Oh, How I've Loved Being Lost

I’m going to do something I’ve never done before. I’m going to write about a stupid television show. And I feel a little icky doing it, but this stupid show has consumed many hours of my last six years. Thanks to the wonder of the DVR, I haven’t been subjected to commercials of any sort in years and years, but I’m always a little bit ashamed when I admit I love a TV show. Because I’m a snob.

Freaking Lost.

I’ve watched the thing since the first episode. Only missed one. (Again- the wonder of the DVR.) I was hooked by the previews. A lover of the film Swiss Family Robinson, I have always been drawn to a good shipwreck, or in this case, plane wreck on a deserted island, story. Now, it's almost over and I feel like I need some time of reflection and closure. And what better place to share reflections and closure than on the internet? So here it is: my thoughts on being Lost...

Lost started off rather slow. It was intense, but slow. The first season developed the main characters, including the island itself. The show’s two main characters were Jack, a doctor and a man of science, and John Locke, an invalid miraculously cured by the restorative powers of the mysterious island. Jack was the Scully to Locke’s Mulder. They were science to faith, Nietzsche to Kierkegaard, Han Solo to Luke Skywalker, atheist to believer. Locke never tells Jack he was paralyzed before the crash; he wants Jack to believe in the island. It was probable that Jack would try to rationally explain away the miracle, anyway.

The first three seasons fluctuated between character flashbacks and what was happening on the island in the year 2004. Jack and Locke are the leaders of the motley crew of survivors, constantly at odds with one another. Secondary characters include Kate, a convict; Sawyer, a con-man; Sayid, a former Iraqi Republican Guard with a penchant for torturing people; Hurley, a lovable, overweight guy who had just won the lottery; Sun and Jin, a Korean couple with marital issues; Michael and his son Walt, who have just recently met; incestuously involved step-brother and sister Boone and Shannon; Charlie, a drug-addicted musician; and Claire, a very pregnant Australian who was on her way to give her baby up for adoption. There are other survivors who skulked about the beach being generally useless. Some were later introduced as regular characters, most remained in the background.

Lost had something for everyone. For the girls, there were love triangles, unrequited love stories, love surviving against all odds, etc., and plenty shots of Sayid and Sawyer sans shirts. There was an abundance of weird science-fiction lore for those interested in subjects like quantum physics, time travel, and parallel universes. There was violence and adventure and dark humor (like when poor Arzt blows himself up with dynamite- I’ve got Arzt all over me!) and paranormal activity. The ever-rational Jack begins to see his dead father; the survivors hear weird, unexplainable whispers in the jungle; a fast-paced pillar of smoke picks people up and smashes them against the trees. A man name Desmond is discovered in a hatch. (He’s been pushing the same series of numbers into a computer every 108 minutes for the past three years. Trapped on the island, he is separated from the love his life, Penelope, which is not coincidentally the name of Odysseus’ wife from the epic poem The Odyssey. What happens if the numbers aren’t entered in the computer? Planes crash into the island, that’s what happens.)

At the end of the first season, we get our first glimpse of the “Others.” A group of people on a fishing boat inexplicably kidnap Walt. (It was a shocking season finale.) In season 2, the “Others” are introduced as adversarial island natives, obsessed with children and pregnant women. We have no idea why. Their gang-leader is an insipid-looking man named Ben, who takes his orders from a mysterious and seemingly invisible man named Jacob.

The flashbacks continue. New characters are introduced; new flashbacks are required. Viewers got accustomed to the flashbacks. Reliant on them. It threw me for a loop when the flashbacks ceased at the end of season 3. The season finale shows us Jack in the future, a drunken mess of a person with no friends, no family, someone Kate pities.

I hated that episode. Jack, though a bit of a tool, was at least reliable and confident. He fixed things- his presence was reassuring. The episode left me unsettled, bewildered, and unhappy.

It was a brilliant episode.

The flash-forwards last a full season. In season 5, time is no longer sacred, and the characters left on the island jump back and forward through time, eventually settling in 1974.

