The Chronicles of Marge

Winter Hiatus

Those of you who know me well know that February is not my best month. Those of you who don't know me well: educate yourself. So SAD has derailed The Chronicles yet again. Also derailing The Chronicles: a household decision to quit baking any types of desserts at home. THAT MEANS NO CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES OR BROWNIES. IN FEBRUARY. WHEN I AM DEPRESSED. Thus I have lost the will and power to type. This may be the dumbest decision Jason and I have ever made, but it was a decision made in an effort to be healthier people—physically healthier people. Mentally healthier? Yeah, I'm not so sure about that.

My current failure to write has also meant that I didn't share any thoughts on the Season 6 opener of Lost last week. I'm not even going to promise to stick to that because we know how committed I was last year, but I am not to blame completely for my early failings this season. The show itself has kept me from writing about it. I've been so wrapped up in the possibility of alternate realities that I can't stop thinking about them. Let me first admit that I am not even smart enough to try to explain how one might actually exist, but I've been contemplating my own alternate reality for a week now, and I am pretty certain it would be more interesting than the reality I am currently in because the alternate one most definitely involves a white spaceship and my imaginary childhood friend named Laura whose house you could see through a stain-glassed apple that hung in my bedroom window. And guess what her house kind of looked like? Jacob's cabin. I am not even kidding. One further thought on Lost: Kate Austen needs to leave Sawyer the hell alone. I've been communicating with Juliet in my alternate reality as well, and she has a lone message for Kate: BACK OFF BITCH.

And to make this entry about more themes than anyone could possibly care about, here's what Jason and I did the weekend that it snowed. It is entitled A Three-Step Process to Laying a Floor and Almost Leaving Your Spouse.

Step 1: Ignorance

 

You lay down the first three courses and are all, "Damn, floating floors are a breeze. We'll finish this bad boy in an hour." And then you get down on the floor in your thermal underwear and show the world how totally pleased you are with yourself.  

Step 2: Fetal Position

 

This is when you realize that you might not have enough tiles to finish because you've been cutting the hell out of them so you can work around cabinets and FATHER OF GOD getting the rows against cabinets and the final wall to fit and lock into place is like trying to use the toilet successfully at your in-law's house. Nearly impossible to do. And at this point all you want to do is eat a meal but your other half is like, "We are finishing this now, woman, and don't even reach for those chips," and you curl up in a ball while trying to figure out how many more eighths of an inch you need to fit this piece of tile around the wine cabinet and you wonder if that wine cabinet was such a good idea after all, and then you quickly remember that is was because...

Step 3: The Spoils of Victory

 

I think the photo does not do it justice, but this is our kitchen floor. It is eco-friendly cork. It is lovely. And you can slide across it from one end to the other while wearing socks, which, of course, is all I really ever wanted out of a floor.

As Long as It Takes

I think any fool with one eye and a pulse could see this coming: the coupling of James and Juliet. But let me tell you something that might surprise you: I like it. I like it a lot, and if Kate ends up messing this up, I will be one angry lady. People have put up with a lot of shit on that island and to finally see two people looking happy, healthy, and in love is great. So let me take this moment to say the following to Ms. Austen: 

Kate, you are a disaster. You have always been a disaster and you cause disaster everywhere you go. You also only seem to sleep with people when you are angry or in distress, so stay out of distress now that you are back in the presence of one James Ford (who, I might add, cleans up very well). Or maybe just get in distress around Jack, who is also a disaster and who I think you should be with because of this. You know, I really liked Jack initially, and I still want to like Jack because every time I see him I think of Charlie Salinger from Party of Five and it makes me feel all special inside and like I'm 17 again (which really wasn't a special time in my life, but I hadn't yet been introduced to cellulite, so we'll consider that age as retroactively special), but then I realize that Charlie had many of the same problems that Jack has, namely TELL THE GIRL YOU LOVE HER AND GROW A PAIR GOSH.

