This is difficult for me to say, and may be even more difficult for you to hear. I've held back, not wanting to strain our relationship, not wanting you to judge me. But I can't stand the lying any longer, it's tearing me apart.

With every fiber of my being, with every breath, with every cell and pore, I hate Battlestar Galactica. It offends me on a primal level. I can't even watch the commercials without suffering a surge of rage. I want every single character to die gruesome, horrible deaths. And I want the camera work -- if such a thing were possible to pinpoint -- to spontaneously combust and rid the world of its jerkiness.

Everyone loves this show. Everyone but me. And Jer. So we console ourselves in our sad condo, muting the Sci-Fi channel during the vast chasms of advertisements between Eureka and Doctor Who and try not to hear lines like, "This baby may be the shape of things to come..." because if you didn't know, "The Shape of Things" is one of my favorite plays by Neil LaBute and now the mental connection will destroy me. Or at least make my head explode.

Why do I hate this show so strongly? Have I even watched it, you might ask? Yes, yes I have. It made me want to squirm out my skin. Mostly I hated the dialogue, plot, characters, and the camera work. The rest was okay.

I know there are things I love that you do not love, and that's all right. But I'm puzzled that I can hate anything this strongly, actually resent its existence, when so many people I admire and respect anticipate its return like a holiday.

Now you know the secret of my terrible burden. I hope it will not affect the shape of things to come.