Season 6: flash-sideways. After all, there are only four ways to go: up, down, right, or left. The characters are shown living alternative lives. Their plane does not crash. Kate is still a convict. Sawyer is a cop. Jack is still a doctor. Jin and Sun are not married, but want to be. Hurley and fellow survivor Libby experience strange “memories” from the island. Passengers of Oceanic 815 keep bumping into each other, their lives intricately connected in some mysterious way.

Throughout the series, the writers dropped clues through literary, biblical, philosophical, and mythical allusions. John Locke’s name symbolized his fresh start, his “clean slate,” if you will, after landing on the island. Comic books read, books carried around, all of these things were plot clues. What was the island? Purgatory? Pandora’s box? Never-never land? The lost world? Oz?

The show hasn’t been perfect. There have been some ridiculously irrelevant episodes. Remember Jack’s Thailand flashback? And Kate’s flashback- when she barged into a bank to steal a toy plane? (How come that whole incident didn’t come up in her later trial, by the way?) Overall, however, it’s been a very satisfying ride.

Finally, things are wrapping up. It has been a truly existential trip. The smoke monster? He’s the adversary of the man Jacob- an evil entity who can take the form of the deceased (he was the image of Jack’s father), and who can also take the form of an indestructible pillar of smoke.

Before this final season, the only person who had seen the smoke monster was Locke, briefly, in the abandoned shack in the middle of the jungle.

That episode terrified me. Locke enters a ramshackled, abandoned cabin in the jungle to meet up with Jacob. Things get paranormal. A rocking chair starts rocking. Things fly about the room. If you played the scene very slowly, you could see, for just an instant, the image of a man- Jack’s father- rocking in the chair.

Did Ben know the difference between Jacob and Smokey? Did he believe he was taking orders from Jacob when in fact, it was the other one; the evil entity; the Satan character, if you will, he was taking orders from?

It’s all very confusing. However, Ben, who stabbed Jacob to death, strangled Locke to death, who allowed his own daughter to be killed, finally recognizes his empty, worthless existence (as he has driven away every person in his life)- and is forgiven and accepted by Ilanna, a woman who is very close to Jacob.

It’s ultimately been a show about redemption. As the main characters have been plucked off the island one by one, they’ve gone down heroically. Eventually, all of the candidates will be eliminated but one (just revealed to be Jack Shepherd.) In the last episode, Sayid sacrificed himself by running off with the bomb. Jin sacrificed his life to try and save his wife’s. Through their sacrifices, these Lost characters are eventually found, redeemed.

The sadness of each death is lessened knowing they live on in their sideways lives. It’s like believing in heaven; the blow of losing a loved one is softened when you know you will see him or her again after this life is done. Each death is no longer agonizing because it is not an end, but a release. And in that way, Jacob, who has allowed these bad things to happen, seems to be working things out for a greater purpose- a purpose we don’t know about yet.

Ben asked Jacob, right before he killed him, why Jacob had ignored him. Ben, like Judas, had taken everything Jacob had given him and manipulated it, relishing the power behind his knowledge of the island. Jacob did not seem surprised when Ben killed him. He didn’t struggle. Like Obi-wan when Darth struck him down. Like Jesus after Judas kissed him on the cheek. Miles insists that Jacob ultimately believed Ben would do the right thing. In the very end, I think Ben will do the right thing. He will be redeemed.

In the finale, I don’t think Jack will end up taking over for Jacob. Here’s my prediction: Jack’s conversion to team Jacob helps rid the island, and the world, of the malevolent evil that is Smokey. Once evil is vanquished, Jacob is able to rise from the grave, so-to-speak, and continue doing whatever it is he does. Perhaps Jacob will live again in Aaron. I don’t know. Desmond factors into all of this somehow, too. Jack will die, but will live a happy sideways life. Maybe he’ll even reunite with his ex-wife (who I think is Juliet. They met in medical school.)

I guess we’ll see in a few weeks.

My Lost Memories:

Favorite episodes?