Now that I have that off my chest...I really enjoyed last night's episode. It was well executed, it was interesting, it was entertaining, and someone on the show finally verbalized what everyone in their livings rooms has noticed: that Richard Alpert wears a gross amount of eyeliner. Thank you, James. It was also great to see Sawyer in his element as a con man again, but there was something different to this con than before. He didn't become Jim LaFleur for selfish reasons, he did it for the people around him and the people whose return he anticipated. I think the development of this character—a long, steady evolution—has been a pleasure to watch, and if I write any more about it, I'm going to get choked up and have myself a good, happy cry, and do I really want the most emotional point of my week to be about a long-haired man in a khaki jumpsuit?

Also, Juliet as a car mechanic—respect. 

Lost: I Actually Watched It Last Night

I know, it’s amazing. I watched Lost on a Wednesday at 9 p.m. and the TV reception wasn’t bad, which is surprising with this new digital TV switch, but then we did make an emergency run during halftime of the Carolina/Maryland game over the weekend to purchase a new antenna, and it now looks like a small cell phone tower landed on our living room floor. Ridiculous, I know. I should cave. I should get basic cable. But I’m a stubborn gal and what I would pay each month for cable would almost equal the cost of an Italian VOGUE, so I’ll stick with the VOGUE (and a husband who just rolled his eyes).

Since I’ve been out of the loop on Lost for awhile, I’m not going to make any great claims or impress you with my abilities to hypothesize. Instead, let me just share some of my thoughts about the episode that was the life and times of Jeremy Bentham, aka John Locke, man you never gets a break but just doesn’t stop trying. Dude, I would have told Abaddon to drive my ass to the closest DQ, where I would have ordered myself a large cappuccino Heath blizzard, and told Abaddon that the journey was over and it was time that he took a walkabout.

But I guess there wasn’t too much time for that because Abaddon caught several in the chest, which sent John into the following downward spiral: insecurity at the wheel due to leg in cast, amazing car crash, waking up to a bearded and bedraggled Jack (we discussed this, man—I know you’ve since shaved, but this look is NOT GOOD), purchasing an extension cord, ending up in a crappy motel room, positioning extension cord around neck, listening to Benjamin Linus tell you everything you want to hear (meaning lies, lies, lies), believing Linus, choosing life, then being strangled by Linus, dying, spending some time in a coffin, waking up on a sandy beach somewhere in the Pacific wearing Christian Shephard’s shoes, and communing with a bunch of plane crash victims—AS IF YOU HADN’T ALREADY BEEN THERE DONE THAT. Gosh.

As much as John Locke and his sad, pathetic existence perturbs me (can you tell I’m not a fan?), I wish upon Benjamin Linus a long episode of diarrhea. But I’ll settle for the fetal position on a Dharma Initiative cot—yeah Ben, welcome to how I spend the months of winter. Hope you enjoy.

You know, there was a point last season where I wanted to give Ben the benefit of the doubt. I wanted to believe that he meant some good, that maybe he could care for people. But he is a long way from that now and I don’t know who to believe: Ben or Widmore. They are both so convincing and compelling, and I think, at the end of the day, they both want the same thing. Yet they are still both liars, and I hate a TV liar (you know, real-life ones are obviously okay).

And I also don’t like these new folks: Caesar and Ilana. My hunch is that they work for Widmore. They seemed too nonchalant in the face of a disaster in the middle of nowhere (although didn’t this plane look marvelously intact versus its 815 counterpart?). They also seemed too familiar with the location. And Ilana, in particular, just seems too clean and a tab bit haughty for me. She also had Sayid in cuffs, and for that, I can only hope that she has to suffer through some less-than-pleasant away-toilet situations in the jungle. Enjoy the mangos, lady.

Lost and Other Things

I have no idea if anyone is mourning that fact that I haven’t written about the last three episodes of Lost—do I dare admit that I haven’t even seen last week’s episode yet? I don’t know what my problem is this year. Well, that’s a lie. Part of it is because Lost comes on while I am away from the house, and Jason and I usually don’t watch it until the weekend on the Internet, which hasn’t always been the most pleasant experience. I also find that watching it so far delayed from when everyone else in the world has seen it is rather dulling. I’m just not as excited. And by the time I get to writing about what I’ve seen, a new episode is on already, so what is a girl to do?

