doing push-ups.
Turning to the rest of the platoon Malice screamed, ‘DISMISSED!’ sending the platoon scurrying to their barracks. When Malice finally came out and ordered Rónán to stop it was long after night had fallen across the parched Pustiu Desert.

Another recruit also ran afoul of Malice early on at Pustiu, and the two became friends through their mutual suffering. William was 19 years old making him the oldest, he had been recruited from Aerilon. He had run away from home at a young age and had made a name for himself as a cat burglar on the streets of Gaoth. His initial popularity had waned because he always stood up for the underdogs and won a number of fights with a group of Scorpian recruits over this. After that he was always in trouble for fighting and it seemed that every tough guy in the camp wanted to have a go. William enjoyed nothing more than a good brawl, so he let them try, and beat every single one of them. William’s mouth had gotten him into a lot of trouble with Malice; however he always managed to make it look like he enjoyed the push-ups and other punishments the Drill Sergeant meted out to him. When Malice assigned William and Rónán as Battle Buddies, he cemented the relationship between the pair. From that point onwards each pair did everything together, so Rónán joined William on lots of extra duties and punishments. Malice informed Rónán one day that William would be the bane of his existence, and the name stuck; William became known as Bane. Bane and Rónán also started sharing a joint each morning on the roof of the barracks, watching the sun creep over the horizon. Bane began to notice Rónán’s ability to predict what the day would bring and would joke about it when they returned to the roof top after lights out each night to smoke another joint and talk about the day.

As the weeks passed Malice added a few new tasks to the monotonous routine. Rifle training consisted of a whole week of learning how to hold, point, take apart, clean, and put back together their rifle – the SMI 80. It wasn’t until the following week that they loaded their rifles and finally got to shoot them. The last exercise was the gas chamber – the whole platoon in a bunker with an open canister of tear gas. Malice made each recruit remove their mask twice, the first time they just had to lift the mask and state their name, rank, and colony. The second time Malice made sure they opened their eyes and took at least a small breath before they were let out of the chamber. The recruits all knew that the following day they would be tested and either die or enter the ranks of the STO.

The following morning the recruits were ordered to pack their kit and prepare to move out, they were told a bus would collect them and take them to the Sanctuary for the Test. Little was known of what the Test would actually consist of, however the penalty for failure was widely talked about by the recruits in the last few weeks of training. The drive out of the desert and up the mountain was tense and quiet as everyone contemplated the lethal test that awaited them. Once they reached the Sanctuary, their bus passed through security and was taken to a very modern building. The bus drove straight into the underground car park as the great metal doors sealed out the sunlight. The recruits filed out of the bus and collected their bags. They were soon greeted by an agent who lead them through a heavy blast door, down a corridor to a barracks, were he ordered them to leave their bags. As they stowed their gear, the agent explained that he would escort them to the Testing Room. As the agent lead the recruits through the large facility Rónán noticed that there were no other people in this area, just computer consoles, store rooms and a few dark laboratories. The place was dimly lit by widely spaced florescent tubes, and was eerily silent except for the hum of the air-conditioning and the echo of their booted feet. No one spoke. When they reached another heavy blast door with a security lock, the agent produced a security card which he swiped, and the huge metal door open smoothly and silently. ‘This is as far as I go – the Preceptor is waiting for you in the lab just through there,’ the agent said and gestured with his machine gun meaningfully.
The recruits hurried through the open door, into a brightly lit medical unit, with a Cylon Doctor waiting for them inside. Its body was a dazzling white under the lights, marked with the caduceus symbol on each shoulder. The Cylon Doctor addressed the nervous recruits, ‘I am the Preceptor. I will be conducting the Tests today. You will each enter a cubicle, remove your clothing and put on the surgical gown provided. Then you will lie on the examination table and wait for me to administer your Test.’