First favorite: The first Locke-centric episode (Walkabout) where we discover the island healed Locke’s paralysis. (Tuesday night’s was pretty amazing too, when Jack acknowledges (after pushing Smokey, who is wearing a “Locke suit”) into the water, that Locke told him to believe.)

Second favorite: The one where Desmond goes back and forth in time (The Constant) and cures himself of time-travel sickness by finding his one true constant, Penny.

Least favorite episode? The one where that couple gets buried alive. (Expose.) It added absolutely nothing to the story-arc.

Favorite characters?

10. Hurley
9. Desmond
8. Jack
7. Kate
6. Sayid
5. Juliet
4. Daniel Faraday
3. Sawyer
2. Benjamin Linus
1. John Locke

Only episode I haven’t seen: The one where Sayid tortures Sawyer. And quite frankly, that’s okay with me.

Your favorites? Least favorites? Other thoughts? I know I’m not the only Lost geek out there.

Letter I Wrote to Stephen King

WARNING: SPOILER ALERT for the film The Mist

Dear Mr. King,

I'm upset by the ending of the film The Mist. I get the whole distopian (dystopian?) theme you had going there, but really? The father shoots the little boy in the head? My whole week is ruined. Where was the redemption?

(I DID enjoy when Mrs. Carmody got shot in the head. Crazy women out to sacrifice children getting shot in the head= good. Little children getting shot in the head= bad.)

My husband wants me to tell you that Roland is awesome. He is in favor of Christian Bale playing the part of Roland but I think the guy who plays Sawyer on Lost would be good and should be considered.

I am thinking of persistently e-mailing you until I get an apology for ruining my week. You may be hearing from me again.

Respectfully,

Holly

(I'm a big fan.)

Response from one Jordan Hahn, "Webmaster?"


Jordan M. Hahn to me
show details 12:33 AM (11 hours ago)

Stephen did write the novella The Mist, but he did not write the movie. The movie and the novella ended differently.

The Dark Tower series is not being adapted into a film currently.

Mr. Hahn,

That is true. But the director of the film stated that Mr. King said he approved of the ending of the film and wished HE had thought of it first.

But you are right. Perhaps my anger is misdirected. I will now stalk and harass the director and writer of the script until I get the apology I believe I deserve.

Respectfully,

Holly

MLK and Avatards

Caleb commemorated Martin Luther King Day the other week by writing a short blurb about the civil rights leader. Here is his original blurb and my translation, edited for spelling but not content:

About Martin. Martin had a dream. He had a speech. He made black and white people get treated the same. Someone shot him.

And that’s a child’s ironic view of Dr. King’s life in a nutshell.

***

This past weekend, I read something… disturbing. This comes from the Daily News: Your New York:

“The most attractive part of the movie is the way it whisks you away to a new world, which is hard to do these days with so many media outlets competing for our attention,” says Paul Levinson, professor of communication and media studies at Fordham University. “It really is moviemaking at its best. For 2½ hours, audiences are transported to a strange, exciting place that does not exist around them.”

In fact, some “Avatar” fans, better known as “Avatards,” have become so immersed in the movie that they suffer from withdrawal when it ends.

Chat rooms and fan forums have been full of testimonials from those who say they felt depressed and even thought of suicide after seeing the film, due to a longing for the beauty of the fictional planet Pandora.

Now, I have yet to see this film. John and I opted to see Sherlock Holmes over Avatar this past weekend. And I could almost understand how someone could become depressed to the point of considering taking their own life after viewing, say The Road or The Lovely Bones or Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel.

Have you seen Avatar? And if so, have you since experienced depression and thoughts of suicide? If this be the case, I implore you to get help. Seriously. You need help. Or maybe a trip to the Adirondacks.

Avatards????

Zombified

John called me about twenty minutes ago.

"I have incredible news," he said.

YESSSSS! I thought. He got his bonus and it's, like, really, really HUGE! Snuggies for EVERYONE!

"Natalie Portman has agreed to star in the film version of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies," he said, almost gleefully, I thought.

Well, I had guessed Jennifer Garner for the film version, but Natalie Portman is pretty darn close.