The other problem is this (and if you can’t handle real emotion, just step out of the kitchen now and don’t come back because I don’t want you around): I’m suffering from the worst winter of seasonal affective disorder that I’ve ever had. I’ve joked on this site before about spending the months of winter in a fetal position while nursing a bag of Ghiradelli bittersweet chocolate chips and a bottle of pinot noir, but that‘s not far from the truth. The truth is that right now I don’t feel like leaving the house. I don’t feel like moving. I don’t feel like seeing people, including you. I don’t feel like bathing (I actually just went 3 days without a bath so if you wondered what the funk was…), and when I do get in the shower, I don’t feel like leaving. I don’t feel like going to work. I don’t feel like wearing spandex, which, you know, is my favorite. And today, I slept until 8:43 a.m. That’s right, it was light for two whole hours before Large Marge got her ass out of bed, and yes, that was the realignment of the earth’s axis that you just felt.

Luckily, I know what is wrong with me and I have a great source of advice for this problem: my mother. My mother spent years wondering why she didn’t feel like getting out of bed in the winter. My father spent years wondering if this was the worse and sickness he had committed to and why the allure of bran and oatmeal in pancakes wasn’t helping. I spent years wondering what I had done to make my mother so sad. And then Seasonal Affective Disorder taught me how to do my own laundry at the age of 11 because otherwise it wouldn’t have gotten done. So all in all, I think the family broke even.

I also learned from my mom that you just grit your teeth and bear it any way you can. She started quilting with wildly colorful fabrics in the winter. I started forcing bulbs so that February in my house looks like a garden and smells like hyacinths.

I also know that this is a finite problem that will dissipate with the coming of spring. However, let me correct those of you who think that 2 weeks of nice, warm weather in February is a solution to the problem. Guess what, assholes, it is not. (Sorry, that’s the SAD Marge speaking there). It’s like a cold winter morning. The air is the coldest right before the sun rises. Yes, it may be light outside, but the coldest doesn’t happen until right before that sun breaks the horizon.  So it might have been warm and glorious at the beginning of the month, but my spirit has been slowly sucked dry of life and vitality and vitamin D since October, and February is the end of that long, dark journey.

Sometimes I think the animals that hibernate have it right. They just cut out this part of the year altogether. They take care of themselves by stealing away, balling up, and sleeping it off. And they probably take care of their friends and family this way too. No one has to worry about their moody and depressed spouse in the winter because she’s just off asleep somewhere and will return to the living in March as the joyous, passionate person that she is. And the seasonally affected person doesn’t have to worry about how she treats other people because she doesn’t have to treat anyone from the comfort of a nice solitary cave filled with warm blankets, chocolate, and the DVD of Colin Firth in Pride and Prejudice. And that’s why it is so hard for me to be around people right now. That’s why when I am out and about you will wonder, “Why the long face, Marge?” And you will give me that look of concern when you ask, “Are you okay?” but you don’t have the balls to then say, “Really, because I don’t think you are okay?” And that’s when I tell you to piss off and mind your own business because haven’t you seen those commercials about depression? IT IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HAPPY. I AM SAD RIGHT NOW FOR A REASON. And maybe it’s best that I do hide away for awhile because I don’t make the most intelligent or thoughtful decisions when I’m sad, and I am awfully sensitive to what people say to me, and my skin is so dry and flaky right now that I can’t afford physically to lose any more bodily fluids through tears. So just sit tight, folks, and wait until March. And then maybe I’ll start writing about TV like it’s the most important thing in the world, and maybe I’ll even tell you about the time I overdosed on laxatives. On purpose. And now you all are relieved that this was an essay only about my seasonal affective disorder rather than the state of my colon. Oh just you wait.

I Know Who You Are, Ellie

Team Darlton knows me very well. We have an episode devoid of Sayid and what do they give me: the love story of the century with Desmond and my best gal pal Penny. But wait, that's not all...they named their son Charlie! Hobbit lovers the world over swoon with delight and women everywhere reach for the box set of “Pride and Prejudice,” which really has nothing to do with “Lost,” but what else is a girl to do when a TV show makes her so happy?

