Well, it took a few weeks (in truth, a couple of flights and waiting in airport terminals), but I’ve finished one of the best science fiction classics I have on my bookshelf.
“Battlestar Galactica”, published in 1978, written by Glen A. Larson and Robert Thurston.
I got a lot of stares while reading this at the airport.
Before I dive into the book, I want to preface this essay by saying that I never saw the first TV show adaptation; it was before my time. But I did watch the more recent version, and I’ve been a dedicated fan of Katee Sackhoff ever since.
Quick Sidenote: She was Kimberly, the Pink Ranger, in the 2015 short film “Power/Ranger”. Check it out when you can, but it’s a dark retelling.
I’ve had this book in my collection for years and years, but this is the first time I’ve made it beyond Chapter 2. Leisurely reading is difficult for adults, it turns out. While I knew to expect the book to be different from the show (and maybe both shows; I need to find the older one and go through it, sometime) I wasn’t expecting the story-crafting to be instructional for my writing and still entertaining for this sci-fi nerd, all these years and retellings later.
I’ll talk about the Cylons, but there’s something that I want to look over beforehand.
The biggest difference between the book and the show is, of course, the Ovions. Not mentioned in the show (to my knowledge, at least, but I admit that it’s been a minute since I watched it) and taking me completely by surprise, Larson portrays an alien species that, in my opinion, carries two traits that are both predictable and disturbing.
We always expect an alien species to have some resemblance to insects. They’re a diverse chunk of Life and occupy an entire Class of biological classification. Don’t pay attention to me flipping through old science textbooks and trying to recall biology lessons. We rarely see an insectoid alien species that holds to the same vices or virtues as humanity, such as ambition or servility.
Weird take, but it disturbs me that an insectoid queen would be subservient to a cyborg species. It’s a cool idea.
The Cylons themselves were fascinating for more than just their strangeness. Like the Ovions, the humanizing of the Imperious Leader was expected, but his awareness and disgust of it caught my attention. Larson portrayed the Cylons as truly monstrous, yes, but that he included our own desire to see ourselves in a totally non-human species, and thus relate to them on some level, and then showed the rejection of that desire… now that struck a chord.
The show ended with the survivors finding Earth, but the book showed that the remnant of humanity was merely starting their journey. It left me with so many questions for which the show tried to provide answers. I’m not sure I’ve ever accepted those answers, and reading the book is bringing them back to the forefront.
If you’re a sci-fi nerd and haven’t gone through the classics, I recommend doing so and having this book in your itinerary.
After 15 years of a career, I’ve discovered that job searching today is both uplifting and challenging.
I’m happy to see so many companies stating they’re for inclusivity and celebrating individual differences, but so few are open to a middle-aged man with no college degree. It’s made for a vexing morning.
But I did manage to carve out more writing time, with 1,300 words in a one-hour sprint! Progress is progressing.
The evening is looking to be busy with chores and much-needed family time, so here’s a photo of the carport cat:
Always wanted to parody “Moby Dick” somehow, and I saw the opportunity. I make no apologies.
On Monday, I said goodbye to two of my closest friends at the port in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and watched them begin their long drive back to Maryland and Virginia. Cameron and I had a bit of a journey for us, beginning with a bus back to Boston Logan Airport and an eventual flight to Dallas, Texas. From there, I was going to stay one more night before getting onto the Tuesday flight that would have had me at home before 6PM.
Unfortunately, like Ulysses, my journey home would be rife with complications, detours, and small adventures along the way.
From Boston, we had a four-hour flight to Dallas, but that was expected and planned for. I even managed to carve out small bits of time to write along the way. There were hints made that weather was worsening south of us, but neither of us could find out via modern tech; services were starting to go down.
At one point, we couldn’t get directions for our newly assigned terminal and had to walk. I admit that I took a great personal joy in using a device I’ve carried for years: the compass my wife got me as her wedding gift.
Meant to guide me home, and it certainly helped along the way.
