where I'm calling from

Hey everyone, let's climb into my time machine and go back to 2004 for a moment. Humor me.

Back in 2004 a new TV series started. I won't profess to know much about TV shows because the last serial I watched in its entirety was a wildly unpopular show called Twin Peaks. (Call me if you want to re-watch it; I even have the bootleg pilot from Hong Kong). Before that, I remember Luke and Laura getting married on daytime soaps and something about a car with an onboard TCU named "Kit." But I digress...

Recently, I was ill. As in, stranded at home, on the couch in the middle of summer and recovering from invasive surgery ill. Jim bought me a streaming Roku box so I could watch NetFlix content on demand, so I thought, "What the hell? I have the time. Let's try this Heroes show everyone is raving about."

Error. Poop salad. Third season took such a nose dive I bailed out. Try again.

I asked for recommendations and they rolled in. Mad Men. Battlestar Galactica. Project Runway. On and on. People also recommended LOST. I nibbled on the bait.

*WARNING: SPOILER ALERT FOR APPROXIMATELY 13% OF THE REMAINING VIEWING AUDIENCE THAT WAS STUCK WITHOUT CABLE FOR THE PAST FIVE YEARS. LIKE ME.*

I took the bait. I was caught. The pilot episode shook me so badly, I didn't think I could keep going. It was like a high speed car wreck: captivating and scintillating and oh, so horrifying. I stayed on with Season One, clutching my arm rests and learning to love these cast-aways. My favorite characters were Sayid (debonair, worldly, yet soft) and John Locke (cripple can now walk, wha???) Jack, Sawyer and Kate were too confusing, too clouded. But the whole series captivated me.

Season Two rolled in like thunder on my Roku box. Sure, I wanted Claire to shut her fucking gob and Charlie needed to get a grip, but hey, Island Fever can't be cured with a few asprin and a glass of Oahu spring water. I felt compassion for Anna-Lucia and was extremely interested to learn why Libby had been in the nut house. But then JJ Abrams, that sly fucker, slammed the door on these women. I cried on my couch for poor Rose with cancer. I screamed when Libby took two bullets to the gut. And I held on.

Season Three started with a confusing bang. Here we meet The Others, those rat bastards stalking My People. Sun confirmed her freak pregnancy and I started worrying she was carrying the next Island CHUD. Locke became a total loony and I fell in love with Desmond. All through Season Three, I watched Kate, Sawyer and Jack slice each other up emotionally. And I witnessed some pretty good prime-time kung-fu action. I mean, really, I think I can fend off an intruder now.

Now, I am pretty much well and have returned to work, but I keep taking in an episode here or there. I have learned to love/hate Juliet in Season Four. And WTF? Suddenly we see the future as well as the past? My brain is on the edge of a short circuit. Then Desmond became unstuck in time, a la "Slaughterhouse Five" and they dropped in Jeremy Davies, the greatest Mad Scientist character actor in 50 years? I think I just climaxed. It's paranormal. It's sci-fi. It's almost over. I have six episodes left.

When they run out, I have to wait until Season Five is released on DVD, or I can squint at stolen downloads on my computer, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. Which is probably what I will do. As for Season Six airing live starting February 2010, I am just going to have to plug my ears and ignore the entertainment press until I can catch up. I am NOT ordering cable for this. That would be like selling my TV for a fix, reminiscent of Requiem for a Dream.

In the meantime, I am sorry for Charlie. And Jin. I know now who the Oceanic Six are, but not WHY they are and what happened. I almost don't want to know. My fingers are sore from the constant abuse as I rip off my nails. I miss the simpler days of Twin Peaks where you got one or two twists per season, not per episode.

JJ Abrams, you get coal for Christmas, you heartless, time-sucking entertainment thief.