Anyway, I admit my thoughts last week were weak, but my brain is kicking into high gear now, and boy, do I have a theory for you now (which I’m sure you all have figured out but please pretend that you haven’t so that my self-esteem can get a quick boost; it’s winter and all—I NEED THIS.)

But before I lay it out for you, let’s discuss a few other things. First, we know where the Desmond/Penny story is leading us: to the high possibility that my best girl will meet a sad and tragic end at the hand of a revenge-seeking Ben. If Widmore really wanted to keep Penny safe, he would not have given Desmond the address for Daniel’s mother because any dumbass out there can tell you that Desmond and Penny are in love for eternity and why would they ever part ways again? Stupid man. But Widmore is actually playing Desmond because he knows that to get back to the island he needs certain pieces of the puzzle to fall into place—he needs Desmond to relay Daniel’s message, and my hunch is that the island is more important to Widmore than his daughter is. Yeah, not winning Father of the Year. That would go to your son-in-law. Take a note, you dipstick.

So Richard and John first meet in 1954, where Richard is prompted to go search for John a few years later at his birth. Therefore, it is John who suggests to Richard at this point that John is the island’s leader. It makes sense to me now why Richard is always suspect of John’s leadership abilities—I mean, he got the idea from the man who wants to be king of the jungle. John has self-created his destiny in so many ways but largely based on what other people feed him. He’s much more a pawn than he ever recognizes or, I think, ever wants to be. God bless him.

Dear Daniel Faraday: Get rid of the effin’ tie, man. Is that shit safe in the jungle? No. It is called Death by Strangling, and although it may never happen because I believe you are a key player in the shenanigans, it is a real possibility. You’re going to get that thing caught on a tree branch and then the Black Smoke will appear and you’ll run and then you’ll slip and fall and that will be that and Miles will detect your corpse years later when he walks by that tree and he’ll be all, “Death by tie, man.” So SAFETY FIRST, fool.

Also, we know how you like your women: strawberry blonde with a British accent and a touch of nosebleed and the need for a bedpan totally in her future. Dude, if I were Charlotte, I would have had a reckoning with you after the second nosebleed. But apparently, this woman is under your “spell” and trusts you completely and you threw in a very matter-of-fact ILY in front of strangers and this is all just part of your game. And we know this because you’ve got Theresa, your strawberry blonde #1, hooked up to machines and being cared for by Widmore. I think you’ve run some human subject testing on Charlotte too and you know there’s little you can do for her but let her bleed out all over the island. I say, MAN UP.

Which leads to The Large Marge Theory of the Week: Did anyone else catch it when Ellie seemed to recognize Daniel when he was first captured? Do you know who she actually is? HIS MOTHER, Eloise Hawking, who Desmond is on his way to see. And do you know who his father may turn out to be: Charles Widmore, who is on the island back in 1954 and 20 years later probably hooked up with his island crush to create a manorexic, pencil-tie wearing, physicist nerd, who just happens to know more about what’s going on than any character who started out on the show in Season 1.

By the way: too much eyeliner, Richard. It reminds me of 1994, which looked something like this:

Sweet lord.

Lost: Season 5

OK Friends of Lost, you’re going to have to prepare yourself this season for some delayed recaps from Marge. I know. It is horrible, but life is hard and you don’t always get what you want. And to those of you who are dissatisfied by this, I say the following: you obviously never sat in the car in the driveway of your house as an adolescent for 45 minutes waiting to leave on a family “vacation” (read: camping in a tent and fighting mosquitoes) while your father discovered several last-minute activities that he had not thought of the day before that had to be done or else the world as you knew it would end, so you sat there, squished in the back seat of a Ford Ltd Crown Victoria with your sisters and a box of crayons and an ugly pink elephant and three pillows and three security blankets and three sets of very skinny elbows all over the place, and there goes dad across the yard with a bucket of water and then he appears with a rake—which was my dad’s nice way of saying “SUCH IS LIFE, SUCK ON IT.”

