Television: Revolution, "Mis Dos Padres"

Don't care, don't care, don't care.

We started the season so well, but it is slowly devolving into a bunch of story lines I simply cannot manage to care about or even give all my attention to. I spent most of this episode playing Bookworm on my iPhone.

We've got Monroe, "captured" by his own son Connor, who has been raised by some kind of Mexican overlord. Miles and Rachel plan to break Monroe out, and then Connor ends up helping by giving Rachel the key. There was other stuff—Monroe kept Connor from getting in trouble and Miles got caught, and then Connor gave Rachel the key. But it all adds up to the same end: Connor being kicked out by his foster father and stuck with Rachel, Miles, and dear old Dad . . . And now Connor is willing to entertain the notion of helping Monroe rebuild his republic. Well, maybe that could be entertaining. But so far it hasn't been.

And Aaron is in Oklahoma. Still no big ball of string or whatever (boo!). Instead, Grace and Priscilla. Remember them? Grace who had helped Rachel develop the nanotech and Priscilla who was once Aaron's wife? Turns out Priscilla has seen the "fireflies" too. Has thought she was going crazy. Bottom line here: Because Grace and the team used Aaron's code (which Priscilla helped write, along with some guy named Peter), the nanotech consider them their parents. That's . . . dumb.

And Neville and his wife continue to plot. But it's their son who makes the move of breaking into Doyle's office in search of info to help close down the "re-education" camps. Yawn.

Finally, we have Gene and Charlie watching some kind of Patriot camp, complete with fences. Gene sees one of his friends taken in and is determined to go save him. He and Charlie argue, etc., so don't care.

There was a mention of Willoughby, Texas, becoming one of the new re-ed camps, though. ::shrug::

And there you have it. A whole lot of nothing much. I'm not sure Revolution will see a third season, and if it's going out like this—crawling like a dying anima—I won't miss it.

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