I haven’t watched the final episode of LOST, and it’s not because of some zombie satellite (Most awesome thing ever to interrupt TV. watching. I just get stinky diapers and whiny cats). I don’t want to watch it. Why? Is it because the final season is frustrating? What show, after eleventy billion good seasons, wouldn’t have some trouble wrapping itself up? Nope, not that. Is it because I don’t have time? No. If I wanted, I could make time. Not, literally invent time. I could just, you know, arrange my schedule to accommodate.
I think it’s because, if I watch it, it’s really over. And like so many other people, I don’t want to stop watching these stories. We have something like two hundred channels, and flipping through the channels is usually more interested than watching any of them. At least, it is for me. I think it drives my husband crazy because I can (and will) literally do it for hours.
But I liked these stories. I liked these people. They were like an extensive cast from my favorite books, the ones I’d hunker down with and read over and over. And if I watch that two and a half hours, it’ll be the last two and a half hours I’ll have with them. Sure, we’ll always have Paris, but we’ve been to Paris. I want to know what they’re doing after Paris.
Actually, if Ben Linus could just get a spin-off show, I’d watch that. I don’t care what the premise is or who the supporting cast is. Whatever they come up with, it would still be some of the best watching out there. Maybe he could play a scientist who unleashes the virus that starts the zombie satellite apocalypse…
Listening to: Andrew Bird