Back to the subject at hand: I’m struggling with what to say about the 2-hour premiere of Lost. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent the last 8 months deprived of critical thinking skills, which obviously I don’t use in my real life, or maybe my heart is still recovering from watching a certain someone flop around the screen like a raggedy doll, to which I say:

Dear Family Reyes: Please handle The Sexy with care. Also, Dear Team Darlton: Thank you for bringing The Sexy back into my sad, sorry life, also known as Winter. Finally, Dear Jack Shephard: Thank you for reviving The Sexy—and for shaving, finally. No wonder Kate didn’t call you: she thought you were still sporting that abomination. It was gross, but it is gone now, and please don’t ever grow it back.

And now for my thoughts. Overall, I wasn’t blown away by the premiere. There was no cha-ching! moment for me; there was no great feeling of satisfaction at 11 p.m. However, I think Team Darlton took a few blatant (admitting to time travel) and several subtle pieces of the puzzle and laid them out for us. Here are some of my thoughts:

A Skipping Record. I love how Team Dartlon will wind a theme through the seasons. They do this better than any other TV show I’ve seen. First, our opening scene gave us a fellow getting out of bed and putting some Willie on the turntable. The fellow turns out to be Marvin Candle: Family Man, Television Personality, and Bowel-of-the-Earth Scientist. His few minutes on screen left me with many questions, but I will only ask this series here: The baby he was feeding—was it born on the island? Was it possible for babies to be born on the island at one point? Did the release of energy from the special wheel somehow prevent women from having babies on the island? Because from what Mr. Candle said, it didn’t seem like the energy had yet to be released, that the special ladder to the wheel had yet been created.

Second, Faraday, still in need of a bowl of pasta smothered in heavy cream sauce, described the island as a skipping record, which was obvious from the multiple flashes that our Losties went through. I think I counted four (correct me if I’m wrong): the first jumped back to pre-camp days, then ahead to post–hatch destruction, then back to “Brotha, I only wear Hazmat when I leave the house” days, and finally to pre-Juliet’s arrival on the island, a time when punishment for not carrying the proper ID was a swift off-with-her-hand. And although this was not mentioned, were the jumps happening every 108 minutes? Furthermore, are the Losties now the only ones who can jump time? Ageless Richard seemed to suggest to John that he was staying put in his current time frame and that John was the one jumping around. Did the exit of the O6 shake things up this greatly? Will their return put the island back in order, you know, as orderly as a whacked-out, acid-trip of an island can be?

Seventy Hours. When Ms. Hawking, the least positive player on the scene (you know, Jack shaved the beard, so at least he’s moving in the right direction!), told Ben that they had 70 hours, I think she meant 70 LA hours, which leads me to wonder if the O6 story this season will be encompassed in the 70 hours between Ben lighting a prayer candle and the O6 returning to the island. Whereas the time frame for the Losties back on the island could be totally different. I mean, these folks have the distinct possibility of ending up back in the 1840s, manning the Black Rock and having a swashbuckling good time.

Brief things I’d like to mention: Best Example of Advice Taken Seriously: Sayid to Hurley: “Whatever Ben tells you, do the opposite.” Hurley then throwing his Hot Pocket at Ben and running gladly into the arms of the police rather than follow that man’s directions.
-Best Quote: Hurley to Sayid: “Maybe if you ate more comfort food, you wouldn’t have to go around shooting people.”
-Best Blast from the Past: Ana Lucia as a traffic cop.
-Did anyone else think that one of the officers who came to Hurley’s house was Abaddon?
-Large Marge Theory of the Week: Daniel Faraday’s mother I think is Ms. Hawking. I mean, doesn’t she look like someone who would hold back food as a punishment for her children?

As always, please share your thoughts, and here’s to hoping that the O6, Ben, and Locke in a coffin come roaring back to the island in a DeLorean. Now that would be sweet indeed.

Upon the Close of Season 4

Dear Team Darlton,

I could have been really upset with you last night. It could have been one of those moments in a relationship when you look at your boyfriend and realize that he's an ass and regardless of his unique ability to blow corn out of his nose—which is really surprising and very funny—at the end of the day, he's a one trick wonder who only gives a shit about himself and really doesn't care about satisfying your needs. Basically, he's not a man, he's a boy, and he can't handle you.

