Darren McGavin, dead at eighty-four.

It’s too bad New Hampshire won’t combine its old slogan with what’s on their welcome billboards — with a slogan like “Love Free or Die!” they’d rake in the gay tourist bucks, and maybe be able to afford paving some of those potholes.

South Dakota banned abortion*.

My first thought — are there even any women in South Dakota?

Actually, that was my second thought. My first thought was, “Is Fargo in South Dakota?” And, no, Fargo is in North Dakota. William H. Macy is such a great actor.

My third thought is that with the growing distaste the American public has demonstrated for the religious rights’ manhandling of the GOP’s political agenda, not to mention the distaste that same public shows when the government decides to tell people how best to run their lives (smoking, guns, who can marry who, hey, government — don’t you have more important things to worry about? Like rebuilding Iraq and figuring out why Exxon is posting billion dollar profits while us ordinary folk are getting raped at the pump?), this could be political suicide for the folks who voted this law in (and probably won’t help the nationwide party in the elections in eight months).

*Assuming the Guv signs the bill.

I jotted down notes as I watched the episode because I’m too lazy to write a review. You’ll notice I completely skipped writing anything about last week’s “The Captain’s Hand”, and you probably shouldn’t expect anything on that anytime soon. So, aside for some gripping on some timeline issues, here we go:

Machine landscapers?

Six’s survivor guilt? “Inspiring.” Haunted by Baltar’s Ghost?

Cottle’s bedside manner needs some work - “like hell it will.”

“Here of the Cylon” … first celebrity? Didn’t think their ‘culture’ valued that.

Seduction left as much mark on her (Six) as it did on him (Baltar). Neither of their “ghosts” seem to be a true representative of the way their other truly feels, but rather, how they percieve them to feel.

Sharon is Model Number 8.

Miniseries Six is called “Caprica.”

“One might call it inhuman … oh, right, you are.” Best. Line. Ever.

Anders! Didn’t expect to see him again.

Wasn’t expecting birth until third season …

Sharon Mk 1’s Apartment. Redress of Starbuck’s from Valley of Darkness? Maybe Galactica’s pilots time-shared.

“Don’t go religious with this one.” Ooooh, smashing glass.

Sharon uses Navy slang on Caprica. “Head.” Heh.

Baltar/Six simultalk: awesome!

Vanity plate in bombed out garage: SEXYMOM. Why is that car’s headlights on? Light? Do Cylons need light to see?

“What kind of people are you?”

Cylon fifth column?

Surprise adoption — did anyone else see this coming a mile away? As soon as Cottle got that list from the female Billy.

No Lee. No Starbuck. Barely any Bill Adama. I’m okay with that — good to see Sharon Valerii get some much needed screentime.

“Our people need a new beginning.”

Okay, I do have a problem with the timeline. In Epiphanies, we learn that it’s been six months since Roslin was diagnosed with cancer. Roslin was diagnosed in the miniseries. So, we know that at the thirteenth episode of the second season, six months had passed since the Cylon attack.

At the start of this episode, we learn that nine months has passed since the Cylon attack. Hence, this episode takes place three months after Epiphanies. However, when Sharon Mk. 1 is resurrected into a new body, the “resurrection” sequence is titled “Ten Weeks Ago” … ten weeks is two and a half months, which means Sharon Mk. 1 would’ve been killed after Epiphanies. In fact, she was killed nine episodes prior, in Resistance.

Maybe I’m overthinking this.

Nine months makes sense from Sharon Mk. II’s pregnancy story, though — she and Helo got it on pretty early in the 1st season. Timing’s a little iffy, but it’ll live.

Many years ago I lived at The Colony in Towson. It wasn’t so bad back then, and it really is a beautiful apartment complex, if properly maintained … everything I’ve heard about it after moving out is that it hasn’t been (and I’m glad to be gone). One night, neither my roomate or I apparently locked the front door. I woke up at some point late at night to see the vague outline of a shapely girl in the door of my bedroom, inquiring if I was some random guy. I said no, passed back out, then woke back up when part of my brain clicked in that some random chick was in the apartment. I got up, she was I assume long gone, but the silly-brainless-girl had left the front door wide open — Guy and Tippy were both starring out the threshold at the vast unexplored rat-filled world of The Colony. I closed the door, locked it, and my roomate and I both got a laugh out of the situation the next day (he too was awakened by her, and neither of us had the presence of mind to claim that we were indeed the random guy she was looking for).

**

I remember this the other day when I was folding laundry. How does folding laundry remind you of a promiscuous Towson student entering your apartment without permission, you ask? I’ll tell.

So the other day I was folding laundry in the almost-afternoon. I’d just brought in my laundry from the laundry room in the building. I left the door unlocked. The TV was on, the blinds were open, and all of a sudden my apartment door opened and the lady who I presume was cleaning one of my neighbors’ apartments (there was one of those yellow Saturns with a “Maid Service” logo in the parking lot) walked in, looked up, realized she’d walked into the wrong apartment, and hastily apologized and backed out.

There’s really no point to relating this, it was just kind of funny, after the fact. Truth, my first response when I noticed the doorhandle turning was, “…who the fuck is that?” and I was ready to gear up to shout at some maintenancy guy who couldn’t be bothered to knock first. As it was, I stood up and was trying to tell this poor woman “No, it’s okay, really, it’s okay…” as she turned bright red and backed out apologizing all the way.

**

Speaking of maintenance guys … I had to have a guy come out a few months ago, my kitchen sink kept overflowing. He said it had something to do with the dishwasher, claimed to fix the problem, and left. Unsurprisingly, the sink overflowed again so I fixed it myself … I went to the grocery store, bought a bottle of super-duper drano, poured it down the drain, and the fucking thing hasn’t overflowed since.

Drano - the best plumber known to man. And, I’m sure, to plumbers. Oh, new slogan: “Drano! Now with no butt crack!”

**

(I lived at The Colony from summer ‘99 until summer ‘01).