Stranded

Last week I was stranded on a desert island. I say stranded, not because we were lacking for resources (there were a few useful bars close at hand), but because the first season of "Battlestar Galactica" started and the hotel cable didn't run to SciFi. What's a geek to do? When we'd exhausted all the possibilities with the Internet (yes, I vacation with a laptop), I came up with a brilliant plan: the nearby casino had (I assumed) big screen TVs with satellite and everydamnthing. Surely the punters there wouldn't mind if we switched it over to SciFi for an hour while the show was on? Actually, three hours, as there were a few specials on before the main event. Brilliant, right?

Fortunately, the dimwitted Pollyanna in me was bludgeoned into submission by a precious remnant of low animal cunning that informed me that being clawed to death by lizard-skinned gambling elders would not be worth the impatience. I had another rum, picked up another book, and managed to wait the extra day to watch the recording at home.

It was worth it.

Vacation was a good break: restful, no sun burn (I use a level of SPF that would block a nuclear flash), loads of books, and no appointments besides dinner and a couple of trips to the gym. Coming back to 40 degrees and rain only underscored the niceness of not being cold and rained on for a week.

And on a sadder note...

I found out that Robert Fagles passed away last week. Some of you may remember that I held his translation of The Odyssey responsible for keeping me alive during a hairy moment with a train-load of football fans in England years ago (you can check that story out here). While I may have had a soft spot in my heart for Professor Fagles for that reason, I also appreciated his translations. They got people excited about reading Homer and Virgil for the pleasure of the storytelling and the language.