Rónán was kneeling before the treatment table, touching his forehead in the ritual posture, praying. He froze as the Cylon Doctor parted the curtains and walked into his cubical, the red glow of its eye flashing backwards and forwards as it stared into his eyes, sending a chill down his spine. He could feel the cold intelligence of the thing as it inspected him, he cringed in fear but was very surprised at what the machine did next.
Touching its own forehead, it quietly said, ‘Please, finish your prayer recruit. I will return to you in a moment.’ The cylon turned and passed back through the curtain. Rónán finished his prayer and climbed onto the table to wait. Moments later the Preceptor returned, ‘Forgive my interruption, but we have a schedule to maintain.’
‘That’s OK Preceptor, I understand, I was just trying to calm myself down. You made the gesture of the faith before, do the Cylon really believe in God?’
‘I can not speak for all of the Cylon, but I certainly do believe young man. Now, we must commence your Test, I will pray for your success,’ the Preceptor handed Rónán a small plastic medicine cup containing a small, white tablet. ‘This is a chemical substance known as Lysergic acid diethylamide. It will alter your mental state and is known to induce hallucinations and delusional states. For this reason you will be restrained for your own protection,’ the Preceptor stated as it began to apply the restraints to his feet and hands. ‘These electrodes will monitor you heart, blood pressure, temperature, brain waves, and respiratory rate, please lie very still while I attach the electrodes.’ By the time the Preceptor was satisfied with the readings displayed on the telemetry monitor, Rónán was starting to feel the effects of the powerful hallucinogen. Panic rising, his pounding heart pumped the drug through his body, he did not noticed the Preceptor place the Holoband on his head. The last thing he remembered was the dazzling white face of the Angel holding his hand gently and whispering to him, ‘Fear not Rónán, God is with you.’

He regains consciousness slowly through a haze of agony, he is bound hand and foot, and blinded in one eye by what he thinks is his own blood. His head is swimming – he remembers the Redshirt hitting him with the butt of his rifle, and then waking up here. A foot turns him over roughly, ‘Good he is waking up, time we had a little chat with our friend,’ he is hit by a bucketful of cold water and hauled into sitting position. A bright light is shone into his good eye, ‘Righto you. We caught your lot trying to blow up the gaol and release the Celtan rebels. The rest of them admitted their part in it and were executed,’ he hears the gun being cocked and feels the cold metal of the muzzle being pressed against his head. ‘How about you?’
‘Aye, it’s true. For the One True God knows all and directs us all,’ Rónán says waiting for the bullet that will kill him.
Instead someone kicks him in the stomach, making him double up in pain. He vomits and is racked with more pain. ‘We’re not quite ready to kill you yet, you filthy monad piece of shite. You know where the Celtan rebels leaders are holding out and you’re going to tell us.’
Rónán tries to speak clearly through the pain, ‘For the One True God knows all and directs us all,’ he gasps.
‘I thought as much, we know who you are boy. We came prepared; tell us where the Celtan rebels leaders are holding out or we will execute your entire family. Your mother, your brother Seán, and sisters Siobhan and Eilis are being captured as we speak.’
A radio is bought into the room and Rónán soon hears his mother’s voice, ‘Rónán, it’s me, whatever happens, tell them NOTHING!’ there is a cry and the sound of men laughing, then the crackle of radio static.
‘You will tell us what we want to know, or they will all die. NOW!’
Rónán takes a deep breath, silently praying for his family he says in a loud clear voice,’ For the One True God knows all and directs us all.’
‘Do it lads’.
The crackle of the radio is interrupted again, ‘GO, GO, GO.’
The screams of his family soon mingle with the sound of machine gun fire, and then static. He closes his eyes and continues to chant the words, waiting for the inevitable bullet that would kill him. Rónán was surprised at how calm he actually felt now that he knew this was the end…

The Preceptor watched the feed from Rónán’s test, pleased with how he handled the simulation, he marks the file ‘TEST PASSED’, before moving onto the next recruit.

All, a few months ago we ran a teaser video called BearTrek which is but a tidbit of the efforts put forward by Chris Morgan, (who is incidentally a bear biologist)...& Wildlife Media who are on an urgent quest to save endangered Bear species around the planet.