Christmas sure came early this year. (Sarcasm intended.)

Three Funny though Mildly Disturbing Thoughts from this Weekend

The Entrepreneurs

My husband and I are fledgling entrepreneurs. We spent a good part of the weekend brainstorming a novel idea for a brand new game for the Nintendo Wii.

Here’s the premise: it’s kind of like PGA golf, only not really at all.

First, you choose an avatar: any one of a variety of gorgeous blonde models, or if you would prefer, a feminine looking man. Next, you start the game. You are in a posh mansion. Your first quest is to run about the mansion in search of a five-iron golf club. Once you find it, your next quest is to find Tiger Woods within the mansion and begin chasing him while screaming like a looney-bird. If you can catch Tiger and smash his face with the five-iron BEFORE he escapes down the street in his SUV, you advance to the next level which is called “staving off the paparazzi.” (You can use that five-iron in this level, too.) You can employ a variety of different means to stop the SUV Tiger may try to escape in. However, if you accidentally kill Tiger, you lose.

We call the game “Tiger Woods Golf Re-imagined.” It’s a working title.

We think we are brilliant. We are meeting with the Nintendo people early next week.

No Seat for You

We went to church yesterday. We are cautiously becoming involved, but still don’t know the majority of people who worship there. Yesterday morning, I found a comfy pew to sit in while John went off to “powder his nose” before the service began.

As I sat down, the woman on the total opposite end of the pew said:

“These seats are all being saved!” There was nary a purse or a coat that indicated this was the case, and there was a good five feet between my tuckus and hers. Nevertheless, I stood up and said:

“O-kaaay.”

As I walked away she said,

“Sorry, sweetie.”

Just to make things clear: I am not her sweetie.

And who does that? Who tells a complete stranger IN A CHURCH not to sit in a pew because seats are being saved? WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?

Later that evening, I told my story of woe to my friend, Mary. The name of our new church is “Open Door.” Mary rolled her eyes and said,

“Open Door. Where the doors are always open, but the pews? Not so much.”

Like a Virgin

Caleb is singing “Silent Night” with his class for the school Christmas performance.

Friday, after school, he asked me what a virgin was, which brings me to believe that perhaps “Silent Night” is not a children’s song, per se. “Away in the Manger” would be more appropriate. “We Three Kings?” Good. “Silent Night” just opens the door to a world I don’t want to go into yet.

I told Caleb a virgin meant someone who is pure of heart and body.

“What does pure mean?”

“Very, very clean and good,” I said.

A contemplative pause from Caleb.

“Are you a virgin?”

“No, Caleb. No. Mommy is definitely not a virgin.”

Fa la la la la. La la… la… la.

Why I Dig Vampires

In honor of the season I feel compelled to write about a topic of much interest to a broad spectrum of people: vampires. Also spelled vampyres.

I am one of a minority of women who is not gaga over Edward the vampire. If you don’t know who Edward the vampire is, you are probably also in this minority and we should totally hang out.

Edward is, as my sister Mary eloquently put it once, “the ridiculously good looking vampire boy” from the Twilight book and movie series.

I read the first book. Thought it was… eh. I also watched the movie when John was out of town. I fell asleep because it was boring. (Read my review of the book on Amazon here, if you’re curious. Oooh! And give me a helpful vote! It boosts my self-esteem. And if you are one of the majority of people who IS in love with Edward the ridiculously good looking vampire boy, I suggest you not go there.)

Despite my indifference toward the Twilight saga, I will admit that I am, in general, secretly very excited about the latest craze in vampires. And let me tell you why.

Vampires are totally bringing pale back.

I am loving that the objects of people’s rather intense ardor are pasty peoples. I’m talking white as alabaster individuals without a sign of a tan and no desire to get one. Who knows, soon, people could be powdering their face white just as Queen Elizabeth once did. (No one says fashionable like Queen Elizabeth.) It could be the anti-tan-in-a-bottle.

Now if pleasantly plump was to become fashionable as well, I would be just as pleased as punch. 200 years ago, this was the picture of hotness:

(I clothed her... it's cold here in Rochester.)