But dearest Team Darlton, I think I'll keep you around a bit longer. This has been one kick-ass season of "Lost" and last night's episode did not disappoint. You did not disappoint, and you know I'm a happy camper when, at the closing scene of a TV show, I shout "OH HOLY SHIT" at the TV and then am unable to fall asleep for the visions of O6ers jumping nimbly around in my head.

So to top off a season of "Lost" that should win every award in the book but just might not because the members of the entertainment industry's lauded voting quorum are often imbeciles, I have created my own set of awards. I shall call them—rather unimaginatively, I know—the Losties, and if you win an award you will get to take home a Golden Statuette of Sayid, which will look great on your mantel, in your bathroom, on the dining room table between the salt and pepper shakers, or wrapped in special blanket in the middle of your bed. It even comes with a fitted black tank top. So thank you Team Darlton for giving me the inspiration for hosting these awards. The Season 4 winners are as follows:

The Male Bad-Ass of the Season Award: AS IF YOU'D THINK TWICE ABOUT THIS EVER but just in case you are in a coma...after his hand-to-hand I Will Serve Your Ass on a Platter with Keamy last night, there will never be a doubt that Sayid is the greatest bad-ass of all time. Yet one with a sensitive side, evident in his visit with Hurley, which is why I love him so.

The Female Bad-Ass of the Season Award: I think Sun is going to cut somebody in the next two seasons, and in addition to her dad, the other person will be Jack because I think these are the two fellows she blames for Jin’s death. There she was, hysterical on the helicopter after Jack dragged her on—what a wrenching scene—and then there she was, holding her own with Widmore. What will be interesting to see is if her plan of revenge will work in concert with or in conflict with Ben’s plan to get back to the island. It is clear to me where the other Oceanic 6 stand on going back to the island, but I'm not sure about Sun. She can be one cool as ice chick, but like Kate, she’s a mother now, and she has something to keep her off the island that the guys in the group don’t have.

The Crystal Ball and Tea Leaves Award for Foreshadowing: John Locke, who tells Jack that the knowledge of the island “will eat you alive from the inside until you come back.” He should have added, “And make you grow facial hair like a cave man.” But whatever. I wonder if John would have ever foreseen leaving the island to call back the O6? Which leads me to wonder what the hell happens in the 3 years since the island’s move that makes John take such a desperate step. Ben apparently had to leave the island because he moved it. Will John have to move the island as well and then be forced off? And what is the deal with the Others? Richard follows the leader but always reluctantly. Remember when he visited John as a child and said that John wasn’t what he was looking for? Maybe Richard still views John as deficient in some sense, and maybe he ends up taking advantage of this.

The Duplicitous Motive Award: Oh Miss Charlotte Staples Lewis. Miles can see right through your sweet strawberry-tinged smile and into the heart of your conniving little soul. Are you bad? Probably not. But will you do bad things to discover the place of your birth? Possibly so. I remember thinking that when Charlotte parachuted onto the island, she seemed a bit familiar with the place. Maybe she hasn’t spent time there as an adult, but her being born there is the only thing that gives me the ability to even acknowledge that her character is on the show. Hello—do we remember Nikki and Paulo? What a waste of my time.

The Jane Austen Award for Satisfying the Needs of a Romantic Heart: Penny and Desmond. Smarter people out there may have seen this one coming, but I didn’t…at least not yet. I always had a hunch that Desmond would get off of the island, but I just couldn’t figure out how he would do it apart from the O6. And then my best gal pal steps in and lends everyone a helping hand. But this leads me to the following question: Ben said that everyone had to go back to the island, including the corpse of John. Does this also include Desmond? And will Ben still carry out his ultimate revenge on Widmore once he finds Desmond with Penny? Probably still. I think any inkling of caring that Ben had went out the window with Alex’s death. He’s on a mission now, and nothing will stop him, and last night’s episode definitely proved that to us.

