Goodbye, LOST

The TV show LOST, which is coming to an end this Sunday, has been called a lot of things over its six-year run: "Gripping," "stupid," "addicting," "a television phenomenon" (<-- after years of hearing this I STILL HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT MEANS), and on and on.

As I reflect on my six seasons as a LOST watcher -- and I have thought about it a lot -- I would like to add a descriptor of my own: Abusive.

(For all you non-watchers: Hopefully this post serves as an insight into that cryptic show your coworkers incessantly talk about. At the very least, take comfort in the fact that you live healthy and unfettered lives, free from the all-consuming need to figure out the mysteries of LOST)

Don't get me wrong. LOST is a great show in so many ways: Its first season is one of the greatest seasons of television ever; it is some sort of successful drama-scifi-suspense hybrid; it has great characters; and it has good mysteries. But the mysteries are also where the problem lies. The show continually raises more questions than it answers, and this leads to fans having lives that are dominated by rampant speculation, outlandish theories and a list of unanswered questions.

Let's put it this way. LOST watchers are the victims in an abusive, one-sided relationship that leaves them unfulfilled on a weekly basis -- and LOST is the abuser. The show asks for the commitment of its watchers but rewards them sparsely with answers.

LOST is like the boyfriend who comes home with blood on his shirt and hands and a manic look in his eyes, and when asked: "Whose blood is that??" Responds with an aloof: "Nothing," and then adds: "Where's the shovel? Can you get me the extra strength garbage bags? Do you know our lawyer's phone number?" It always answers questions with more questions.**

**(An analogy for the men, just so you don't feel left out: The show is like the girlfriend who gets dolled up to go out and asks to borrow all of the money in your wallet, then comes back drunk at 4am with no money, tousled hair, smeared lipstick, and hickies all over her neck. When asked "Where were you??" she angrily responds with: "Where was I?? Where were you? What were you doing all night?...Now, where do you keep the rest of our cash?")

But within these unhealthy relationships, I have found that LOST watchers aren't a homogeneous group. There are different types of abuse victims watchers, and I feel they deserve to be recognized for the unique ways in which they watch and experience the show. Here we go:

--Ignorantly Enthusiastic - "If I just keep freshly squeezing his orange juice, keep walking his dog for him, and keep detailing his car, he'll come around." You know the type. Their weekly schedules revolve around 9pm on Tuesdays and feel that the more they dedicate themselves to the show it will become more rewarding... but they have no idea that the show treats them like poop. They Google every book that makes a brief cameo on the show, draw flowcharts to track the connections between characters, hop on online message boards to discuss things. It's not a matter of denial -- we'll get to that -- but rather of blind devotion and obliviousness.

--Kicked Puppy Dog - "He may have 'pushed' me down the stairs once, and given me that black eye. But... he still loves me...right?" These people are in denial. Deep-down, past all of their obliviousness, they know LOST will fail them and their hopes for answers. Like a kicked puppy dog, however, they keep coming back for the punishment. 

--Resigned - "Hell. I'm not really enjoying myself anymore, but I've come this far. I guess I'll just ride it out." They've resigned themselves to the fact that the show has drug them through a bunch of crap, but now are along for the ride. They are not excited about the show, nor do they have illusions about ever getting excited again, but they hang around just...well, because. I fall into this category. I continue to watch -- simply because "I've come this far."  

--Violently Angry -"If the show doesn't answer my list of questions, I am going to hurt someone, or myself." This group of people always gets angry after each show, swearing they'll never watch it again -- but they're back on Tuesday.

Does that sound about right? I think it does.

All of that being said, I will admit, in my resignation, that this final season has been decent. I think the end of the show will be met with some relief, and a sense of freedom. People will look less burdened walking around and will be a little more cheery once it's over.

If Robert Frost had lived in more modern times, he probably would have gotten roped into watching LOST. And he probably would have penned some verse about his own addiction, which would be titled "The Road I Wish I Wouldn't Have Taken (But Now Am Forced To Finish Because I Need To Know What the Smoke Monster Is)."

PS: If you're a fan of the show, check out these movie posters by Gideon Slife -- one for each episode of the show. Pretty cool stuff.

*******

Editorial Note: When I submitted the first draft of this to Ben for review, I received the following response:

It makes little sense. But that is apropos for the subject at hand. I can see how feverish this show is making your thinking.

Just thought you should know that.

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Weekly Selects #21

-Via Email from J2K:

Rotten Tomatoes just released the worst movies of the 2000’s, Battlefield Earth got 27th. Personally I think it deserved a single digit place.

Agreed. The only thing Battlefield Earth has done is give me some great material to write about and serve as a standard for how to make the WORST MOVIE EVER.

