May 14, 2009

An Open Letter to the Creators of LOST

Dear Creators of LOST,

Why do you hate me? Seriously, what did I do to you? Did you think I didn't have enough mystery in my life? Do I look like Nancy Drew, in search of mystery around every corner?No, I do not. I have brown hair and drive faster than Miss Drew. I also don't like wandering into dark spaces with nothing but a flashlight and a sense that something is amiss.

But I digress.

Here's the thing: I don't really like the sensation of my brain melting and flowing out of my ears. It's just not pleasant. You'd think it would be a warm, tingly sensation. Nope. Instead it's just painful. And yet for the last five seasons you've become increasingly antagonistic and insisted on making things more and more difficult for your viewers. It's like you enjoy torturing us with your wild twists and turns and dead bodies piling up. Or maybe you enjoyed dissecting animals in school—poking and prodding the brains of innocent animals. And so now you do that with television viewers. You poke and prod our brains with an ever-increasing maelstrom of ridiculousness.

And can we please talk about the decision-making skills of your characters? Don't these people know how to make a decision and stick with it? Whatever happened to commitment? Sure, trying to get back to where you began sounds like a good idea, but why not just let the chips fall where they may? And oh my goodness—just pick a partner, people! What is with these men and falling for the manipulative woman who lies and steals children and has beautiful hair even when she's in the jungle and hasn't showered in three months? And I'm not just talking about romantic partners. What about picking sides in this war between the Oceanic survivors, the Others, the Hostiles, the Dharma people, the Ajira people, Jacob, the other Oceanic survivors that disappeared a while ago...did I miss anyone?

But seriously—someday my children and their friends will look at me with pity and wonder what happened to me. They'll call me a Lostie and wonder why I greet everyone by saying “Namaste” or why I refused to celebrate their birthdays when they turned four, eight, 15, 16, 23 and 42. It will be your fault that my children will be named Kate, Jack, Sawyer, Hurley and Juliet. But that's okay. I don't take it personally. It's my destiny, right?



P.S. Please don't let Jack, Kate, Sawyer, Hurley, Sun, Jin or Miles die. And it would be awesome if Sayid, Juliet, Charlie, Claire and Libby weren't really dead and they've just been on the other side of the island enjoying mai tais and a nice selection of island delicacies. Just a thought.

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