Forever Lost On LOST

I have been a loyal and religious follower of LOST since the very first episode. Not only have I seen every single episode but in many cases I’ve seen them twice – including the episodes with the helpful tickers at the bottom of the screen. And yet. I remain as clueless as the day I wandered onto the island – I guess it isn’t done with me yet.

By the time the season finale airs, I will probably be sitting in the corner of my living room singing the greatest hits of Boxcar Willie and eating my own hair.

It has been 6 years of unending; reality altering questions. Are the writers looking for US to write the ending? Is that why we have 16 different threads going at one time? It’s like participating in a weekly Rorschach test for an hour – sometimes Locke looks like the devil sometimes it’s Jacob. Lets just recap very quickly what we know:

(1) There have definitely been some psychological experiments taking place as we have learned more about the Dharma Initiative.
(2) Women can’t seem to stay pregnant on the Island (except for Claire who is mentally unstable and in need of a bath)
(3) People seem to be cured of illnesses and handicaps and in some cases brought from the dead – honestly??
(4) The Island moves – no less – by the use of a really big wheel located in an icy tundra (now its starting to piss me off).
(5) Jacob annoyingly answers a question with a question which makes me want to fly into the TV and pluck out his eyes.
(6) The “Smoke Monster” aka “Locke” can kill people – how you ask?? Smoke inhalation….just by being scary…what is he DOING exactly?? Just the fact that I am talking seriously about a show with a “smoke monster” makes me feel like an moron.
(7) Everyone is time traveling and have somehow come to the conclusion that if they set off this atomic bomb they found on the island, then they can reset time. (I now realize that I am the biggest freaking idiot and I should have all sharp objects removed from my vicinity).
(8) Everyone lives in an alternate reality but only Desmond is aware of it – however, in this alternate reality he has located the other main characters and is “waking them up” to this fact. (FYI – I think I am beginning to lose all sense of cohesion in my life. I have started writing “Worm Holes For Dummies” but I keep getting hung up on the part about worms being asexual).
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Cereal By The Silo

The amazing thing about food is that when it’s bad – it WILL let you know.

Ang and I are weekly shoppers. We have tried to adopt a more European way of living that includes fewer work hours, more play time and a “no more than 10 bags at a time” grocery trip. We do not shop at Sams or Super Walmart – “stocking up” is not in our vocabulary as we no longer feel the need to prepare for a Mayan size disaster where cereal and pickles need to be purchased in drums and wheeled to the car on a dolly. We’re willing to roll those dice.

I woke up early one morning to find Ang standing in the kitchen with a mixed look of horror and disgust on her face. Her arm was outstretched to keep the fuzzy gray thing she was holding as far from her body as humanly possible.

“What the hell is that??” I asked.
“I’m not sure – you didn’t find an old dead possum in the yard and put it in the pantry for some reason did you?”
(Big-eyed and blinking) “Um…..No. I can’t believe I even need to answer that.
“Okay, miss grumpy I was just making sure.”

Against my better judgment, I took the “alleged carcass” from Ang and tried to uncover it’s true identity – as it turned out it was just a very old and forgotten, loaf of bread. Nature’s Own…to be exact. It is for this very reason that we try to shop within our capacity to consume such items in a timely manner. Waste not, want not.

I’ve never really understood the American way of “stock piling” food in the same way bears gorge themselves before a long hibernation. One thing most of us never have to worry about is a lack of convenient grocery stores and restaurants – I think it’s probably okay to let go of this post nuclear way of thinking. Should that apocalyptic scenario play out – the loss of hair and teeth would make gnawing on a pallet of 15 year old beef jerky a futile task. Our time would best be spent looking for a rock to bash our heads on.

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