I am a loser. I am a serial television downstreaming addict. I have lost my grip on reality and the linear measurement of time. I am sleep deprived and useless. I can’t stop watching LOST.

I have watched 93 episodes in the last 28 days. That’s three and a half episodes a night. At 43 minutes an episode, that’s approximately 65 hours of my life gone forever, not including download time, break-to-pee time, re-fill wine glass time. I’d throw in another 15 minutes per night for that, which brings us to a solid 70 hours of my life gone forever.

I’ve amassed a mental list of what I could have done with that time. I could have read at least five very big novels. I could have written a screenplay. I could have watched 35 really great documentaries. I could have started a business. I could have made photo albums. I could have tightened my ass, abs and thighs. I could have built a greenhouse, installed a wood-burning stove in my living room, visited my grandmother, cleaned out my filing cabinet, found true love, flown to Europe and back at least twice. I could have learned a language, become a baker. I could have stalked Javier Bardem, in Spain. I could have slept for three days. I could have found THE ISLAND.

I never used to watch LOST. I prided myself in not watching LOST. Too violent, too creepy, too sci-fi, too hard to follow. And then, five years later, a lot of really intelligent people started saying, “Oh man – what do you mean you haven’t seen LOST?” And that’s when I sold my soul to Benjamin Linus and Netflix. That’s when I climbed aboard the baby blue VW bus headed for crazy town. 

I think I get it, actually. It’s the human condition in all its raw, stunning, ugly, desperate, survivalist glory. It’s mythology and redemption. It’s the modern-day comic book. It’s primal, baby. It’s archetypal. It’s all that we fear and all that we fantasize about. Plane crashes, the bogey man, starvation, predation, explosion. Hand-to-hand combat, time travel, betrayal, conspiracy. Guns, being impaled, being eaten alive. Sharks, bears, ghosts. It’s about losing our grip.

But where did they get the tarps? Since when is an airplane equipped with tarps? And why aren’t they really, really sunburned? Why aren’t their clothes dirtier? Why haven’t they all died from dysintery? Why are the women still wearing wonder bras and thong underwear? Are you kidding me? I would have ditched the undergarments DAY 1. And are you telling me a bunch of freaked out folks trapped on an island with ALL that heroin wouldn’t have snorted just a little? Come on. And why aren’t all of those sexy narcissists in deep emotional pain not having more sex? And where are all the bugs? And how do those torches stay lit? And where does all of that nice dry firewood come from? Jungles are wet

Now Rousseau – that’s my girl. Dirty, ratty, tooth decay, badass, bra-less. She hasn’t been doing a lot of freshening up, and she clearly ran out of sun screen some years ago. No one’s told her about the super modern, high-efficiency washer and dryer down in the hatch. (Apparently the Maytag Man, too, is able to leap through time in his very own Sears delivery submarine.) 

I am starting to believe that LOST is real and this is the dream. Give me my Dharma Initiative jumpsuit and a shotgun. Toss me a mango and a papaya and some ranch dressing. Lock me in the polar bear cage with Sawyer. Or Desmond. Or Sayid. Just don’t tell me how Season 5 ends.


14 Responses to “R E A L L Y L O S T”

  1. Another nice piece, Kira. Made me glad I’ve never seen Lost.

  2. Ah Kira, lost indeed! But beautifully articulated…my “lost” is Weeds…try it if you haven’t. Season 5 should be out in January!!!

  3. Thanks for the morning break. Way better than a cup of coffee. it’s good to know that I am not the only one out there with manic behaviors. Thanks for sharing your’s with all of us.

  4. i. love. all. things. you.

  5. ….and Sawyer is TOTALLY my first choice, too. THANK YOU for not listing Jack as a potential for shared cage-lockage.

  6. Boy I needed to laugh this morning! Thanks again Kira. So well articulated and so funny. I can totally relate — Tim and I are addicted too, and 50% of the time we ask ourselves the next morning, after a marathon of episode watching — why do we do it?
    Add Jin Soo Kwan to the polar bear cage and I’m with you!

  7. E I L E E N Says:

    …… but 70 hours is less than .01% of the 788,400 hours in a ninety year life (your grandmother is about there, no?) so it’s okay to get your epics where you can! I’ve never managed to get past the first five minutes of LOST but it’s the plucked eyebrows that get me.

  8. My mom sent me your link…love the blog its hilarious.

    Don’t worry, we spend a 1/3 of our life sleeping or something right?? Well last night i had a dream that Christian Slayter was my love and we were running away together….AND he was wearing an Italian suit.
    guess what I’m saying is i spend a good chunk of my life dreamin’…..

    about running away with men in italian suits. (Must be all that MadMen i’ve been watching)…ahem

  9. I laughed all through your story and it brought back memories of how much funnier ‘ Saturday Night Live’ was when you told me about the show than when I actually watched it!

