I love tv. The telly is indeed a very fine friend. There are few things I am an absolute fanatic about, however. After all, this is the age of DVR magic. Anything can be paused, or restarted from the beginning, or taped during the midst of broadcast. Lost, however, is a different story. There are some things that you just don't fuck around with. Anyone who knows me knows that Lost time is sacred time. Whatever you've got to tell me can wait. Three calls tonight during Lost. THREE! I am proud that I was able to maintain some sense of self-control this time around.
You'd have thought that I'd have learned my lesson years ago during a Nick at Nite special evening of old Silver Spoons with Guest Stars when I'd answered the phone, "I pity the fool that calls during Silver Spoons!" This was right before the ubiquity of Caller ID, and of course it wasn't my best friend as I'd suspected it would be. It was a colleague calling about something for work. Lesson not learned. Last season, when someone called during Lost I answered the phone, "What the fuck do you want? Lost is on!" The number had come up "Out of Area," and I'd assumed it was a telemarketer. I still feel bad whenever I see my fiance's grandparents.
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