I love fat.
If no one’s looking, I will eat a pat of butter. Maybe I’ll stick a breadcrumb on it so I can call it “bread and butter” and not just “butter”. It does something to your self respect when you snack on straight butter.
But for some reason, liver-flavored butter is a different story. That’s what foie gras is: liver butter. And yet it’s perfectly acceptable and dignified to eat it with a fork.
Luckily, I don’t like foie gras.
It’s the one fatty food that doesn’t tempt me. And I have no interest in getting to like it.
Why would I try to acquire a taste for something that leads to no good?
That’s probably something I should have asked myself before watching Lost.
I’d seen the first few episodes years ago, and decided it wasn’t for me. The plane crash part I liked; that was some real, scary shit. But then came the smoke monster, disembodied whispers in the jungle, and “others.” Supernatural crap. Not my bag.
And, as time went on, I heard Lost fans talking about time travel, dreams, and gun fights. A trifecta of my least favorite things to watch.
So when my husband found Lost on the On Demand channel and started watching four episodes in a shot, I was like, “knock yourself out.” I only lay down on the couch and started following along because I thought it would be nice to watch TV together. He hates my Real Housewives, I can’t get with Law and Order or Murder She Wrote (I’m serious, he loves Jessica). We have so few shows in common.
After an episode or two, I could have stopped.
Steven was the one who suggested, “Let’s just see what the next episode looks like.”
He was the one who wanted to get home from any outing so he could watch a bunch of Losts. I wasn’t even thinking about it.
Then, somewhere around the 10th episode, the whole series disappeared from Time Warner On Demand. Gone. Vanished. Just like the island at the end of Season 4. How do I know that happens? Because:
I’ve now finished 4 seasons. In 3 weeks.
I’ve done the sad math, and it totals about 81 solid hours. So this is why they call it “Lost.”
I started watching them on my MacBook. First, I invited Steven to watch with me. I was really doing it for him. I didn’t care. I had a life to live.
But he didn’t dig the small screen and tinny sound from the computer speakers. So I plugged in my headphones and continued watching by myself.
And then, I couldn’t stop.
I don’t even like this stupid show!
Still, I keep needing to find out what happens. And I keep thinking, in my Lost-addled brain, that I will be satisfied by “just one more episode.” After which, I’m convinced, I’ll feel like writing my blog. Doing my work. Getting that pedicure. Taking that shower. I’ll be back to my normal self after just one more.
Well, if you look at the date of my last post, or at my toenails, you’ll know that didn’t happen.
With Lost, there’s no such thing as “just one more.” Every dumb episode ends with a dumb, irresistible mystery. And so does every dumb season.
It’s meant to be addictive and life-destroying.
The whole time, I’ve been asking myself, “Why am I checked out of my life and glued to this show? Am I a self-sabotaging person? Am I afraid of success? That’s it, I can’t tolerate success. I must think I’m unworthy of greatness. That’s why I’m doing this to myself.”
Except that’s not true. I love success. I love accomplishment. I love being creative and productive. I have an addiction, that’s all there is to it.
Lost is crack.
I haven’t tried crack, but I bet that if the world’s most motivated and successful person – let’s say, Sir Richard Branson – were to smoke crack, he’d want more crack. He’d say, “Nah, let’s not do any business today. Not till I smoke up this crack. When I’m done with this bag of crack, I’ll be ready to get back to my multi-billion dollar Virgin empire, but for now, beam me up, Scotty!”
After a while, Lost, like crack, is no fun.
You just do it because you can’t stop. Compulsively and joylessly.
What’s that? You think crack is always fun? Have a look at this video of Chris Rock smoking rock in the movie New Jack City. He’s not having fun. He’s crying.
That’s me, watching Lost.
Mercifully, something shifted for me at the end of Season 4. I said, “Really, people? You’re talking about going back? After all that? After I spend 81 hours rooting for you to get off the island and win huge settlements from Oceanic Airlines? I’ve had it with all y’all. Go get fucked.”
So, putting down the Lost pipe.
Getting back to my life.
What about you? Did you watch this show? Have you ever been addicted to crack or goose liver pate or something you didn’t even enjoy anymore? Tell me in the comments.
And if you ever see me digging into a plate of foie gras, punch me.