-Via Email from a coworker, Danni, from here; I know Halloween is past, but whatever:

something to make your inner geek laugh hysterically...You have to love when you have less than $10 to spend on a Halloween costume

Well, you also have to admire the umm...resourcefulness of this family. Economical, really -- because did you see this Jabba the Hut costume? $60!

OK. Enough with outdated holiday-related stuff.

-Via Email from AM:

SUBJECT: i am an addict

I find myself ending all my stressed-out exclamations with this phrase: "I need sushi."  For example: "This is a mess.  I don't even know where to start.  I need sushi."
"I have 22 missed calls.  I need sushi."
"I missed another typo.  I need sushi."
"What a disaster.  I need sushi."

For someone who, no more than two months ago, would recoil and curl up like a frightened pillbug at the mere mention of sushi, the pendulum seems to have swung the other way with AM. Addiction takes many forms -- this one has come in the form of vinegared rice, dried seaweed, and the occasional piece of raw fish. Well, I couldn't be prouder.

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The Addiction and Teacher That is Speed Scrabble

Thanks to a scarring game of Risk ("Ukraine is not weak!!") back in 2000 I tend to avoid board games; the exception, of course, being the occasional game of Mah-Jongg. Who doesn't want to place vital organs as collateral for a $10,000 bet every once in a while, am I right?? Anyway, regardless of my professed dislike for board games, I have recently become addicted to Speed Scrabble.

What's Speed Scrabble, you ask?

Speed Scrabble (SS) is to nerdy board-gamers what cocaine was to 80s celebrities: It is fast-paced, exhilarating, addictive, and the source of numerous unnatural nosebleeds. In the case of SS, the reason is either because the game got so intense participants came to fisticuffs, or the breakneck pace and overexertion from the game melted their brains. (***If you're bored enough to read the rules, I will put those at the bottom***)

Let's just leave the Speed Scrabble-Cocaine analogy there.

One friend, whom I will anonymize, put it this way:

This is utterly ridiculous to admit, but I dreamed about Speed Scrabble last night. I actually awoke to myself arranging words beginning with "q". Kinda weird.

Lessons Learned

SS has even taught me some valuable life lessons. The two that come most readily to mind are "pride cometh before the fall" and "those who forget history are doomed to repeat it."

Let me share a story that illustrates both. In the first game of what would become a 3-hour SS marathon, I came storming out of the blocks -- jumping out to a quick lead and catching my opponents at unawares. I foolishly declared:

"I guess you could call that my Pearl Harbor."

I guess it seemed like an apt analogy at the time, what with the quick strike and my Japanese heritage and all. For all of you not familiar with the Pacific Theater of WW2, however, here's the major problem with my poorly thought-out analogy: Japan LOST WW2! It was decimated!! Japan may have "won" Pearl Harbor, but even Admiral Yamamoto said afterward: "I fear all we have done is awakened a sleeping tiger." And he wasn't talking those pansy circus tigers that jump through hoops. He was talking the mean ones that want to tear your limbs off and eat you (avid PETA supporters being no exception). Pearl Harbor was really just the beginning of the end for Japan.

And so it was with me; my initial victory accomplished very little except to "awaken the tiger" (read: gave Mitch a reason to shut my gloating mouth up and decisively trounce me and everyone else under her feet). It became a self-fulfilling prophecy. I doomed myself to suffer the same fate as the Empire did in WW2 because I declared victory too soon.

So, chalk one History Comparison FAIL for me. Sigh.


***Speed Scrabble Explained***
You lay all of the scrabble tiles facedown in the middle of the table, everyone takes seven, then tries to build their own set of words as quickly as possible, using all tiles. Once they have used the seven tiles in their own hand, they say "go" and everyone draws two from the pile and so on until all the tiles are used up. Then you count up points based on the points on each tile, subtracting points for the tiles left over.

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Life Experiences to Music

I've been thinking about quitting my job and chasing my dreams; of going into the studio and pounding out that rap album that I've always had bouncin around in my head...

...trading my inheritance for a bowl of porridge? Not quite. But close.

But honestly, if anyone has listened to a rap album all the way through, characterizing it as 'formulaic' or 'unoriginal' is a Battlefield Earth understatement (with incredibly rare exception). What do rappers do on rap albums, you ask? Subject matter is usually confined to these or similar life experiences:

1. Drugs, combined with expensive alcohol and/or malt liquor;
   
2. The 'heat' [guns] they 'pack' [carry on their person];
3. Women and how easy it is to find them;
4. How many people from rival gangs they've shot/times they've been shot by rival gangs;
5. The cars they own;
6. Protecting turf;
7. Dislike for and willingness to stand up to cops;
   
8. Any combination of the above can make for a decent track
   

Simple, right? I mean, all I have to do is follow this equation, maybe chant my own name a few times, come up with a catch phrase or two, and I'm set for life. That's why I think I got this down pat.

