I haven’t been very productive lately. I have plenty to write about, but I haven’t been posting because I’ve gotten caught up in this show:
Four years ago ABC re-ran the entire first season of “Lost” over the summer. It was the year I was pregnant and I started watching because it aired the nights Nathan had golf league and I had nothing better to do.
About eight or nine episodes in, right about the time Sayid got captured and tortured by the crazy French woman, I stopped watching because things were getting a little too complicated. Polar bears, unseen monsters and the multitude of interweaving flashbacks became too much for my pregnancy-addled brain and I gave up. There was no way I was going to get caught up in this crazy-ass version of Gilligan’s Island when I was going to give birth smack dab in the middle of season two.
Recently Netflix added seasons 1-4 of “Lost” to their on demand lineup and Nathan added them to our growing list of shows in our instant queue. He had been saying for some time he wanted to start watching the show, but with five seasons behind us already I thought it best to put off getting involved until we retired. Travel, gardening, volunteering and “Lost.” Sounds like a perfect way to spend our golden years.
Well, last week we settled in with season one and all I can say is shit, I’m hooked. We’ve watched two or three episodes every night so far. We’ve formed theories, looked for symbolism and continuity and are going crazy trying to figure out what’s going on with the numbers, that damn hatch and “The Others.” And we have four more seasons to catch up with before the sixth and final season begins in January.
Why do I let my husband talk me into these things? Let’s buy a house with a pool, he says. The coastline of Mackinac Island is an easy three-mile bike ride, he says. Let’s get involved in a show with such a complicated mythology that colleges have created courses to analyze it, he says.
The pool is now gone, the coastline of Mackinac Island is eight miles and I’m pretty sure I’m going to start hating J.J. Abrams before the series draws to a close next year. Hopefully the ride will be worth it.
At the very least I’ll be able to take with me the image of a bare-chested Sawyer chopping down that bamboo.
*Sigh*
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