But we did find our new terminal, and our plane did arrive. There was a struggle to find space for everyone aboard, but we settled in for the four hours in the air. On our approach to DFW, however, the captain’s voice sounded through the intercom.
“Ladies and gentlemen, there is a thunderstorm hovering over the airport, and we can’t land.”
We attempted to wait it out, circling the city for over an hour, but the storm would not relent. Faced with a growing fuel crisis, the captain explained to us that we would head to Oklahoma City for refueling and, with luck, attempt another landing.
But this storm in Dallas proved to be a monster of its own, growing and growing until it held hurricane-force winds and launched hailstones across the sky. Seven other planes had been sent to our new destination before us, and all were needing fuel. We had trouble finding space to land at the airport, and it was another hour before our tires struck the pavement.
There, we sat. Our plane waited for fuel, and we waited for news.
For six hours.
It was well after 11PM when the captain told us that we had to deplane. Cameron and I struggled with the other passengers to exit the plane, and we were left in Oklahoma City in the middle of the night. We were told that another flight would make the attempt for Dallas tomorrow afternoon. My next flight, the final leg of the journey home, was scheduled to depart twenty minutes after we would land, if we were land on time.
Instead, we scrambled over to the only car rental agency still open, and I snagged us a car for the near-four-hour drive. It was midnight when we had keys. It was 4AM when we arrived at Cameron’s home. We had, by this point, been awake for 24 hours. We traded off small shifts of driving so we could rest, but not sleep.
Once we made it to his home, I promptly fell upon the mattress set aside for me and slept for five hours.
I had to wake up no later than that, as the car was due for Return before 11:30 at the airport. I took a few minutes to go over my bags, change into fresh clothes, and say farewell to my friend, whom I’ve not seen in nearly eight years previously. It was a heartwarming and tearful farewell, and we promised to make an effort to get together again, much sooner.
Upon arriving at the Dallas/Fort Worth Airport, I was making ready to wait the five hours before my flight. I ate, I had coffee, and I checked the flight news.
My Gate was changed four times, then my flight was delayed twice. I kept my family updated, but promised everyone that I would be home ‘soon’.
Then my flight, scheduled to have me home after 11PM, was cancelled an hour before it was supposed to land. I had been listening to other travelers throughout the airport as they explained that they were stranded from multiple flight cancellations and were finding out what they could do.
I could think of only one solution: Driving through the storms that plagued the skies over me.
I had to go through three rental agencies, all without vehicles, before I found one that had an available car. At one point, someone suggested I hire a driver for the journey, but my instincts (and common sense) warned me away from a potential kidnapping. Once I had keys in hand, I started heading east, right as the evening traffic started to dwindle. The thunderstorm raged overhead and before me as I ambled onto the highway, braving the streets of Dallas and its inhabitant drivers.
I had set out from Dallas at nearly 6PM on Tuesday. It was midnight before I finally saw my mailbox and turned into the driveway of my home. My wife was on a business trip, my children staying with grandparents, all awaiting news from me.
I was too tired to call anyone. I sat down in the comfort of my own home and fell asleep.
Today, I’m getting back into my routines and readying for my part of the grievance procedures to get my job back. My family was overjoyed when I called them this morning, happy to know that I was home and safe.
The look of a former traveler ironically exhausted by traveling in his middle years.
The struggle to make it home was more than I had ever expected, but the trip itself was everything I had hoped for, and I did make it home close to my originally planned time. I wasn’t gone for 20 years like Ulysses, thankfully, but I can enjoy the humor in the comparison.
I’m finally home. I’m going to rest for a bit and figure out what my routine is going to be while I wait for news of my grievance procedure.
Stay safe out there, folks. Be safe on your travels.
Let me tell you a story, folks, that’ll give you a better idea of how weird I am.
Step back with me to January of 2000 and my 12-year old self. I was rummaging through a clothing rack at a thrift store, when I came across an old, faded red T-shirt with a large black dog on the front and my birth year on the back.
I’m not sure why, but I took to liking the symbol on the shirt. So much so, that I started wearing it every day that I could. If I wasn’t in a school uniform, I was wearing it.