The Male Sacrifice Award: This is a hard one. We had several last night. Sawyer jumped from the helicopter of apparent freedom after whispering a sweet something in Kate’s ear, which I’m sure had to do with his daughter Clementine. Jin wouldn’t leave Michael alone with the C-4 until Michael finally convinced him, and then Michael found himself face-to-face with Christian who gave him the All Clear to finally take one for the team. Then Ben sacrificed his position as the island’s leader to save the island. It’s a hard, hard call, but at the end of the day, I’m going to have to take the entire season into account—as well as a SHIRTLESS WONDER RISING FROM THE SURF—and give this one to Sawyer. He went back for Claire and for Hurley when no one else would. And he gave the O6 the opportunity to escape because he cared more for them than for himself, even though he’d never admit it. But isn’t that what a real cowboy is all about?

The Chronicle Commenter Award for Insight and Participation (a-hem): This goes to my good friend Travel Todd (not the original, who thought that Europe had nothing to offer), who actually reads and responds on a consistent basis. In the World of Marge right now, he is my fellow survivor on the island. The rest of you who read this are currently Others—or worse, Freighter people. However, I am willing to form an alliance if only you’ll share your insight into this great show...and pass me a box of Dharma corn flakes when you're done.

The Taking the Time to Write This Shit Award for Effort and Possible Insanity: Large Marge. I know self-awarding is tacky, but what the hell. I really wanted a golden statuette of Sayid.

Until next season,

Marge

Didn’t See the Ruby Red Slippers, However…

I thought "There's No Place Like Home" was a great episode of "Lost"—although a clearly unfinished episode—and I am totally bummed that I have to wait 2 weeks for its conclusion. Dude! The only good thing is that next Thursday is the season premiere of SYTYCD, so my attention to TV won't have to be divided.

So we are inching closer to knowing how the Oceanic Six get off of the island. We have four of the six in the vicinity of the Orchid, while Sun and Aaron are now on the freighter. It sure seems like quite a distance between the two, particularly considering the explosive nature of the situation, but somehow, Team Darlton will pull this one out of their collective ass, and I can't wait to see how.

First, I want to say "Well Played" to the cast of this show who did a hell of a job acting last night. I feel like the episode contained some emotional elements that we haven't seen in a while—the struggles and triumphs of humanity that are best conveyed in silence, in looks, in a turn of the head. When the O6 were on the transport plane, you could feel the emptiness that was actually within them. When Kate hits the ground in Hawaii, you could feel her sense of loss—her sense of being lost, except for the child in her arms. When Claire's mom (no longer in a coma) tells Jack that Claire was his sister, his face tells you why he is unable to look at Aaron again until after Kate's trial. And then there was Sun's gaze on the freighter as she escaped to the deck after witnessing the terror within the vessel that was supposed to save them. (Yeah, I think I know what the thing on Keamy's arm is programmed for.)

I have a lot of questions. First: Why did the O6 say that three other people survived the plane crash? Which people were they? Are their stories important? Was this done for the sake of credibility? And what is it that will happen during the season finale that will make the O6 fabricate the story of their 108 days on Membata? By the way, if you add up all of THE NUMBERS, which we saw in Hurley's Camaro, they equal 108. Someone's paying attention to detail.

This episode again convinced me of what I've said before: Hurley is key to this story—specifically the story that the final two seasons of "Lost" will tell—or I hope will tell. The numbers, the visions, the voices. It was like the black smoke was with him last night when he wandered through his parents' silent home and grabbed for a statue of Jesus as protection, which produced my favorite quote of the show courtesy of Hurley's mom: "Jesus Christ is not a weapon." Nor was he a warrior—I shall leave it at that.

I’ll finish with the Silent but Deadly Bad-Ass of the Week Award. It goes to Sun for deftly kicking her father where it hurts the most. I look forward to seeing this play out. I think it is also key to the final two seasons because I believe her father has some connection with the island, and what Sun will uncover within Paik Industries may help lead the O6 back to the island and to the people they had to leave behind. And if Jin is still alive, I don’t know. But there was something in Sun’s gaze as she stood on the freighter deck that indicated that she foresaw a sacrifice of some sort. She knew she had to get off of the freighter to save herself and the two babies she now carried. She knew she had to escape at all cost. We’ll just have to wait for 2 more weeks to see how great the sacrifice will be. And if she’ll make it home with the help of some ruby red slippers and Judy Garland singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” in the background.

