Some news

Again dropping out of character for the moment...

With the intraseason break, has now made all the episodes available in full (streaming, still, not download) at (in fact, you have to click on the "watch all the episodes" link to see "Fallout" -- clicking on the "most recent episode" link, at least for now, gets you last week's episode, "Six Months Ago").

Casting news, with plot spoilers for upcoming episodesCollapse )

I'm at least for now discontinuing the "liveblogging" (since, after all, it isn't actually live). Tonight after work (this means in the wee hours tomorrow morning -- I work weird hours, which is why I don't get to watch the episode "live") I'll post an analysis thread for the newest episode. I do have a question: I'm still wrestling with the format for the discussions. Would it be better if I dropped the "in character" conceit? (I've been contemplating a series of fanfics over the break that would flesh out the Lair and its occupants, BTW...)

Crisis log: "Six Months Ago"

Somewhere under the Dallas Mountains

"Pipes wrapped, check," mutters a figure stalking about The Lair. "Extra tea, hot chocolate, oatmeal, soup... waffles. Check."

He is dressed, it should be noted, in a Trout Fishing in America T-shirt, short-sleeved, and cargo pants.

"Sand for the steps to the cabin upstairs, check. Firewood for the cabin upstairs, check. Clean towels and bathrobes, check."

He is, it should also be noted, not a lone figure this time. A woman is sitting at the table, watching him with amusement.

"You know, where I come from, what you're expecting isn't cold. Not cold cold. And you're only getting a few days of it. Where I come from, houses have to have outside doors on the second floor," she says. "What's coming here is just a chill."

"With freezing rain. And idiots who don't know how to drive in it and think they can still go 80 on Central Expressway," he replies, shuddering, then sighs. "But that's what this place is. Shelter from the storm..."

He shakes his head. "I know I've forgotten something. I can make a last run for supplies tonight. After all, it's still 75 outside now. God bless Texas weather."

"Speaking of putting things off..."

"Yes," he sighs, walking over to the chair by the microphone. He sits, presses buttons, and begins: "Crisis log, transmission ten..."

Spoilers for 'Six Months Ago'...Collapse )

Crisis log: "Homecoming"

Somewhere under the Dallas Mountains

A lone figure (everyone else is sensibly asleep at this hour) huddles at the bank of screens, staring intently at a readout.

"59," he mutters. "I mean, of course, it's 59, I'm in a cave. Still, if it's 59, why am I shivering?" He wraps another robe about himself, takes his fresh, hot tea to a console and sits down, speaking into a nearby microphone: "Crisis log, transmission nine..."

Spoilers for 'Homecoming'...Collapse )
Next week: "Six Months Ago." Be then. Aloha. ("But that was then then. This is now now, sir...")

Speculations on future episodes

A clean-cut man in a neatly pressed, impeccably tailored suit sits at the conference table, his fingers steepled. In the accent generally thought of in America as "British" (what actual Brits call RP or BBC English), he says, "Understand that I have not Mr. Mendez's ability to see the future. All I can do is speculate based on known facts as well as certain... privileged... information. I have been known..." — he smiles tightly — " be wrong in some of these speculations."

"CYA..." mutters a white-haired, long-bearded man, looking at the ceiling...

A third man -- bearded, balding and bespectacled, wearing a T-shirt, cargo pants and an air of proprietorship about The Lair which doesn't translate as much as he'd like into leadership capability -- glances at the old man before turning back to the Englishman and nodding. "Understood. Please continue..."

Spoilers for future episodes, based on NBC's preview descriptions...Collapse )

Liveblogging, kindasorta

Deep in a cavern underneath the Dallas Mountains (you know, the ones behind the skyline in the X-Files movie), a lone figure watches one of approximately a gazillion flat-screen monitors. It has a website open on it; he mutters something about weird work schedules, wonky VCRs and whether prices on DVD recorders are likely to drop any further. The streaming video loads, and he pulls a gooseneck microphone toward him, presses a button, and begins speaking: "Crisis log, transmission eight..."

Cut for 'Seven Minutes to Midnight' spoilersCollapse )

OK, eventful episode. Not too bad. Our storylines are starting to draw together... just in time, by all appearances, to blow up into tiny tiny smithereens next week. But that is the subject of another post...