These people are on a truly noble quest.

Bear McCreary has lent his music to the developing film that is being produced out of all this which has added a decidely Battlestar element.

Thankfully, Bear turned these great folks onto me & here we are, please watch the next videos where Chris Morgan explains how they got together with Bear....the teaser trailer....and the 20 minute or so full length trailer....I think you will come away from this truly impressed  & thoughtful...

With that please take a look at the teaser trailer:..

And of course this 20 minute or so presentation of the the longer trailer...

BEARTREK Demo Reel SD from Wildlife Media on Vimeo.

I think that you will all be moved by this...I don't think anyone can't help but be moved by this...& you know what?

This is our future, we must take steps now...life is so precious on this planet & once removed from it, whole species cannot recover.

It's like pulling a card out of a "house of cards"...you keep on pulling & eventually the house caves in.

WE are on the ecological chain of survival...so when is our card going to come up?

Think about that...think about the films...go to http://wildlifemedia.org/ give what you can & make this film be fully realized & let it carry your message with it...

So Say We All!

BEFORE THE WAR - Part I

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Data File – History of the STO/The Reformation of the Church/The Hibernian Alliance

The original Celtan settlers came to Hibernia, Virgon’s moon, hundreds of years ago seeking independence from the Virgoan monarchy. For most of those centuries they were ignored because despite its breathable atmosphere, Hibernia is a harsh, cold moon. The Celtan people live in large extended families, known as clans. Each clan tends small herds of sheep or cattle, and grows herbs and vegetables. Although they live simply, they are not anti-technology like the Sagittarians. There were a number of Virgoan monarchs over the years who sought conflict with the Celtan settlers. The Virgoan military, known as Redshirts for their scarlet uniforms, were always met with the same steely resistance by the Celtans. However, the tribes knew that they could not resist the invading Redshirts with a few guns and farming tools forever.

Like most of the Colonies, Celtan people believe in a polytheistic pantheon, however they see each of these deities as an expression of a particular set of qualities found within the Divine. This shared belief in monotheism led to an alliance between the Church and the Celtan people. The chieftains of the clans reached a desperate agreement with the STO shortly after the Reformation; the STO would provide the Celtans with Cylon warriors who could hunt indefinitely through the freezing Hibernian nights and never feel the cold, and in return the Hibernians would send the eldest child from each family to join the STO training camps on Gemenon. Similar alliances were struck with resistance groups on Sagittaron, Scorpia and Canceron, greatly swelling the ranks of the STO, and leading to the creation of the STO boarding School on Gemenon.

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Chapter 1

The bright, red eye flashes back and forth in the darkness of the freezing Hibernian night. The machines body armour is the dappled white and grey of snow camouflage, perfect for blending into the Hibernian wilderness. The STO agent gestures at the sleek machine, addressing the chieftains of the clans he says, ‘A Cylon Commando typically operates alone or in a small group. It has all the assault capability of the earlier Cylon Marine model; however it is also a surveillance and reconnaissance unit. They have proven capable of covering large distances in jungle and desert terrain, and have been specially modified for deployment on a frozen moon, such as Hibernia.’ The machine performs a demonstration; attacking a series of moving robotic targets on a rocky hillock just outside the town.

The chieftains watch the demonstration with awe, murmuring amongst themselves. The mobility, accuracy and intelligence of these killing machines will surely give the Celtan resistance the advantage over the Virgoan invaders. Although they all agree the price is too expensive by far, they know that this is the only future for their people. ‘We thank ye for this little demonstration Mr Sinclair,’ says the spokesperson, a large dark haired Celtan chieftain, ‘You’ll forgive me for saying so, but the price you ask is extortionate. No, don’t mistake me Mr Sinclair, you’ll get our youngens for your training camps,’ the chieftain says, his anger plain. ‘Their sacrifice will protect our way of life, they understand what will become of them, and have all sworn an oath to fight for the One. My son, Rónán, is the eldest, he will look after them.’

