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Sci-fi characters don't watch enough television.

If they did, they would solve mysteries much more quickly. For example, if there is a room full of dismembered humans, a cage full of cute and cuddly critters, and a large, vicious creature roaming free in the room, what happened? The sci-fi characters haven't seen hours and hours of science fiction programming. They don't have the benefit of seeing this same plot (or any other number of plots) repeat endlessly. As a viewer, I instantly know that it was indeed the cute creatures who ate the people, and the predator ate the cute creatures to keep them in check. This was a recent Sanctuary plot. But these characters had not seen Gremlins or the "The Trouble with Tribbles" episode of Star Trek to know that cuddly creatures can be vicious and almost always breed uncontrollably.

In addition, my years of viewing has lead me to understand that whatever first seems very likely and obvious is not the case. The big vicious creature is just too obvious. It must be something else. This applies to life as well. If you're in the forest and it appears that a bear attacked someone, because a bear is present with the dead person, it must not be the case. Instead, look for something smaller, less predictable, like a rabid squirrel.

Sci-fi has a complex relationship to black leather.

This lesson is hard to explain, as it is nuanced and complex. Often, the longer a sci fi show has been on the air, the black leather involved. John Crichton (Ben Browder) on Farscape began the series in U.S. space suit. However, he gradually wore more and more black leather as the series went on until he was completely in black leather by the end of the series. Similarly, Jeremiah (Luke Perry) in Jeremiah was eventually in black leather pants. It is another question how those black leather pants were made in this post-apocalyptic world. In Stargate Atlantis, Dr. Jennifer Keller (Jewel Staite) wears a black-leather fitted jacket, almost at all times. These are all "good" people (if sci-fi teaches anything, it's that it's very easy to tell the difference between "good" and "evil") and also "hot" people. Only good characters played by hot people are eventually wardrobed in black leather (they weren't wearing black leather previously but are costumed in it later). A non-hot person in black leather is a strong signifier that the audience should consider that character a "bad" person.

There are also plenty of "bad" people who wear black leather. While the hero in Farscape eventually wore more and more black leather (perhaps he became badder and badder and also hotter and hotter), the villains or potential villains came decked out in it, such as Aeryn Sun (Claudia Black) and Scorpius (Wayne Pygram). However, Aeryn Sun was also a hot person, not just a bad person. Therefore, the relationship between goodness, badness, hotness, and black leather becomes even more complicated. The Wraith, the first villains in Stargate Atlantis, wear head-to-toe black leather. They're very bad, and not very hot. So I'll summarize this complex relationship with the following equations:

Black leather + not hot = bad.
Black leather + hot = good or bad.
Good + (now in black leather but not previously in black leather) = hot

Mutants can be good or bad.

Popular culture seems obsessed with mutants. We've come a long way from The Elephant Man, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Mask, or The Great Mutato in The X-Files, as mutants have campaigned for better representation in the media. No longer media figures that teach the rest of us empathy and the value of humanity, mutants can now be sexy, beautiful, powerful, and enviable. There appears to be a strong divide between "good" mutants or "bad" mutants, meaning those who use their powers to help others versus those who become crazed with power, but "sad" mutants don't really appear to be pop culture figures anymore (with the possibly exception of Rogue from X-Men). Mutants are now so desirable and hip that people are trying to make everyone mutants, from Mohinder in Heroes to Jordan Collier in The 4400. Mutant powers come from a variety of sources, including the ambiguous "future" in The 4400 who introduced an entirely new neurotransmitter, random genetic mutations in X-Men, genetically born with extra midi-chlorians in Star Wars (making some people seriously force-sensitive), and something to do with the adrenal gland in Heroes. Of course, we're all actually mutants, but given that a large chunk of the U.S. public doesn't believe in evolution and most of the rest don't really understand genetics, we can go with this vision of mutants.

Red blinking lights are generally bad.

