Lostaway
We’re about to dive into the 2-hour season finale of Lost, almost entirely because Mrs. Perils has a crush on Sayid. I’m only watching to maintain cultural contact with my spouse. It has nothing to do with Kate. See you in a cuppla hours.
(update) OK, that’s over. There was a point where a group of the crash survivors (none of the hot women, thank god) were out to sea in a sailing raft they’d fashioned, and they consulted a primitive radar device Sayid had salvaged from the wreckage of the plane. A blip appeared, and remained on the screen. After an interminable period of gape-jawed portent, someone said, “There’s something out there.” The show is set in the tropics, but nonetheless moves at a fairly glacial pace. Mrs. Perils, having become impatient with the pacing, and the fact that Sayid was with the land party and not on the raft, exclaimed, “No SHIT. It’s fucking Moby Dick, and he ain’t using his runnin’ lights!”
See you in September.
