Courtney Enlow

Last week I was back home at my parents’ house for a little vacation. Very restful, relaxing, all that, plus I got a wicked sunburn which has nicely developed into a tan worthy of my peers’ jealousy. But sometimes, rest gets boring, and one must turn their attention to the television.

Look, this column is called Outside the In-Crowd. But let me step out of my parameters as an outsider and take that oh-so hip saunter into the in-crowd. Allow me to adjust my skinny faux-vintage jeans and Ray Bans and muss up my hair a bit. Ah, there.

Okay, I’ve never watched a single episode of Keeping Up With the Kardashians. I don’t want to say I’m above it, but I am. I’m morally opposed to reality shows about people who *aren’t* trying to fight for the affections of Bret Michaels. I’m completely anti-shows about these has-been or never-will-be people just living their daily lives like the vapid sacks of putrid egotistical humiliation they are. That’s ridiculous. Who the hell are these people? Why do they matter? Why do they warrant an entire television program, and a popular one at that? Fuck them. Fuck Kim Kardashian and her (rumored) penchant for golden showers. Aim higher next time, Ray J. Right for the eyes.

Then came last Monday morning, some boredom, my devastation over no longer being able to drink coffee (estrogenny reasons, you don’t want to hear about it, move along) and it being too early to lay out poolside. Nothing else was on. What was I supposed to do? All my movies and TV-on-DVD were back in Chicago, THERE WAS NOTHING ELSE FOR ME TO DO. JUST LAY OFF ALREADY. JESUS!

*ahem*

I watched. I watched for three hours. And I. Couldn’t. Stop. I don’t want to be cliché and say how it was like a car wreck. It wasn’t. It was more like that hamster dance website. Just monotonous and lame, but people keep making you watch it because they think it’s hilarious. And it isn’t. But you still stare at it for way longer than is necessary.

Three hours is much longer than necessary. And in that time, I found myself thinking thoughts I’m not proud of. Thoughts like “You know, Bruce seems like a pretty nice guy” and “The mom’s not too terrible” and “I think Kourtney’s way prettier than Kim.” The only acceptable thing that ran through my brain was “Why in the name of fuck is there still an ‘h’ in her name if it’s spelled ‘Khloe’?”

Speaking of things that are super popular that I just watched for the first time, because I’m feeling a particularly saucy pride from having admitted to watching KUWtK, guess what else I watched? Hannah Mon-fucking-tana. WHAT ABOUT IT. (I’m saucy.)

The show itself is kinda cute. You could see why kids like it. It’s no iCarly (on Nickelodeon, and I shit you not, that show is actually awesome. So Nick, if you need another writer for that show, I’m your girl). But it’s cute. The writing and the rest of the cast is, anyway. She’s really annoying. But don’t worry, it won’t be around much longer. Her fans are already starting to outgrow her.

You know, kids today, with their Miley Cyrus and their new sluttier Strawberry Shortcake, I just don’t know. I mean I’m really trying to pick my brain and think about this. Was there a teen sensation in the early 90s? A manufactured gussied up young person turned into a product for our enjoyment? I feel like there wasn’t. That there was a long lull between the Tiffanys and Debbie Gibsons and the Britney (because there can be only one) and Christinas.

Now Britney was sixteen when she burst onto the scene, flashing her navel and making goo-goo eyes at the guy in the bleachers who was actually her cousin (oh Louisiana). There was an uproar, but I don’t remember it being quite the psycho-mess of Miley’s-Naked-Back-gate 2K8. And why not? She was also a Disney creation. She was also a Christian “virgin” (quotations added for sheer snark. Whether or not you buy it is up to you). Is there really a difference between the two?

Miley better hope so.

Maybe that’s why the nation got so pissy. I mean, last time we had such a superstar teenager, look what we did to her. I’m not telling you anything South Park already hasn’t (“Gonna be a good harvest this year …”). And already she’s not exactly doing herself any favors. Pictures of her flashing her bra and underwear are already all over the blogs. And far be it from me, an actual adult, to say anything derogatory about a fifteen year old, so let me travel back in time to when I was fifteen and we’ll let fifteen year old me say it.

“Yeah she’s a skank. And your hair’s not as cute in the future as it is right now in the past, older Court. Now excuse me, Buffy’s on.”