The group of children are bought to the old transport starship docked on the edge of the town near the demonstration site. Odin watches them approach, steeling himself to stoically meet the gaze of the chieftain, Owain. The man’s anger is a palpable thing, but his restraint is admirable – Odin respects him greatly. These Celtans will be a valuable addition to the growing ranks of the STO training camps. Odin personally recommended the Celtans to the Blessed Mother, his own Father had once told him stories of their ferocity in battle and that they were stout believers in monotheism. Through the time he had spent in negotiations with the chieftains of the clans his respect for these proud, independent people had grown enormously, and he smiles now as he watches the quiet efficiency with which the older children herd the younger ones into the transport, stowing them and their gear safely, before taking their own seats. The naturally charismatic and friendly Hibernians would also help to mediate between the now diverse membership of the STO. Similar deals had been struck with peoples on Gemenon, Sagittaron, Canceron, and Scorpion. The alliances were so successful that the Church had created a school to house and train all of the children too young to enlist. He faces the Chieftain, ‘Thankyou Owain, your people will not regret this.’
‘Take your hostages and been gone, lad. Leave us to our grief,’ he spits at Odin’s feet, turns and walks over to the waiting Cylons. Owain begins to give instructions to the Cylons about their mission to hunt down the Redshirts and to protect the Celtan settlers. The transport takes off and is soon lost in the stormy Hibernian night.

The Cylons listen to their orders and respond in unison, ‘By your Command,’ before also disappearing into the darkness.

As Owain approaches the town hall, the sound of the howling wind is replaced by the wailing of the women. The price of their freedom will forever change the Celtan people; he hopes that the other chieftains were right.

Odin gives the order and the pilot engages the engines for take off. Despite the age of the transport it flies relatively smoothly through Hibernia’s stormy atmosphere. Once the ship has cleared the storm clouds and levelled off the pilot begins the FTL drive preparations for the jump to Gemenon. Odin decides to go and check on the children, unsure if they have experienced a FTL jump before. He sees the boy Rónán sitting at the front of the group of children, he looks young for sixteen, but Odin is pleased to see that he is putting up a brave front for the younger ones. ‘Listen up children! Can anyone tell me what an FTL jump is?’ he asks them. After a moment’s hesitation, a number of the children raise their hands tentatively. Odin points at one of them.
The young boy answers eagerly, ‘FTL stands for Faster Than Light; an FTL jump allows a starship to travel really, really long distances through space, just like that,’ he says as he snaps his fingers. The other children nod in agreement with the boy’s response.
‘Excellent answer, very well said. Well we are about to make an FTL jump to Gemenon in a few moments, its perfectly safe, but can be a little bit scary at first. Just stay in your seats and relax, we will be at the Sanctuary on Gemenon before you know it,’ he says with what he hopes is a reassuring smile. He takes his own seat next to the boy Rónán as the pilot’s voice announces the jump. There is the familiar, yet disconcerting sensation of space folding and then it is over, they should now be in orbit far above Gemenon. ‘This is it children, your new home, Gemenon.’ The children murmur their excitement at seeing the beautiful, red planet as night steals across the visible surface. ‘We are now entering Gemenon’s orbit, and will be landing near the Sanctuary soon. Most of you will be going to the Revered Mother’s school, however,’ he pauses as he reads from the list he holds, ‘Rónán, Micheál, Hannah and Áron will be coming with me to the Pustiu Training Camp. I want everyone to grab their bag now and be ready to fall out when we touch down on Gemenon’. The children quickly grab their meagre possessions and return quietly to their seats.

