I was watching Firefly on television. It’s a short-lived science fiction series that ran a single 14 episode season before it’s producers decided to tank it. A fan groundswell rose up about it, the show was a little like Star Trek in that it had some very vocal and supportive watchers. But unlike Star Trek, Firefly wasn’t picked up again. Somewhere, someone bought the rights from someone else or something like that, and a movie was made to continue the Firefly legacy. The movie was titled Serendipity, ostensibly because whoever owned it wasn’t coughing up the name. In spite of the fact that all 14 episodes are fully available to me on HuluPlus, I elected to watch it anyway on TV in spite of it being laden with commercial breaks. Now, Firefly has really very little to do with much of anything here, but it caused my addled brain to consider the cold I’ve been mucking with for the past couple of weeks. The genre bending Firefly set the stage for that thinking. They call it “genre bending” because it is a fusion between futuristic, post-apocalyptic space operas and good old fashioned western horse operas. Anyway, the original series was brought back for another go with Science Channel viewers.
So there I was, watching Firefly with a can of Coke in one hand and a Ciprofloxicin tablet in the other thinking about the skirmish about to be waged in my innards. The antibiotic was like Firefly, jumping into the deep space of my inner me, armed and ready to do battle with the evil zombies pillaging the outskirts of my life force. I was pretty sure, that unlike Firefly, no hot looking chicks were involved. Instead, it was I who was the distressed, requiring the rescue efforts of the brave antibiotic team. The carbon dioxide of the Coke caused me to burp, nearly causing a wormhole to open in the fabric of my esophagus, threatening to expel my strike team. But the pull of the black hole which is my stomach saved the day, and the AntiBios, which I’d named just nanoseconds earlier, was swept with gravitational alacrity into the center of the singularity. In other words, I swallowed.
What followed was a melee of galactic proportions. The AntiBios split up, and using ambient leucocytes as cover, managed to infiltrate and take up positions throughout the zombie stronghold. At a prearranged signal, which by the way was never shared with me in spite of my being the host of the war, was given and the AntiBios unleashed their broad array of really cool space weapons and began to decimate the zombies. Just as it was getting good, everyone had to stop and listen to a few commercials. That’s what happens when you base daydreams on television programs. First was a message about a remarkable male enhancement product aimed at the 12 billion American men who swore to their doctors they had ED when in fact they were just wanting to cheat on their wives with young, exuberant ladies. Then came a mattress commercial that explained how their mattress was better than the ones made of some kind of “soft stuff.” It caused me to wonder if I’d had mattresses all wrong because I kind of liked the idea of a mattress made of some kind of soft stuff. Then a guy showed me a sad and lonely looking little girl of unknown heritage making her way along a streetside sewer, apparently in search of an education if I understood the guy correctly. Anyway, he said that I could not only send this girl to school, but could feed and clothe her as well. Since the guy was decked out in L.L. Bean explorer gear, I figured he was rich enough to cover me this time and help the little girl himself and then had to wait through trailers for the programs When The Earth Was Destroyed and it’s sequel How The Earth Was Made Before It Was Destroyed before I could get back to the action inside me.
Right at that moment, my wife came in and asked me if I wanted anything to eat, which caused my mind to go in an altogether different direction. I considered the various foods stored in our larder before settling on a cheese and tomato sandwich. An afterthought, I asked my wife for a glass of milk. Good sport that she is, my wife went off to construct my food and I tuned back into my gut. The credits were playing and I realized with a sigh of disappointment that in my fascination for nutrition had cost me the thrilling conclusion to the show. So I sat back and tried to concentrate on discovering if I felt any better. That would at least tell me who won the skirmish which, I’m sure, was filled to the brim with really unbelievable special effects. But the truth was that I really didn’t feel any different, aside from the gas bubble from the Coke which I’d swallowed leaving me feeling a bit bloated. Obviously, that would not be any help at all. In the end, I watched the end of the Firefly episode only to have my cheese and tomato sandwich arrive. By the time I’d said my thank yous and congratulated my wife on her fine culinary skills, I realized that I’d missed the thrilling conclusion of the science fiction show on television.
I sipped my milk and nibbled my sandwich and read the pill bottle that the Ciprofloxicin came in. I noticed that it said to avoid dairy products and acidic foods for four hours when taking the antibiotic. I looked at my cup of milk and the sandwich clamped in my mitts and said “Oops.” And I began to wonder why it was bad to mix the drug with those foodstuffs.
The AntiBios were moving into place, when suddenly an avalanche of giant curds were hurled at them from an unseen force…