Thanks, fifteen year old me. People always pull the “Oh she’s just a kid, don’t you remember when you were fifteen, I’m sure there’s tons of pictures you wouldn’t want people to see” blah blah blah. No. There exist no pictures of me flashing my thong to the camera while I make a stupid fake-sexy fishlips face. Because girls who do that – they’re walking a very fine line between a child playing dress up and a woman trying to be sexy. I was both too old for that and too young for that. This girl? She isn’t. And who’s at fault? Her parents? The media? Disney? Us for judging her? I don’t really care. All I know is my little cousins watch her show, and I don’t want them emulating her. But I guess I don’t have to worry about that too much, as come next year, or even next month, they’ll move on to the new thing.

That’s the thing about these two shows, and these two people. In a few years, Miley Cyrus and Kim Kardashian will be trivia. Something people joke about on I Love the New Millennium 2: Attack of the Mike Jones or something. They’ll still be trying. Maybe appearing in one of Friedberg and Seltzer’s latest masterpieces (I have my money on Movie Movie. It’s like a movie, but it’s a movie parody!) Or maybe just showing up on the red carpet of really low-end events like all the other has-beens and never-will-be people. And that’s the difference between Miley Cyrus (and KK too) and Britney Spears. Ten years later, whether they want to or not, people still care about Brit (I do. *hushed whisper* IloveyouBritney). People are still interested.

And for that I feel kind of sorry for them. But not sorry enough to see Movie Movie that’s for damn sure.

Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at courtney@hobotrashcan.com.

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Ned Bitters

Let us continue with Part II of “Another Screwball Year in Another Run-of-the-Mill Public High School.” Be assured that I have no need to embellish.

* * *

We have a junior who, by November, was failing most of his classes and becoming increasingly difficult to handle in the classroom due to his miserable disposition. He is borderline obese and extremely gay, hence the miserable disposition. However, he has a maturity beyond his years and comes to school dressed more professionally than most of the staff. He is quite articulate and, despite his shitty grades, rather intelligent.

This is where you expect me to describe how a caring, understanding (and probably gay) teacher took this troubled young man under his wing and turned him around. Well, almost. An elderly V.P., tired of dealing with this young man’s discipline issues, decided on a more novel approach. He took him out of most of his classes and let him serve as his quasi-assistant for most of the day. Before long, this young man was helping clear the halls. Then he began serving tardy and unexcused absence papers to students. He carried an administrative walkie-talkie. Eventually, when a teacher would page a V.P. for an in-class discipline problem, this student would show up at the door. One day he came to the room next to mine when the young teacher had called for a V.P. I heard this exchange:

Teacher: “So-and-so in the back row needs to leave my class immediately.”

Junior V.P.: “What did he do?”

Teacher: “He cussed me out when I repeatedly asked him to stop talking.”

Junior V.P. (to bad kid in back of class): “Okay, let’s go …”

Bad Kid in Back of Class: “Shut the hell up, Asswipe…you’re in my third period.”

* * *

During an evening meet, a wrestler suffered an injury severe enough to require EMT treatment. The athletic director, a man in his mid-60′s who has been at the school for over forty years, stood near the injured wrestler while the coach called 911. Immediately after the call, the A.D. ran off to his office. The coach assumed he was going to begin whatever legal process ensues during in such situations. The usually rumpled A.D. returned three minutes later, now sporting a coat and tie and freshly combed hair. The coach gave him a puzzled look. The A.D. said, “Some of the EMT’s from that station are pretty hot, and I want to look good for ‘em.” The wrestler ended up being okay. The coach resigned after the season. The A.D. is returning for year 43. He still keeps a tie and jacket in his office so he can look sharp for cute, young EMT’s. He’s still in his mid-60s.

* * *

After the unexpected mid-year death of a math teacher, we were forced to hire a long-term sub who was all of 21 years old. He was friends with many of the kids, as he lived in a local neighborhood. They’d show up at his house to play video games and just hang out. They called him Mr. Steve, for they found him young and cool. One day a student walked by his classroom door and playfully punched his arm. The teacher playfully hit him back, only a little harder. The student hit back harder. The teacher hit back harder. Soon, they were wailing on each other’s arms. The student caught the teacher in the wrong place, hurting him, and Mr. Steve reacted by thumping the kid square in the chest with a hard right cross. The kid fell to the floor, unable to breathe, in the throes of a seizure. He spent the night in the hospital. It was cool, young Mr. Steve’s last day at our school. No one was too upset. After all, when he was in high school just a few years ago, he had failed the very math course he had been teaching at our school all year.

