Lost in Lost

Imagine a magnificent island full of polar bears, smoke monsters, decade-hoppers, untrustworthy souls, ageless dudes and grungy crash survivors who maintain their sex appeal, year after year. Picture a twisted dreamland in a magical time zone, where subversive references to all things biblical, literary, mythological and scientific make you question the worthiness of your college degree.   On Tuesday night, "Lost" returns, and two seconds in, I’ll be feeling dumb again. Walk by the bedroom door and you’ll hear me shouting at the TV, sounding like hubby when the Bruins are losing. In other words, certifiably nuts.


Each season, my rant begins anew.  Before the first commerical, I'm vocalizing.  “Huh?!” I’m lost in “Lost” and loving it.  “What the #@=!’s going on?  Guys, where are we?  When are we?” I get nothing back, not even a clue. I forge on. I don't know if we've flashed forward or jumped backwards or landed in purgatory.  The needle shifted, the island disappeared.  Some characters went back in time.  It's the 1970s.  Bell bottoms, tie-dyed shirts.  Others occupy 2007.  Others may be dead or reincarnated or circling a spiritual netherland.  At the end of last season, they tried to reboot and start over.  Bet you anything they forgot to hit "save." Man, that's going to be awkward.  Just thinking about it makes my brain hurt. 

It's true, my addiction to “Lost” is a sickness. There’s no cure. I'm a junky. Thank God for Jeff Jensen's brilliant "Lost" recap in Entertainment Weekly the morning after.  “Lost,” you see, requires patience, fortitude, a combined graduate degree in anthropology and religion, a PhD in literature, and a strong belief system. What I'm saying, people, is this: “Lost” is not for wimps. I have no one to blame for this habit but myself. I got hooked all on my own. No one forced it on me. No one made me watch. I let it happen. I take full responsibility. And now I'm jonesing for Tuesday night. Counting the seconds till the best show EVER comes back to haunt me and throw me into a state of utter confusion, not to mention unresolved conflict.  Did the scheduling gods really have to put "Lost" and "American Idol" on at the same time?  On the same night that I take my dance class?  I'm not sure my Tivo can handle this clash of programming so diametrically opposed. 

Under normal circumstances, I don’t like feeling out of control. I want my plot points presented logically. I don’t like holes. I want the story to add up. I’ve never been into science fiction. Give me realism and I’m happy.  With “Lost,” I’m willing to suspend my disbelief. I never have any idea what’s going on. Of course,
I’d like to think that at some point, maybe when the series ends this season (don't remind me!)  I’ll achieve some clarity. “Oh! Oh! OH! I get it now!” may spill from my lips. Or not.  I may wind up just as baffled as when this journey began.  In which case, I'll embrace my delirium.  I'll extend my moment of Zen.  I'll remind myself that not everything has to make sense.  Then I'll sit down and watch the entire series again and wait for enlightenment to descend.

For a slide show summary of "Lost": 
http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2010/01/28/arts/20100131-lost-ss_index.html