Vampires, however, seem to be a skinny bunch. Blood must not be very high in calories. I’m sure there is at least one example of a chubby vampire out there, but I can’t think of one.

There are three more Twilight movies to be released and there are all sorts of other vampire movies and shows and books coming out on an hourly basis, so I think there shall be plenty of time for pale to become the “it” thing.

It may take longer for chubby to be the craze, longer still for stretch marks to be trendy, and even longer for people with frizzy hair to be admired. But I refuse to give up hope.

Our day is coming.

Expanded Voltaire Quote

I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it. Unless you're Kanye West.

What happened to Ben???!!!

Warning: This post contains disturbing images of my second born, Ben. Be assured that he is okay; no medical attention was necessary. He is apparently a very poor preschool fighter.

So Ben got in a bar fight last night.

This is what happens when you have five boys running amuck about the house, wrestling and playing with only sporadic supervision. One of them is bound to end up looking like Rocky Balboa at the end of any of his movies.

I slept in late this morning. The latest I have in a long time. So late that I’m embarrassed to write the hour I arose from my comfy bed. When I went downstairs and saw Ben’s face, a little piece of me died inside.

No, not really. Mostly I was grateful I hadn’t scheduled our family picture taking session at Target this week.

It was a bit shocking and I'll be the first to admit that he looks a little hideous. His face is reminiscent of Sloth’s from The Goonies.

Speaking of which, there is a Goonies 2 possibly maybe in the works. I’m serious. Original cast. Cyndi Lauper. The whole nine yards. This is totally the comeback that Corey Feldman needs. (I heart Corey Feldman, btw.)

I’m sure it will be a great success, just like Dirty Dancing 2.

Perhaps Ben can play the role of Sloth's deformed yet adorable offspring...

Musings (musings?) on the death of a pop star

So many people have written to me begging me for my opinion about Michael Jackson and his tragic demise that I felt I should appease their curiosity.

That statement was a blatant lie, by the way.

Two days before Michael Jackson died, Ella and I were singing "Man in the Mirror" (which was playing on the PA) in the children's department at K-Mart.

If you wanna make the world a better place
Take a look at yourself and then make a change, yey
Na na na, na na na, na na na no

This is a true story. So, as you can imagine, his death has floored me, left me bereft, confused, and struggling with my own mortality.

Another blatant lie. It was an odd coincidence, however.

(Michael- methinks you took your own lyrics a bit too seriously and literally. The "changing" parts, I mean. I mean in regards to the way you butchered your own face.)

I was satisfying my own curiosity today googling the results of Jackson's autopsy on the internet. The man, at his death, weighed 115 pounds and his stomach was completely empty except for pills. He had scars and needle wounds all over his body.

If he hadn't died, he would've made an excellent candidate to play the part of a zombie in the future "thriller" Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.

I don't mean to be trite. The whole thing is sad, has been sad for a long time. I do say this, however. This was a man who lied in front of millions of people (just like I did at the beginning of this post! Minus the millions of people bit) about never getting plastic surgery. Did he genuinely believe that we would believe his nose and cheekbones became like that naturally?

If he lied about that, with no qualms, why should we have believed him when he said he never behaved inappropriately around the dozens of boys who stayed at his ranch?

For a moment, I would like to hearken back to the days of my youth, when I was a small fry at the elementary school #37 in the city of Rochester. At my school, there was a store, run by much older and wiser fifth graders, that sold supplies: pencils and what not. For a couple of years, all of my notepads donned the face of Jackson. The young, extremely popular, black Michael Jackson.

Weird how culture permeates our lives and infiltrates our memories whether we want it to or not. Jackson, to me, will always be associated with 2nd grade mathematics.

Those are my limited thoughts on that subject.

When John heard about Michael Jackson's death, by the way, he too expressed his morose, stating, "It's always sad when an elderly white woman dies."

Also, you will notice that I used the word "musings" in the title of my post. I think every blogger should use the word "musings" at least ONCE. Now that I've done it, hopefully I won't feel the need to do it again.