* * *

One morning at the copy machines, another depressed, defeated teacher was staring at the bulletin board looking over next year’s schedule. Suddenly he brightened. He said, “Oh yes! Next year we start Christmas break on the 19th and don’t have to go back until January 5th! That’s a 16-day break!” Then he paused, cocked his head, did some considering, and said, kind of sadly, “Well, looks like I gotta stay in teaching at least one more year.”

* * *

When our current principal came to our school, he did away with the daily morning sign-in sheet in the office. A true professional, he was under the hilariously misguided belief that his teachers also adhered to professional standards. After a few months, he noticed that many of the same bozos were arriving up to a half hour late. He had the techies install a computer sign-in system so that we could all sign in from our rooms instead making that oh-so-long trek to the office every morning. This worked for a month or so, but then people started ignoring this procedure. The principal mentioned at a staff meeting that he would begin monitoring the sign-in system and docking the habitually tardy teachers. However, he couldn’t follow through on this threat. Two days later, the sign-in system no longer worked. Someone had hacked it and rendered it useless. It was never fixed. Neither was the tardy problem.

* * *

One of our V.P.’s is a hardass former wrestling coach. He does a fantastic job, but let’s just say he’s not too into his classroom observation duties. He’s the prototypical former coach, lewd, brusque, loud and intimidating. (He’s also a softie with a heart the size of Greenland, but that doesn’t belong in this anecdote.) He saw a group of us talking in the hall one afternoon. He came up and griped about how he had to do classroom observations on most of us. He hates doing observations. A second-year P.E. teacher, no doubt intimidated by a man who was recently inducted in the National Wrestling Coaches Hall of Fame, said, “Just let me know when you’ll be in and I’ll have a lesson plan all written up for you.” How did our Mr. Testosterone handle this gesture of professional respect? He literally jacked the young teacher up against the wall and said, “If you waste one fucking minute writing up a P.E. lesson plan I will fucking waste you, do you understand?” When he observed one of my classes two weeks later, I handed him a written lesson plan just to piss him off. I found it in my mailbox later, crumpled into a ball with the word “ASSHOLE!” in red ink. I got a stellar observation report.

* * *

I wrote one of our borderline illiterate seniors a letter of recommendation for his mandatory senior portfolio. I handed it to him during my lunch break just as another teacher was walking into my room. Just after the kid thanked me, the smartass teacher asked the kid, “Would you like me to read that for you?”

* * *

A kid came to my room with a bag of candy tied up with colorful ribbon. I asked him where he got it. He said he won it in Health class. I asked him what he did to win it. He told me, “I got the highest score on the test about healthy eating habits.”

* * *

During the first week of teacher activities, we were subjected to yet another session on how to vary our teaching techniques. We had to read a section of a book, then share what we just learned. (You know, lesson # 7 in the “Lazy Ways to Present Bullshit to Fellow Co-workers in Meetings that Absolutely No One Wants to Attend.”) But since the presenters were friends of mine, I figured I’d help them out and participate. When they took responses, I went first. I said that research has shown that kids respond more to intrinsic rewards (praise and such) than they do to tangible rewards (candy, prizes and such). One presenter, thrilled that someone volunteered to participate, said, “Well done!” She ran over to reward me for my participation. How did she reward me? With a very tangible mini Snickers bar.

Ned Bitters teaches high school and dreams of one day seeing one of his former students on stage at a strip club. You can contact him at teacherslounge@hobotrashcan.com.

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(Click to enlarge.)

Jeremiah was raised in the deepest part of the darkest jungle. That’s why he smells like adventure. He currently lives in Elkins, WV with his wife, Becky, and son, Isaiah, who is epic and destined to rule the world one day. You can contact him at jeremiahwentz@hobotrashcan.com.

• Introduction
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Week 50 Spotlight: The last form of free media.

The economy is in the toilet, gas prices are through the roof and most Americans seem to have lost their sense of humor. Is there any hope for society?

This week, Joel Murphy and guest co-host Justin Foster seek to solve all of the world’s problems. From Vince McMahon’s latest desperate ratings-grabbing stunt to people’s unwillingness to help their fellow man, the two look at where things went wrong in our culture and attempt to set things right once again.

