Josh consumes television and media in large ’same type’ trends. For a while it was all Xbox games…then it turned into Xbox movies and then anything he could find on Netflix On-Demand (a lot of crap, like all of the Die Hard movies in one night). Then he transitioned to cable after the digital switch opened the door to new channels. He started watching the World War II series by Ken Burns, (too bloody for me) and then the Frontline Series on PBS (really intense documentaries about everything from U.S. presidents to the financial crisis).

Lately, it’s been all about ultimate fighting–you know, the mixed martial arts matches that happened illegally on the street but have now gone mainstream. Specifically the really terrible reality show, The Ultimate Fighter:Heavyweights. That’s right: a whole bunch of testosterone heightened men with mixed martial arts backgrounds, live in a house and fight each other once a week in the ring (and sometimes in the house!) Now that ultimate fighting has been corralled, wiped down, and presented to consumers as a skilled sport, any joe blow with some skills is looking to get his foot in the door. Are you a boxer with a whole bunch of tattoos? (Tattoos are practically required to be an ultimate fighter!) Are you a jujitsu specialist who can also tackle someone to the floor in two seconds? Why don’t we put the boxer and the jujitsu specialist in the ring and let them duke it out! YES!

Usually around 10 o’clock I’m tired and cranky but don’t want to go to bed without Josh. Typically, I’ve finished watching something on the Food Network when Josh comes in and cheers, “It’s time for Ultimate Fighter!” And please note that it’s not always the reality show, there have been times when he has stayed up (sort of) until 2am watching Ultimate Fight Matches (recorded in high def straight out of the ultimate fighting capital: Las Vegas). I’ll stumble out into the living room and there’s Josh, curled up around Hobbes, fast asleep while two guys are pounding each other on screen. Occasionally, I’ll go to bed, but often I take the time to snuggle up with Josh and endure a little Ultimate Fighter: Heavyweights.

Two nights ago, we were both exhausted and getting ready for bed. Suddenly, Josh bounded into the bedroom and said, “Ultimate Fighter is on, and KIMBO is fighting!” Kimbo is an enormous, balding, black, bearded brawler from the streets, who has been a fan favorite for the whole season. He looks entirely different from any of the other pasty, tattooed, cauliflower-eared, fighters. We’ve become Kimbo fans. I got out of bed to watch Kimbo. Maybe it’s just because I think his name is kind of cool. “Kimbo Schlager,” I tried out (since we’re still far from coming up with the baby’s name). I looked around: “Kimbo Hobbes,” I said to my cat. She looked unamused. “Let’s name our next cat, Kimbo,” I babbled, obviously too tired to really be up and talking.

The fight was short and unsatisfying. For the first time ever, I was actually watching and rooting for an ultimate fighter. Kimbo scored a few swings and then ended up flat on the mat–a bad scene for a man whose skill is with his fists! “Nooo!” I shouted as Kimbo vainly tried to wrestle his way out of his opponent’s choke hold. It was too late for Kimbo. The enormous wrestler with the beer gut got him into a hold, briskly started pounding Kimbo in the head, and the fight was called. Josh and I went to bed.

I wondered if Josh and Baby Schlag would end up watching Ultimate Fighting championships together in the future since it seems such a BOY thing to enjoy. I mean, I might appreciate an underdog like Kimbo taking up the mat from time to time but I certainly would never watch Ultimate Fighter on my own. Give me King of Cakes on Food Network anytime–or a good cake decorating contest! Even better! Perhaps my occasional foray into watching this absurd show is future research on the tastes of my son. He’ll probably kinda like watching sports on TV, a handful of really bad action movies, combined with really terrible pay-per-view boxing matches. (This is of course when he’s old enough and has watched enough PBS educational shows to balance out the brain melt that cable will obviously give him). Or you never know, maybe he’ll be really into musicals…

Because Patrick Swayze died his movies are all over cable these days. The other night we ended up watching Ghost–which is actually a really great movie! When Woopie Goldburg channels her body and allows Patrick Swayze to have one last slow dance with Demi Moore I started crying. Josh was sitting on the couch and guffawed, “This is SO CHEESY….oh, oops, Mara, I didn’t notice you were crying. I’m sorry.” I was crying largely due to pregnancy induced hormones, but it was still pretty girly of me to be blubbering over “Unchained Melody.”

Chances are, Baby Schlag will hate the movie Ghost. And he might resent me taking him to PNB’s Nutcracker every year (which I hope to do). I can certainly expose him to some of the stuff I like, with the hope that perhaps he might actually like some of it. I can’t believe it: Gender assumptions are already happening and the little guy isn’t even born yet!