Returning to his seat Rónán takes a deep breathe and lets it out slowly in an effort to calm down. Got to be strong he chides himself, although he can feel the sting of tears in his eyes. He glances furtively around at the other children to see if anyone saw his moment of weakness, but realises that they are too caught up in their own grief to notice his. He remembers his Father’s words in the moments before they left Hibernia, ‘Rónán, you’re the eldest lad amongst them, if you’re strong, they will feel safer. It’s time for you to be a man now.’ Rónán steels himself to set an example for the others, and to show this man Odin what it means to be a Celtan.
Odin leans in and says to him quietly, ‘When we dock on Gemenon there will be a bus waiting for the children to take them up the mountain to the School. I need you and the other three to organise the children like you did back on Hibernia. The Blessed Mother will have sent one of her Holy Sisters to take charge of them.’
Rónán nods his head, ‘Yes, sir’.
‘Good, once we have seen the children off, the five of us will hike into the desert to the Training Camp. It will be night, so the temperature drops pretty low, however I can’t see you kids having any trouble with even the coldest nights here on Gemenon.’
‘No, sir,’ Rónán says with a shake of his head.
‘Just call me Odin, kid,’ he says and claps him on the shoulder.

The transport lands at a remote airstrip in the foothills where they are met by a school bus. Waiting there is a young woman wearing the habit and veil of a Holy Sister, her pretty face and hands the only visible parts of her body.
Once the ship has landed and the airlock is open, the children are ready in a double file line, boys and girls paired roughly by age, each holding a small bag. They exit in an orderly fashion and reform in front of the Holy Sister. Under the spot lights the sister’s eyes gleam, they are an unusual shade of blue, so dark that they look purple. Rónán meets her gaze, remembering the words his mother instructed him to say, ‘Good evening Holy Sister, these are the children of Hibernia, come to dedicate their lives to the service of the One’. Rónán is captivated by her extraordinary eyes; he feels an image building in his mind, but tries not to be distracted by his ‘imagination’ on this important occasion.
‘Welcome children, I am Mother Aurelia, the Principle of the Sanctuary of Artemis,’ more quietly, she says to Rónán, ‘Close your mouth boy or you are liable to start catching flies in there.’ Addressing the assembled children again she says, ‘Please climb on the bus over there and we will drive up the mountain to the Sanctuary.’

As the children climb into bus, Rónán makes a hasty retreat, embarrassed at being caught daydreaming already.
Odin passes him on his way over to speak to Mother Aurelia, ‘They’re a good bunch, guess there is something to be said for bringing kids up in the country. Send my thanks to the Blessed Mother Aurelia.’
Aurelia draws a sealed letter from her robes for him, ‘Her Blessed Reverence also sends her thanks to you Odin,’ she says with a smile as she turns and climbs onto the bus. The engine coughs into life, and the bus has soon disappeared in a cloud of red Gemonese dust into the darkness beyond the airstrip’s lights.

Odin gathers the small group together to brief them on the next leg of their journey. He lights a joint, takes a few liberal puffs, before passing it to Rónán, ‘OK recruits, we hike into the desert now, it’s roughly 4 hours from here to the current location of the Training Camp. This is known as the Pustiu Desert, it is a vast trackless waste, riddled with caves and full of poisonous or otherwise hostile creatures. If you survive ten weeks of basic training here, you will go on to become STO. Your training begins now!’ The transport ship has also taken off by the time the small group are ready to head out into the eerie dark of the desert, silent now except for the howl of the wind.

Via - Edward James Olmos on Twitter

Everyone, a few thoughts I wanted to share with you all about the importance of community & respect for one another.

In my view, this organization exemplifies the best that is brought out in people.

We have members that span the globe, from all different walks of life & cultures...but come together in common cause because of not only a passion for Battlestar Galactica but also for the sense of THE community.

If you look at our world from space, you don't see the lines that are drawn on a map or a globe...it is one earth and one people who live on it.

You will sometimes hear me refer to everyone as my "Brothers & Sisters"...but isn't that a true phrase?

We are all brothers & sisters within the human race.

I have found that Science Fiction fans...perhaps even most especially Battlestar Galactica fans (because of the story's mythological foundations)...are truly the most tolerant and understanding of people.

I think though that the reason why sci-fi fans are the way they are is because of the fact that they have an open minded framework of thinking...they believe that there is something more than just us here on this small world...so in that respect they must be accepting.

Wouldn't you say being accepting of your own kind is prepatory to you accepting a being from another world?

I think I would.

