4 am Vikings
I have seen my fair share of battle scenes. And TV series. I am going to make a shocking statement right now and say Vikings is my favorite.
How can I compare it to Breaking Bad? - which I do think is the best TV series ever produced by the date of this writing. But while Breaking Bad may be the best, Vikings is my favorite. It thrills me, makes me cry, makes me think, and makes me want Jonathan Rhys Meyers really bad.
Yes, people. A 59-year-old woman can still fan-crush on a hot movie star/character. I freely admit I have little chance of ending up in his bed but I can still dream, right?
Actually, let me clarify. I would love to end up in the character of Bishop Heahmund’s bed sporting the physical appearance of Jonathan Rhys Meyers. I want his voice too, please. Is there anything sexier than an Irish male voice?
No. There is not.
Anyway, back to battle.
I have always, sitting in my comfy chair watching warriors slice each other’s bodies open, what must that have really been like? To actually be in a situation like that, needing to kill or be killed. What would be going through your mind?
This episode gives what is, perhaps, a pretty romanticized version. Each character relives recent, deeply meaningful moments in their lives, know this may be their last chance to think about them. Although most of us will never, ever, be in such a situation, do we realize how many of our fore-fathers were? We are only here because they, someone, survived something seriously life-threatening, at least long enough to produce a child.
Very few of us these days has any idea what it is like to literally put your life on the line for anything. And look around? Do any of us have a clue about what the hell we are doing with our lives? It had to have been so blissfully simple back then. No need to ask. yourself “what should I be doing with my life?”
HA! Our forefathers (and mothers, oh hell yes, don’t forget them), didn’t have the luxury of that kind of trivial shit. Their purpose in life was to live one. I seriously respect those people, the ones that survived.
They were bad ass people. At some point in your family history, someone with the same blood (genetic code) as. your’s kicked just enough ass to survive and ultimately produce you.
Cool, right?
As I watch Vikings, in my comfy chair, living a life none of my forefathers could possible have imagined, I feel a great urge to do one of those DNA tests - to find out specifics of my ancestry. I actually already know I have zero Viking blood in me. Damn. But I know I have “British Isles” in me. I just don’t know exactly where.
Oh wait, what the hell? I DO know I have hero blood in me. Or at least, survivor blood! How could I possible forget that ?
My father, John Antico, server in the US Army in World War II. He landed at Anzio, in one of the first few waves. Of his company, 2 survived to fight another day, 2 were captured, and the rest were killed. My father was captured and spent two years in a German prisoner of war camp. He survived. That blood is half of me.
