"Wait a second...is it now, or 30 years ago?"
If you were a fan of LOST, this blog is for you.
THREE WEEKS AGO
The phone rang. It was my sister’s daughter’s cousin. Also known as…my daughter.
THIRTY YEARS AGO
My sister’s mother’s sister called. Also known as my aunt. (Dun-dun-dun! Insert scary music here to foreshadow certain bloodshed),
My aunt called my daughter. I fell down the stairs. There was blood.
THIRTY MINUTES AGO
I fell up the stairs. More blood. My aunt’s sister’s daughter, also known as my sister met someone I used to know. (Dun-dun-dun! More scary music).
THREE YEARS AGO
Dodged a bullet. Didn’t know it. There was blood. Not mine.
Found a hatch. Bright light. No, wait, it’s just the toilet. I’m going in.
THREE HOURS AGO
THREE SECONDS AGO
I’m back. What happened? I don’t know. The writers don’t know. There was blood. Not sure what happened to my sister’s mother’s younger daughter. Dun-dun-dun.
"I'm sick of you guys calling me the Old Dude!"
For those of you who have seen the TV show, LOST, you know there is this character called John Locke. I always thought of him as Mr. Clean’s dad. He’s the elder-statesman of the show, cool, edgy, more than a tad creepy.
He gets referred to a lot as “the old dude”-or-“the elderly guy”-or- “the senior citizen”. This was fine with me, cuz he’s, you know, bald and he’s kind of got moobs (man-boobs). More than a few wrinkles. Before he shaved his head, he sported this really bad-comb over.
So, imagine my surprise, not to mention horror, when Mr. John Locke, elder-statesman of LOST announces his birth year on one episode. Whu?! Huh?! He’s… MY AGE! NOOOO! Does this mean I’m not…GASP… young?! What?! I was still envisioning myself in the age bracket of say, Jin, or maybe Sawyer. I wasn’t delusional enough to align myself with Clare, but thought she might be a younger sister? Uh, no. The actress who plays Clare could be my daughter. The guy who plays the hunky Sawyer could be my son. Suddenly, I’m feeling all Oedipal and slimy.
Not that John Locke isn’t attractive. He’s got a beautiful smile and he’s very hunky for a…a…uh, senior citizen. But I was sort of seeing him as a father figure. My father.
My Spiritual Ducks
One Sunday, several years ago now, the pastor of our church asked us to write down the three things that were most important to us on a slip of paper. He waited while everyone smiled smugly and scribbled. Knowing human nature, I can only guess that everyone’s list looked a lot like mine:
1. God 2. Husband 3. Family. Yeah. I’m pious. Got the old spiritual ducks in the row.
Then the pastor asks us to write down the three things we spend the most time doing everyday. An audible sigh rippled through the crowd and people began to slump in the pew. My list?
1. Watch TV 2. Nag Husband to turn the ESPN down. 3. Nag children in other room to turn Disney Channel down.
I knew I had a problem when my then nine-year-old daughter came to my bedroom door wanting help with her homework and I made her wait outside while Mommy finished her show. After all, Mommy’s show was about this rapist who was in the process of gouging out the eyes of his victim and I didn’t want to traumatize my daughter. Just call me Mother-of-the-Year. Couldn’t pry my eyes away from that show (sorry, couldn’t resist that pun) and, I have to admit, answering questions about erectile dysfunction commercials from a five-year-old were creeping me out.
So, we cut the cable. The withdrawal was horrendous. There should be a 12 step program. Now, of course, we are that totally uncool, square family that never really knows what’s happening out there in the real world. I hear about TV shows from friends, read about them on-line, see the articles in Entertainment Weekly, so I’m not completely clueless. And, whenever a series catches my eye, like 24 or NCIS or LOST, I’ll go out and buy it on DVD. No erectile dysfunction between stretches of action, and the hubby and I can watch an entire season in one marathon weekend of bloody-thirst and violence and then return to church on Sunday feeling proud that we didn’t make the kids sit outside of the bedroom door all month. Just…you know…that one weekend.
Okay. We still have some work to do.