My small town took to associating me with that shirt and its symbol. If I wore something else in my teenage years (and it did happen on occasion), folks would be concerned. It became a part of my persona.
Yes, all of us became invested in the idea of me wearing one particular T-shirt for several years. Roll with it.
I was about 15 when I learned that the Black Dog was a tavern on Martha’s Vineyard Island. I began a letter correspondence with the family that owned the Tavern and its company, telling them all about how this one shirt made it to Louisiana and became so integral to my public life. They were intrigued, or at least amused, by my antics.
It managed to survive until I was about 19, when the shoulder seams ripped. I had to retire the shirt, and I wouldn’t find another one for a couple years.
Nowadays, I own several, and my friends and family all own at least one.
Fast forward 26 years, and look at the weirdo who has finally made it to the Tavern that gave him so much of his social persona.
I might be a millennial, but sometimes I forget about certain aspects of modern technology.
We’ve been on this plane for nearly two hours, and I just remembered that the thing has its own Wi-Fi. It’s almost comforting to know that I will forget this upon returning home only to be pleasantly surprised about it when I have to take a plane anywhere, the next time.
If at all possible, I always sit just behind a wing.
With that, I have indeed begun traveling to Martha’s Vineyard Island! After meeting up with my buddy in Texas and navigating the airport, we’ve boarded our flight and are hurtling across the sky to a place I never thought I would go to.
I’ve been playing too much Fallout to relax about that formation, but it’s still a gorgeous view.
The Island has been a bucket-list item, but it’s wayyy out of my price range. Thankfully, one of the guys has social connections.
After tearing through a book the first half of the flight (expect a short essay on Battlestar Calactica soon!), I thought to take advantage of the quiet to write and worried if I could save any of my drafts. Then, the Wi-Fi reminder struck.
So, it’s a mad dash to type while I can use this feature!
Stay safe out there, folks. I’ll be sure to upload photos of the trip.
That isn’t exactly difficult; I live in Louisiana. Nearly everywhere in the Continental US is north of my home.
Even though I’m going through the stress of a grievance process, my friends and I had arranged a get-together trip several months ago. It’d do me good to spend some time with folks I’ve known since childhood and haven’t seen in one place for a decade. So, we agreed to go to Nantucket Sound and spend a weekend on Martha’s Vineyard Island.
It might be strange to read, but there‘s a lot of significance with that destination and me. I’ll write about it sometime.
It’s my first trip away from my family in nearly ten years. Now that was a pull on the heartstrings, but I got to tell them goodbye before I left my home for the airport.
And it just wouldn’t be me if there wasn’t a crisis, so of course, I missed my flight!
I should be watching the dawn from my seat on the plane, but here we are.
My alarm never went off because I forgot to take Sleep Mode off, which was set to my ‘usual’ alarm. Thankfully, my wife woke me up and I went scrambling out the door and hurtled down the highway to the airport. Only to miss my plane by two minutes. I got rebooked for the next flight in a few hours, so I’ll be piddling around the building and taking advantage of the mishap to write.
Gotta make the most of what’s available. At least there’s coffee and comfortable chairs. Yes, I’m avoiding the very-comfy-looking couches. The naps would take me unawares.
Soon, I’ll be in Dallas and meeting up with one old friend for the day, and then we’ll be heading to Massachusetts and connecting with the two already up that way.
… I might tell Cameron that we’re camping at our terminal tonight. Just in case.
When you live out in rural areas, you have to expect critters to show up on your property. I wasn’t expecting a stray kitten to walk up and decide ‘this carport will do’, but I came home to find two bowls set out and a starved moron climbing the screen of my door.
Sigh. Maybe he’ll survive long enough to help keep other critters away.
After a couple of days, he’s put on weight and took to staying under the carport, so we made a makeshift den for him.
Meet Baka, everyone. Yes, the name is appropriate. I watched him attempt to pounce a bird and the bird pecked the hell out of him before he ran back to his box.
Swift's Corner 