What the hell is wrong with people? How do the two hosts think all disputes should be settled? Did Foster really tap dance as a child? The answers to these questions and more are in this week’s show.

Hobo Radio - The Last Form of Free Media [ 58:38 ] Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

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By Chris Kirkman

“There’s No Place Like Home: Part Two” Recap and Analysis …

In the end, it really does turn out to be a love story. Conventionally, we have the never-ceasing search for that long lost, true love in the story of Desmond and Penny. Ben has his love for the island, his adopted/abducted daughter and his longing for love and acceptance from the father he always wanted, Jacob. Sawyer’s love for peace within himself and for the one good thing he left behind, his daughter. Once upon a time it was Sayid’s love for his long-lost love Nadia – now, it’s his love for vengeance. Jack has his love for being right. And, of course, John wants desperately to find the love and acceptance of family. Instead, he may have found only death.

Of course, as we all know now, death is really only the beginning on the Island. I think it’s only fitting that the final couple of chapters in our story will open with love and death. It’s one of those circle of life things, really. Somebody call Elton John.

There’s a lot of ground to cover in the finale, and I’ll be honest with you, I don’t have a lot of time. Thusly, I’m going to break from the norm and suppress my usual loquaciousness in favor of brevity. Don’t act all shocked. It’s thirty minutes of your life you can use to email the latest video of some fat kid shoveling cake into his sister’s mouth you found on YouTube or somesuch.

And so it goes.

In honor of the season finale of Lost, I present a unique drink recipe that I’ve only come across a couple of times in my forays into the best bars of America. It’s a recipe that really captures the essence of this finale’s cliffhanger – where the hell did the island go? My guess is somewhere a bit colder. I’ll be cool as long it’s not a different planet. Anywho, I present to you … The Lost Isle Mai Tai 2-3 oz. 151 proof rum (the good stuff, don’t skimp) 4-5 oz. orange juice Splash of pineapple juice Splash of grenadine Couple of cherries (if you have that sort of thing junking up the fridge) Get yourself a tall glass, maybe a Hurricane glass if you’ve been to Pat O’Brien’s in the past 20 years, and fill it halfway with ice. Pour in the rum, then add the orange and pineapple juice and stir. Add the splash of grenadine on top, but don’t stir. This signifies the blood that’s been spilled to protect the island, lo these many years. Drop a couple of cherries in there and drink it all down. Repeat until you can’t find the island OR your car. It won’t take long. Cheers!

Previously on Lost: Ben has a plan. It involves giving himself up to Keamy and his retard psychos. Sayid and Kate are captives of the Others, AGAIN. And we get a reminder of last season’s cliffhanger finale where a blitzed Jack tells Kate that they just have to get back to the island. Why, we have no idea. Until now, that is.

Y’see, Jack thinks they need to get back to island because Jeremy Bentham is dead. Who the hell is Jeremy Bentham, you ask? Wait a couple of hours and you actually get to find out. Yeah, seriously. We actually find out something in this finale. If you ask me, the Lost producers are either getting lazy or they’re tired of everyone on the Internet bitching about being left in the dark about everything.

Speaking of mysteries that get wrapped up in this finale, try these out for size:

Walt visits Hurley in the nut hatch and we know why he had to stay out of the picture for two seasons: he’s obviously been taking some growth hormones, because the actor has grown from 10 years old to 20 in the matter of a couple of years. They should use him in milk commercials. Good lord.

Sawyer doesn’t make it off the island because he sacrifices himself by jumping out of the helicopter on its way to the freighter. Y’see, the chopper has taken some bullet hits in the shootout between the Others and Keamy’s psychos (it was like Vietnam, I swear – pretend the Others are Charlie and Keamy and his gang are the entire United States Armed Forces and you get the idea), and they need to ditch extra weight in order to make it. Turns out they DO make it, but when they land, that boatload of C4 is about to explode so they have to patch the holes with duct tape (thank God for that miracle material) and get back in the chopper before the freighter goes BOOM.

And speaking of BOOM, we know why Jin was assumed dead, because Jack wouldn’t let Kate open the damn hatch door (no, not THAT hatch door, sadly) to see Jin running for the helicopter, and so he got left on the deck when the whole thing went down faster than the Titanic – except without all that whining and bitching from Leonardo DiCaprio, thank God. Oh, and Michael is officially kaput, as well, since he tried to stop the bomb by using liquid nitrogen to freeze the battery, which didn’t work so well. I want to see that little TV myth on the next Mythbusters, by the way. In the end, the new messenger of the island, Christian Shephard, shows up in time to tell Michael that he “can go now.” Cold, man, real cold. Save a bunch of people, redeem yourself, your story’s done, see ya.