Destiny: A Fickle Bitch

Who would have thought that I could ever agree so much with Benjamin Linus, but I have to hand it to the man: he produced the best quote of the night. I’ll add that to my list of possible tattoos that I’d like to get if I could ever overcome my fear of needles, which isn’t likely. But just in case the fear subsides, I’ll have “Destiny is a fickle bitch” scrawled across my lower abdomen. And then of course I’d get pregnant and truly realize the gravity of that statement.

Anyway, I’m going to treat this like a sermon and present three points about the last episode.

Point 1: Heck Yeah, Christian Shepherd. Okay, so maybe Christian isn’t Jacob, but I was sure satisfied when he turned out to be the recluse in the cabin. And now I will present my far-flung idea on this. Did you notice, when he was hidden in the shadows, how he looked kind of skeletal? This supports my newest theory that Christian actually is dead, but that he learned to time-jump before he died, which gave him the ability to hop ahead for some alone time in the cabin post-death and maintain his standing as Parent of the Year: Yeah Right, But Proud of It. Speaking of Shepherd’s kids: didn’t Claire look high as a kite in that cabin scene. And so shiny. And really, how does her skin stay so nice on that island? The first hint of humidity for me, and I feel like a moonscape landed on my face.

Point 2: Faith the Size of a Mustard Seed. I just pulled a Biblical parallel out of my ass while typing this, so this may be very weak because it is not well thought out, and I ask for forgiveness beforehand. There’s a verse in the Bible in which Jesus says that if you have faith the size of a mustard seed then you can move a mountain. I’m not someone who interprets the Bible literally, so I’m not disappointed in the fact that Mt. Mitchell hasn’t been moved to the Carolina coastline by some very faithful person who desired for their big-ass mountain house to have an ocean view. I won’t delve into the fact that I also think this very faithful person undoubtedly never recycles and thinks that the death penalty is okay. I’ll leave that for another day. Anyway, it just dawned on me that this relates to our episode. We have a man of faith (John) going to the being of power (Jacob/Christian) to receive instruction to move the island, which is right there along the lines of moving a mountain. And I think to myself, “Yeah, right.” But then I remember that in a million years I never would have thought Sayid would pledge allegiance to a Henry Gale impersonator, so I concede that the island will move, which is where Point 3 comes in.

Point 3: I Think It Moves This Way. Actually, I have no idea how they will move that island, but damn it, they will do it, and it will happen in the split second after the Oceanic Six leave the island. By what method they leave, I am not sure because five adults, including Hurley, and an infant escaping into the sunset or sunrise or flash of purple light—whatever it may be—in Sayid’s dingy just seems like bad math. Regardless, I think that the island will move and that will be the challenge facing the Oceanic Six—how to get back because who knows where in the heck the island will go and how the heck to figure out those coordinates again.

And of course, we’ll see if I’m right about any of the above, which is about as likely as that tattoo.

No Restraining Order on Poetry

Ode to a Fallen Hero Who Happens to Lack an Appendix

Dear Jack
You’ve lost your knack
For keeping your shit together
You do so well
When others go through hell
But your dad issues send you popping pills like Heath Ledger
I know your dad
Is a creepy lad
Who I think is the man in the cabin
And it’s apparent why
You’ll turn into a crazed bearded guy
Sometime in the year 2007
So grow a pair
And shave off the ugly facial hair
And get your ass back to the task at hand
Help Sawyer and Jin
The bad-asses who’ve been
Taking care of business while you’re reading about Wonderland
Then rescue your sister
Tell her you missed her
And get her to Aaron again
And maybe discover
That Kate, you still love her
And marry the girl in the end

(PS I’m not sure what happened here, but this is all I’ve got for last night’s episode. No disrespect meant for our man Heath.)