This is my past week: I got bit by a dog. I almost got in a fight. My cable went out. I had the flu. My quasi-girlfriend dumped me to pursue a relationship with someone who doesn’t live on this continent. On a scale of one to ten, last week sucked.
Worst of all, I realized I am stone-cold hooked on Lost again.
How do I know I have a problem? Because last Thursday, with my television and body in a state of total malfunction, I actually dragged my sorry tushie to the gym to watch this damnable show on the exercise bike for an hour. And, Zeus help me, I loved it.
I regret my new devotion to this fraking show because I’ve been burned before—by Alias—a show I loved much more than Lost, a show by some of the same producers as Lost, a show with about 1/800th the mysteries and loose threads of Lost. And Alias completely screwed the pooch on its long-term stories. So I know Lost will burn me, but apparently I’m an idiot.
My only comfort is that I have some company in my idiocy—which brings me back to words. I don’t find the language on the show very notable, but the speculation, celebration, and bitteration on message boards about the show, especially on Television Without Pity, are a different matter.