  10. i’m with you re: the tarps.

    my “lost” was the wire.

  11. My “Lost” was watching all episodes of the first season of “Glee,” but luckily they produced very few. Glad I can finally be open about that!

  12. Corny goom-bahs in polyester suits. The f-word when other words are much more useful. Bad gangster acting. Stereotypes of bad stereotypes. Drugs, thugs, tits and hits.

    That’s right, I got Lost in The Sopranos. The boxed sets. Four episodes before midnight, then three more afterwards. On a work night! Fuggin Tony!

    I have not amassed a mental list of all I could have done with those hours and nights. That would take more time which I’d never get back, but I could have stalked Holly Hunter AND Uma Thurman. Anywhere in the world. And still gotten more sleep.

    And STILL no one ever blew Tony’s brains out. What a let-down THAT was….I can’t watch Springsteen’s lead guitarist anymore without thinking of Carmela (yes, I fantasized a little there).

    That’s the thing about getting LOST. It never ends the way you hope.

    Now, about that season five ending….can you believe they found a good boat with fuel and penicillin??!! Never saw that coming….

    Go visit your Grandma and fuh-ged-aboud-it.

  13. Funny I should stumble upon Jonesin’ today. After perusing rants and raves about poverty, relationships, stomach viruses, and world travel for the last half hour, “ReallyLost” has grabbed my attention. I too prided myself on NOT watching lost (bueno, I also used to pride myself on NOT commenting on blog posts by friends who I could easily call or email; but maybe I’ll have to blog about that myself another time..). After all, PLU’s (people like us) are above all that mainstream, comercialized crap, right? However, yesterday, in response to my cable company’s recent removal of our previously free HBO and Cinemax coverage, I found myself in el mercado Las Amates, Guatemala City’s recently constructed marketplace providing safe, clean, publicly funded facilities for the black market vendors of the city, buying… yup, you guessed it… the complete first season of Lost. 7 DVDs priced at 5 quetzales each, for a total of 4.30 USdollars. And so.. I join you Jones. Maybe someday you will find yourself commenting on a blog post of MINE, in which I too try to justify my own late night addiction to national broadcast entertainment, and together, we will agree, that we are better than Lost, and it was worth wasting 65 hours in order to prove it. To ourselves… un beso

    • Benjamín Says:

      As I begin season season 4 of our beloved series I write to you, castaway Jones, disappointed. Not just disappointed in the never ending supply of tarps or the lack of bug bites, but disappointed in myself. What began as a substitute for canceled HBO has turned into a dark, late night addiction.

      I was pleasantly surprised when my black market copies of season one turned out to have malfunctioning discs. This meant I could not plow through multiple DVDs in a single session, forcing me to take a couple weeks off until I had time to return to the market and exchange the bogus disc for a functioning copy. It was a welcomed control mechanism to my new addiction. Seasons 2 and 3 were equally disappointing: non-functioning DVDs and unbelievably long lasting torches helped control my dosage of Lost.

      But I have since lost control. Last week visiting a friend I noticed something on his bookshelf that reminded me of Charley finding a plane full of heroine on a deserted, haunted island: seasons 1 though 7 in shinny, official abc studios packaging. No more bad discs, no more trips to the market, just hours and hours of uninterrupted network entertainment staring at me from the top shelf. Lets just say that Charley has proved a stronger man than I…

      Should I be so disappointed in myself at 3 in the morning when I finally let the last disc end and resist sliding in the next? Should I be disappointed that I escape reality by watching lost instead of seeking out friends and companionship in depressing times. Or should I welcome the numbing entertainment I’m offered in the comfort of my own home? Is this just the 21st century version of the lonely, late night barstool? And if so, do I dare admit that it’s a better option…?

      So I write to you Jones, from the midst of my own dark island. Although I know there is an end to this journey, that I will eventually be rescued; as the beginning of season 4 has taught me: everything is not always as it seems. When that last disc is over, when I am free to leave the couch as our friends were free to leave the island, will it really be over? Will I be free? Will the island let me go? Tell me Jones, what is out there? on the other side? What is there after season 7 is over?

      …or maybe you shouldn’t tell me… would Jack and Kate and Hurley have left the island if they knew what was waiting for them? Damn it!!

      Un fuerte abrazo Jones

      p.s. I’m also a little disappointed in the lack of Jonesin’ blogging. Have you found that shack by the sea? I thought shacks have wi-fi…

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