Seriously, 2008? what the frak?

In that commonly obnoxious way people can be about this, I am quite pleased with myself for cutting my television consumption down to a very reasonable amount of appointment viewing and sporting events. Thanks go to my wife’s healthy hostility to the medium, and to the birth of a my absolute favorite time-sink of all time, Mila. But I’d been working on this even before, because unlike every thoughtful t.v. viewer I know, the whole genre of hour-long primetime dramas about cops, doctors, or lawyers all seemed like the same contrived rubbish to me. But somehow, to my surprise, I became pretty seriously into Battlestar Galactica last year. I heard enough smart people go on and on about the New Caprica insurrection episodes that I thought I’d check it out -- you know, as a student of history and cultural representations of collective trauma and guilt blah blah blah. And it got me. I have greatly enjoyed this season, and thought that was a fab season finale on Sunday. But seriously, we are now expected to wait until January 2008 for the next season? That ‘s rough, especially as it is so hard to find and keep as viewers snobs like me. I had originally been somewhat hostile to the “reimagined” show. It seemed to me that it was a little too cute to make the Cylons cyborgs, because as I remembered the original show, the Cylons were these clunky, malevolent robots that wanted to kill humans for some odd reason or other. I realize that sci-fi reflects the cultural worries of the moment – runaway technology, civilization ending holocausts, etc. – which are by their nature relative and mutable, but this seemed a bit much. And I will still insist the Cylons themselves in the new series are pretty weak – dressing like ABBA and roaming around their trippy-lit spaceships etc. The centurions are still pretty scary, but what’s scary about Tricia Helfer? I got over that though, and have spend many nights out walking Gryeka thinking about Cylons, and noting the preadolescent absurdity of spending so much time thinking about things called “Cylons.” But there is one things that consistently irks me about the show. If only about 41,000 humans survive the Cylon attack, how come so many of them are journalists? Every time Roslin gives a press conference there is a horde of reporters with their recorders out harping and yelping like a mob of angry dogs. And they are well-dressed, which suggests these are the Beltway, David Gregory-type reporters too. I find it hard to believe that the entire leadership was wiped out in the Cylon attack but the capital press corps survived intact – with their wardrobes to boot. Then again, I am coming to the show late and will have to work my up through the DVDs of the early seasons, in which I hope they explain this.

A trip to Florida

That’s Olga giving Mila her first introduction to the Atlantic Ocean, at Melbourne Beach in Florida on March 1. We went down for a week to visit my parents, who moved last year to the “Sunshine State.” Mila took to the ocean pretty well, kicking up a storm and sticking her tongue out wide to taste the salty air.

Melbourne Beach was the first stop on our trip before heading up to parents’ house in Ocala. We wanted to show Mila the ocean for the first time and visit an aunt who lives nearby. The weather mostly cooperated, and we all got a (very) little bit of color our first day there.

Though we were only there a few days, we did a lot of traveling around. Mila had a blast on the trip because she is generally quite adventurous so far and like to do new things. Olga and I however, being snobs, had some considerable reservations about the Union’s most dong-shaped member, mostly because we don’t believe that strip malls, giant detached homes, and trying to force green lawns to grow where green lawns do not want to be makes sound ecological sense. We made frequent catty remarks about how excited Jean Baudrillard would be about the whole place (so it was a little ironic when we found out later that he passed away while we were there).

Among our stops was Fort Myers, in the Southwest part of the state on the Gulf Coast. One of the conditions of my visiting Florida in March was that I was darned well going to be going to Spring Training. And I did, getting to see the Sox lose to the Dodgers at City of Palms Park.

Spring training ball is really a unique treat, although the prices and the traffic jam outside is vaguely reminiscent of going to a regular game back home. When you don’t have to worry about winning or loosing or the standings you can approach the game like a true aficionado. Bottom line, after watching a 2-1 defeat, is that Josh Beckett looked really good in two strong innings, and our coaches need to get to work with the fungoes we’ve got a lot of work to do. And the one moment I wish I was close enough to hear what they were saying came when JD Drew got a base hit and started talking to our old friend Nomar, who was playing first for the Dodgers. I imagine him saying something like, “If you can believe it, they’ll get worse.” But I hope not, because we gave him a very nice round of applause when his name was announced.

After the game we went down to the beach to see one of those famous Gulf Coast sunsets, which was duly spectacular. Then we had a nice gyro dinner at an outdoor place near the beach, and drove all the way back up to Ocala.