There are a few exceptions to this rule. For example, the same progressive red lights on Kitt in Knight Rider were good, but bad on the Cylons in Battlestar Gallactica. For the most part, however, red blinking lights mean a bomb or an evil android. A recent episode of Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles indicated that even those skilled at bomb detection and disarming (indeed, those charged with saving the world) can be fooled into thinking that something with a blinking red light is a bomb. It's a natural reaction. The lights are especially bad if they blink, but even a steady red light should indicate that there may be trouble ahead. If only Dave had heeded the red-light warning about Hal before it was too late.

Most aliens speak English.

It may be British English, American English, or Australian English, but indeed, most aliens speak English. Perhaps this all began because "a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away" many spoke English. Maybe that's where we learned the language from. At the time of the Stargate film in 1994, aliens in the Stargate universe did not in fact speak English. Between 1994 and the beginning of 1997 series, aliens in multiple galaxies had all learned English. Perhaps Daniel Jackson taught them while he was living on another planet or they simply heard Earthlings were coming (just the American English speaking kind) and they wanted to be prepared. I appreciate the effort, especially in such a short time.

Interestingly, the aliens I see via Doctor Who all speak British English, including the Doctor himself and the evil Daleks. In Battlestar Gallactica, they are humans, but human aliens with no contact with earth. True, they speak a frakked-up form of American, but the persistence of this language across galaxies is uncanny.

There are a few aliens out there who don't speak English, such as all sorts of species in Star Trek and in Farscape. Apparently those crews were able to travel far enough to find areas of space that English hadn't pervaded, at least until a wormhole brought Ben Browder and Claudia Black to Stargate Command and the world of English-speaking aliens. Oddly though, the translator microbes in Farscape gave an Australian accent to those speaking, even though the listener spoke with an American accent. What an odd translation quirk!

The tenacious Star Trek crew was able to understand alien-speak via the "universal translator." The universal translator worked on the basic scientific principle of magic. With a click of a button, magically everyone could understand each other and the camera could record English-speak. For the uninitiated, "universal translator" is code for "writers' pitiful attempt to deal with alien communication problems." At least they made an attempt, albeit a sad one.

The influence of English across the universe is amazing and unbounded. With this sort of power, I don't see how non-English speaking cultures here on Earth have any hope.

What to do when I accidentally become invisible.

This appears to be a serious problem in science fiction. Accidentally becoming invisible is very different from becoming invisible on purpose, such as Harry Potter with his cloak of invisibility.
When someone becomes invisible intentionally, usually the person knows how to become visible again. In sci fi, accidental invisibility is usually termed "out-of-phase." When one is "out-of-phase," the person cannot affect the world around her or him. Therefore, eventually the person will die of starvation and dehydration if the problem isn't fixed. This is serious. Somehow, the out-of-phase-ees pass right through all matter, including walls, but do not pass through floors. Physicists are looking into the bizarre properties of floors which make them impermeable to those out-of-phase.

If this happened to you, what would you do? Since I could not affect the world around me, I would not be able to tell anyone that I was still there, instead of the common assumption that I was eaten by a space monster or vanished into a black hole. There seem to be two options in this case. First, I would take a look at the device I was messing with when I first became invisible. I may discover that it has some sort of interface to allow the out-of-phase to communicate with those in-phase. I may be able to see an entire display that those in-phase cannot see. Usually, however, it will be written in an obscure alien language which I do not know. You may want to study up on alien languages in case this scenario happens. The device may allow some sort of direct communication with the in-phase world. In which case, if I can just get someone to look at the device, I'm saved.

In the event the device does not allow any communication, I really only have one option: hope I have smart friends. In general, surround yourself with brilliant people who will be able to figure out and fix the problem should this happen. If possible, make friends with an android. They seem to be good at deduction. Secondly, be consistent and reliable. If you are an unreliable person in general, people will assume you just didn't show up. However, if an otherwise reliable person fails to appear, intelligent people will think that maybe, just maybe, you're out-of-phase. They are your only hope.