Since we’re talking about the freighter being blown all to Hades, we have to mention Keamy getting his come-uppance at the hands of Ben, and the heart-rate monitor tied to a dead-man’s switch that I mentioned a couple of recaps back finally getting tripped, which triggered the C4. Long sentence, yes, but I was right, which I like. At any rate, this all happened down in the bottom of the Orchid station, and Locke was known too happy with Ben during that particular outcome. Locke was also not happy about Ben shoving a bunch of metal into the time portal where Edgar Halliwax (remember him? I talked about him being in an orientation video where he mentions the temporal-shifting bunnies) was telling Locke about, well, temporal-shifting bunnies. Turns out that Ben was throwing all that metal into the portal so that he could blow a hole in the back wall, wherein which he descends, parka-clad, into the frozen center of the island – but not before telling Locke it’s a one-way trip of which he’ll never return. On his way down, he slips and cuts his arm on a rusty nail (hope there’re tetanus shots on the island) which explains how he ends up in the Sahara in a parka with his arm hurt four or five episodes back (another mystery solved!). In the frozen depths, Ben finds an ancient, frozen, wooden turnstile that, when grunted against, activates a golden light and a low hum like a 1975 GE microwave with a bolt loose that makes the island go POOF. Hey, I don’t write this shit, I just recap it.

National Treasure 3: Hamster Wheel of Doom
MEANWHILE, Locke has followed Ben’s advice to get the heck out of the Orchid and on up the trail to his new followers – Richard Alpert and the Others, whom he’ll no doubt lead with the help of the invisible Jacob, who now talks through Christian Shephard and his daughter, Claire. That’s a simple little plot point, eh? This should prove to be an interesting little puzzle piece for the writers next season.

Back out at sea, we learn how the Oceanic Six come to be, as the island goes POOF and the chopper, running on fumes, has to ditch hard into the ocean. No one is really hurt, except Desmond, who is quickly revived by some really bad CPR from Jack in the survival raft. The new rafters drift at sea a bit until the Portuguese sailing vessel, Searcher, comes across them. The vessel, of course, belongs to Penelope Widmore and much snogging between her and Desmond commences. Shortly after that Jack, brooding as always, tells Penny that they need to talk because, apparently, Jack now knows that he should have listened to Locke, as usual, and wants to lie about everything in order to protect the island and the people on it.

And, speaking of people on it, Juliet (who wears the most revealing tank top in the history of revealing tank tops throughout much of the finale, thankyouverymuch) remains behind because she promised she’d get everyone off the island before she left. For her bravery, she gets one Sawyer washed up on the beach, shirtless, and a bottle of Mount Gay Rum. Apparently there’s three years between the Oceanic Six getting rescued and Jack wanting to get back to the island, so three guesses as to who’s gonna be all hooked up by the time we come round the bend again. Fine, fine, better him than Jack is all I have to say. Shame she couldn’t wait for me, but oh well.

ANYWHO, Miles has opted to stay on the island for reasons he won’t share and we could really give a shit about, and Charlotte has remained behind because Miles mentioned some cryptic shit about her “finally getting back to the island,” which we’ll talk about later. Dan, on the other hand, was last seen floating about in the Kehana’s tender with a bunch of redshirts we’ve never seen before. Right now, we don’t know if he was offshore enough to remain floating about at sea (whereupon he might be able to pick up Jin who may have been blown clear of the boat) or whether he was close enough to the island to go POOF along with the other castaways. In my opinion, this was one mystery we really didn’t need to have hanging out there, but whatever.

Finally, we learn through our handy flash forward/flash present thingy that Jack is really, really fucked up about this Jeremy Bentham dude, so he gets a cinder block and busts into the Hoffs/Drawlar Funeral Home where we last saw the mysterious casket. As he opens it, Ben busts in on the party and tells Jack that, if he finds the need to get back to the island, he’ll have to round up everyone. And, by everyone, he means the stiff in the casket has to come, as well, and then the camera pans up and over the lid to reveal … JOHN LOCKE. Hrm. After Michael got all blowed up, I kinda expected this, but just the idea of Locke headed back to the island all dead-like has me getting all tingly, nonetheless.