Problem is, I think I lack the requisite life experiences to make a rap album.

I suppose the only thing I can do is take the most comparable life experiences that I have and throw them into the mix. Here are the closest personal parallels I could come up with for the above outline:

1. Besides an affinity for certain smells that may or may not cause a bit of a "high," the closest I'm going to get is a restrained like for Nyquil.
   
2. One time at the BB gun range at Cub Scout camp, I shot and destroyed the clothespin that was holding up my paper target -- three times! One of the counselors called me "dangerous" and "out of control."
3. At my first boy-girl birthday party in 1st grade, one of the girls spent the whole time chasing and trying to kiss me. She was too slow to catch yours truly.
   
4. Rye and I played paintball against some 10 year olds once. I think it's fair to say that we lit those punks up.
   
5. I drive a '97 Honda Civic. It has a CD player and two cupholders; no modifications.
6. When I get home from work and someone is parked in the spot closest to my door, I get semi-annoyed, but don't do anything about it.
   
7. I got my first traffic ticket the other day. I promptly did exactly what the officer told me to and threw in a lot of "Yes, sir" 's as a show of good faith.
   

Maybe I'll hold off on booking studio time and space.

For now.

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Underground Addictions

Another confession.

Everyone has different smells that they enjoy. Most people like flowers or the ocean or new car or some other smell that is easily marketable in a Febreeze can.

For me, it boils down to sharpie markers and gasoline. Something about stepping out of the car at a gas station and having that smell hit my olfactories is -- how does that old cliche go? Like a warm blanket? That's not right, but I can't think of anything better.

Am I addicted? Well, you won't see me buying cases of extra-potent sharpies out of some guy's trunk in a 7-Eleven parking lot at 3AM. And you probably won't find me underneath an overpass huddled over a bucket of gasoline. Gas prices are so high now, drugs are probably cheaper anyway.

I'm not much for conspiracy theories, but this tendency to sniff markers after unscrewing the cap isn't my fault. This was ingrained in me since my preschool days and I am not accountable... I blame Sanford.

"Who?"

You know, the company that decided to produce those scented colored markers that you used for coloring stuff when you were little. They teach you to get strung out before you can string simple sentences together! This preempts marijuana as the "gateway drug" by YEARS.

I seem to remember reading in one of my psychology classes that the best way to learn about something is to engage as many of the senses as possible; not just the sight and sound that are usually accompanied with school, but, if possible, to engage smell, touch, and taste as well. I suppose that this was Sanford's guise for this product. But do I really need to be reminded of what black licorice smells like when I'm struggling to just color within the lines? Honestly.

And how the hell is turquoise a representative color for mango?? (I looked up their product listing)

So thanks, Sanford. I may have a solid idea for what cherry smells like, but now I'm trapped in a cage of your making.

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America's Coffee Addiction

So I realize that this entry would have been timely about 10 years ago to this day, but I have to write about when I was ordering breakfast with Casey and Jenna in downtown DC after our White House Tour (separate story for another day -- let's just say a guard was ready and willing to beat yours truly with a black baton for having "slanty eyes" and Casey got reprimanded for sitting in a chair).

Anyhow, we walk into a place called Cosi to grab some breakfast bagels. I ordered my sandwich and they asked me what I wanted to drink. The dialogue went (roughly) as follows:

"Would you like something to drink with that?"
"Yes. Milk, please."
"Coffee?"
"No. Milk, please."
"For your coffee?"
"No. Just a normal cup of milk."

Now I understand that miscommunications take place. I also know that I have the tendency to mumble sometimes. But honestly.

I think those of us from this generation saw earlier indicators of America's need for a coffee fix in our classmates in high school, and most of us noticed that at some point the number of Starbucks in our hometowns outnumbered the number of people. But who knew what it would grow into?

America is so in need of coffee in the morning...well, let's try this one on for size: How many times have you heard a coworker say: "I haven't had my coffee this morning..." as an excuse for poor performance, and then had the supervisor nod their sympathetic understanding and add: "Hey, could you brew some up? I need to get a start on the day, too." Addiction is an understatement. If you can't function without it, and going 24 hours without it is the cause of crippling headaches, that's called withdrawal, a symptom of addiction.

Or when you can't order something as simple as milk at a cafe because the employees' vernacular is limited to "coffee", that might be a symptom as well.

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