Lisa: So did this air on TV? Did we miss it?
Me: We might have missed it. We were so sick of the Battlestar Galactica franchise after that last season… Oh look, topless women dancing and making out!
Lisa: OK, I guess it didn’t air on TV. At least not this version. [Several minutes later:] Do you understand what’s going on?
Me: Not really, no. I mean, I’ve got no clue about the virtual twin thing. I think the teens-misbehaving-in-cyberspace thing is meant to show that Caprican society has become decadent.
Me: Which can be a real problem on a planet with only one society.
Lisa: At least the climate is nice.
Me: Yeah. Caprica: the Pacific Northwest planet.
Lisa: Hey, it’s Bill Adama’s father.
Me: And he’s from Tauron, which is apparently the Hispanic planet. [Thinks.] Oh, of course. Tauron is the bull, and Spanish people fight bulls. Get it?
Lisa: Hmm, it looks like all the Taurons have neck and face tattoos. And are criminals.
Me: Make that the Hispanic prison gang planet.
Esai Morales (Bill Adama’s father): This is going to sound strange, but we don’t have flowers on Tauron.
Me: That doesn’t sound strange, it sounds ridiculous.
Esai Morales: When I got to Caprica and saw my first flower, I thought it was beautiful…
Me: Yes, flowers are beautiful. What a pity no one on Caprica ever thought to export seeds and bulbs to Tauron. Perhaps using the same technology with which they import Hispanic prison gangs.
Lisa: So I see the world-building hasn’t improved since Battlestar.
Esai Morales: We Taurons are a proud people, Willy. We work the land…
Me: Yes, we attempt to grow fruits and vegetables, on a planet without flowers. Which explains why we all have to moonlight as thieves and assassins.
Lisa: Oh, look. Eric Stoltz is going to download his dead daughter’s consciousness into the prototype Cylon.
Me: Wait a minute…
Lisa: His rebellious teenage daughter’s consciousness.
Me: No way.
Lisa: His fanatical monotheist teenage daughter’s consciousness.
Me: Oh, Jesus.
Lisa: So the explanation for the Cylon rebellion is—
Me: —they’re angry teenage girls.
Me: Hello, 1-800-TAURON? I’d like to take out a hit on Ron Moore.