Cue the thonk!

Whew. All in all, I was very pleased with the finale, even though the writers and producers decided to break from the norm and break a whole buttload of the remaining mysteries down for us. What that means, however, is that we’re left with a mercifully short list of mysteries still out there, which creates an even bigger mystery of how they’re going to keep our curiosity piqued for two more seasons. Let’s take a look at the new head-scratchers, shall we?

CHARLOTTE’S WEB

In the finale, Charlotte, who up this point really didn’t have much to do on the island besides look real pretty and help disable chemical vats that could kill everyone, receives a cryptic message from Miles. Basically, he tells her that she’s in quite a rush to get off the island for someone that worked so hard to get BACK. Later, she tells Dan that she’s been searching for where she was born for all her life. Thus, it’s safe to assume that Charlotte is an island baby that somehow made it off at one time or another. The real question now becomes whose child is she and who took her off the island?

In order to figure these things out, we first have to look back at what mysteries still remain on the island. First, we have the Others, who we have learned are pretty much unable to reproduce without the mother and/or the child dying during childbirth. Since we really don’t know if many Other babies have survived, we can’t say definitively that Charlotte may be an Otherkin. The second possibility lies with “Adam and Eve” from the first season. Do you remember them at all? When Jack takes some of the survivors further inland to the caves, they find the skeletons of a couple that took shelter in the caves long ago. They also find a bag filled with black and white stones that look like the set decorators took them from a boxed game of Othello. Could Charlotte be the baby of Adam and Eve? We know that time is awfully whacked on the island, so there’s a possibility that she may be their child. There’s also a possibility that she was born to Adam and Even and raised by the Others until she was sent away from the island or taken by someone else that happened upon the island in the meantime. The only person we really know for sure has any knowledge of the island up to this point is Charles Widmore. Has ol’ Chuck really been to the island, somehow got off, and has been searching for a way back ever since?

For that matter, could Penny have also come from the island? Dunh dunh Duhhhhhh!

SUN ALSO RISES

In one of the flash forwards/presents, we see Sun approaching Widmore and mentioning that they have a common interest. We know that Sun has become a ruthless little tycoon in her own right in the three years since the rescue, so it’s safe to assume that Sun may want A) Jack’s head on a platter, B) a passage back to the island so she can see if Jin is really dead or C) to get close to Widmore so she can make him pay for the whole fiasco since she’s finally realized that she doesn’t need to blame Jack anymore. Only time will tell, but this is going to get really good, really fast next season.

BROKEN ARROWS

Since there is no longer a continuous story connection to the island, i.e., the Oceanic Six has been rescued, how will the next season’s storyline play out? Will most of it be through the eyes of the Oceanic Six in the present? Will there be flashbacks? I find that difficult to believe since there’s not really anything to flash back to. Will we see the story unfold from two different perspectives – the Oceanic Six’s voyage back to the island and the remaining survivors trying to, well, survive? Should be interesting, as long as the writers didn’t paint themselves into a corner.

WHAT ABOUT CLAIRE’S FORTUNE, DAMMIT

I mentioned this last time, but it bears repeating – The clairvoyant told Claire that no one should raise Aaron except for her, and now we see Claire showing up all over the place, urging that Aaron not be brought back to the island. What’s so important about Aaron? Why do Claire and Christian not want Aaron on the island? Does the island somehow not want any new blood being brought there except when the time is right? Perhaps this has something to do with Locke and/or Charlotte’s past. There’s a chance that both Locke and Charlotte were somehow born on the island and then sent away to become seasoned before they were brought back. For what reason, I can barely fathom, but it’s no bigger mystery than a giant wooden turnstile that makes the island teleport across the globe.

SPEAKING OF TELEPORTING …

Where the hell is the island now? WHEN the hell is the island now? I suppose that’s really the biggest mystery of them all now, and it’s going to eat me up until the beginning of next season. Damn you, Lost creators! It’s a love/hate thing, really.

I think that about wraps it up for now. We all have a long haul before next season, and a few tidbits here and there to keep us occupied, in the meantime. If any of you have an epiphany along the way, feel free to share it. I’ll be back after season four is out on DVD to share any extra thoughts that pop into my head after watching the whole thing again. Meanwhile, keep thinking those good thoughts and tell me something good.

Namaste.

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