The man from Boston must accept his brother from Berlin who must accept his brother from Benghazi who must accept his brother from Botswana....well, you get the general idea.

You know, there are plenty of "bad" people in the world who do "bad" things...that's an accepted fact, unfortuantely it happens all the time...but what gets lost in the shuffle of the news cycle is the fact that there are much more good people in this world than bad ones.

Overwhelmingly there is more good.

We come in many colors, we come speaking different languages, we come from different cultures, we have different political & religous beliefs...but that is the spice of life & everyone should be happy that not everyone looks, behaves or believes the same things...wouldn't things get just a little boring?

The point is that we have a lot to teach each other and all we have to to do is reach out to one another to do it!

The internet...people take it for granted....but what a marvel to know that when I finish this, people can instantly read it around the world from Anchorage to Atlanta to Athens to Ankara...

Just consider the United States....it's a vast melting pot of people from all over the world!

I think that almost every nationality in the world is represented in the U.S.

How many people are of say Irish heritage...Italian....Russian?

Or sometimes of various nationalities?

I'll give you an example, myself!

Despite my very Irish sounding name (which it is)...surprisingly my heritage really hasn't much Irish in it unless you go back a couple of hundred years...My ancestry consists of the aforementioned Irish, but also includes German, Native American, Spanish & Arab...wow, I'm like a walking United Nations!

The point, the BIG point I'm trying to make is that we are truly one world & one people and hopefully someday soon more & more people around the world wake up to that message...I think a lot are, we just need to wake up a few more!

Do good & do no harm to your fellow citizen of the world & listen here to the words of Edward James Olmos at the United Nations making a passionate case for all of us...the citizens of that bright & shining planet we call...Earth.

SO SAY WE ALL!

For all you folks who dig the music of Queen & all you folks who dig the music of Bear McCreary...I hope you are in the Los Angleles area on November 9th 2011!

There will be a special Freddie Mercury Tribute Tribute Concert celebrating Freddie & Queen while raising money for a very noble cause!

The lineup is:

Lead Vocals: Brendan McCreary (Frontman for Young & Beautiful in a Hurry)

Guitar: Brendan Small (Frontman for Dethlock)

Piano: Bear McCreary (Composer Battlestar Galactica & The Walking Dead)

Guitar: Mike Keneally (Frank Zappa, Steve Vai)

Guitar: Rick Musallam (The Roots, Gwen Stefani)

Bass: Pete Griffin (Zappa plays Zappa)

Drums: Gene Hoglan (Dethlock)

Backing Vocals: Raya Yarbrough (Battlestar Galactica) &

Felice Hernandez (Pretzel Logic)

November 9th 2011 at 9pm

The Roxy Theater, Los Angeles CA

All ages $35.00

Buy your tickets here!

Be there!!!!

We must always remember the brave men and women in uniform, military and first responders, who put themselves in harms way every day. They deserve our respect, our thanks and our support. They truly make this the land of the free and the home of the brave.

On this solemn day, I call upon all members of the Battlestar Galactica Fan Club to honor the victims of 9/11 in a profound way.

In respect to their memory please do what you can to help those among us who are the most helpless of all...the children.

UNICEF is a United Nations agency established to help bring food, clothing & shelter to kids in need around the planet.

I think we can all pick up a newspaper or read a story online everyday about the various & pervasive crises that occur everywhere....from the horn of Africa to war torn Libya and beyond.

Honor those who perished with the greatest gift of all to the children...a chance at life.

Here is an interesting site for BSG sound clips.

http://www.hark.com/collections/yzdchsjnxp-battlestar-galactica

This is the score that was playing in the background of the Apocalypse video.

Creative fan made clip - Classic BSG.

Apollo Launches his Vioer after Starbuck and Boomer, then something strange happens. Dig The "Turbo" Button lol

Richard I'm sure you'll get a kick out of this as well. Looks like the Outer Limits or Twilight Zone hit you and the Galactica buddy. Anyway Shawn and I thought it would be great to post it for a funny.