I do not watch much television, as is evident by the fact that I actually refer to it as television instead of TV.  Though seriously, I don’t watch it much, but I did watch “Lost” and enjoyed pretty much every minute of it, including the ending.  I should probably be happy with my own satisfaction with the show and just let it be, because I doubt expressing an opinion on how the creators chose to end things, or not end them in a sense, will lead to anything good or pleasant or thoughtful landing in my inbox.  And yet, here I go, into the brutally unforgiving fray of popular TV editorial writing:

The finale was a pretty good, if not perfect, ending to the story of Oceanic Flight 815.  That’s the part that those of us who followed Lost for its mythology sometimes either forgot, or chose to partially ignore.  The subject of the story wasn’t really the Island, or the Others, but the passengers of that flight and a few other characters that were inescapably swept up in the currents of their strange journey.  Basically, we did not get all the answers to all things in that last two and a half hour marathon of commercial interruptions.  What we got was the conclusion of the story that was really being told, for the most part.  We know what ultimately happened to all the really attractive people anyway, and I’m sure that’s all that really counts in TV land.

I guess watching the show could be like watching a World War II movie that is about a particular squad of soldiers.  The movie is about the squad’s struggles and triumphs within a much larger context, and the story can be successful and quite enjoyable without necessarily explaining much of anything about the war itself.  One doesn’t really need to understand what political tensions and turmoil ultimately led a group of nations to go to war to understand why a particular soldier’s story of courage can be dramatic and inspiring.  In other words, it’s ultimately about the characters, not the context, as long as the context is defined enough to present a general theme or background to support the story.

What the Island is, or perhaps more to the point what it represents, is its own rather huge context, as it seems to (possibly) represent some pure source of life, perhaps all life, or all energy on Earth (or clean burning fuel source that we could totally use to replace oil!  or not).  Let’s say that’s even half right, how then do you explain that kind of topic in a weekly Telly-vision program?  Better to incorporate such grand themes into a story that is really about people and their struggles and choices and mistakes, which is something we can all relate to and understand – and a show that can actually have an ending.  Better to not try and explain life, the universe and everything, which I think is where we would have been heading if an explanation of The Light had been forthcoming, because, well, we don’t actually have those answers.  The guys who created Lost don’t have those answers.  Do you have those answers?  And if you shared them with the world would it be, in a sense, the ultimate way to cheat on the biggest test of all time (Life)?  If you have them call me.  I have money.  Not a lot, but perhaps we can work something out.  Would you like a free Z Fighter Alpha T- Shirt?

One of my earliest theories regarding the “secret of the island” was that the Monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey would be found buried at the heart of the place.  Didn’t pan out, but then half the reason I proposed the theory was as a way of saying it ultimately wouldn’t matter.  Whatever it was it was going to be a symbol, but not the ultimate answer we were looking for, and are still looking for, as Losties and as humans and as tax payers.  The Light, the Monolith, The Dark Tower, 7 x 9 = 42, etc.  Why am I here (on the Island)? What is my purpose (on the Island)?  I don’t think Jacob really knew, and the chick who smashed his mom’s head in didn’t really know either, except that they needed to keep the lights on all the time or something not good would go down (the power bill?).  They were doing what they believed they had to do, as we all do.  Just keep pressing the button Brotha.  Apparently I believe I just have to keep writing this garbage.

Anyway, at least the James / Sawyer character managed to pull off the trifecta by sleeping with a brunette (Kate), blonde (Juliette) and a redhead (Charlotte) throughout the course of the series.  Although does that last one count, given “Where” it took place?  See, those are the sort of questions that should concern us, does a dude get points for scoring in the after life.  Now that’s heavy stuff.

If I get to heaven as it is portrayed in Lost, who will my last big reunion be with before I “move on”?  With my friends from high school (both of them)?  With the people I once stood in line with at a concert?  It won’t be me and a room full of Victoria’s Secret models…I may not have all the answers but I know that much is true.

Glitterpants – Here is now what was the there we were trying to get to.
Commander Literals – We were? When?
Glitterpants – When were we here or when were we there instead of here now?

Pickles – We are.
Literals – And we’re here?  How can we be there and here at the same time?
Pickles – We can’t?
Glitterpants – Well, now we’re not even here anymore because we’ve drifted past our original target coordinates.
Literals – So we’re no longer anywhere?
Pickles – Or are we there again, needing to get back to here?
Glitterpants – We’re here needing to get back to there?
Literals – I’m lost.
Pickles – You and me both sir.
Literals – Isn’t this the sort of thing the computers are supposed to figure out for us?  Where we are, and where we are going?
Pickles – I believe it can, and is, telling us definitively where here is.
Literals – Which is where we were trying to get to.
Glitterpants – I think we never left here.
Pickles – So we’re still there?
Glitterpants – I honestly don’t think we will ever get there!
Literals – How have we ever made it anywhere before?  Have we actually gone to any of those places we thought we went to?
Glitterpants – We have if they are here.
Pickles – Where is here?
Literals – Not there.
Glitterpants – How astute of you sir.
Literals – But let’s start trying to get there and see where we end up.
Pickles – Sure as hell will be better than here.
Glitterpants – I thought we established we can never leave here, and can never get there?
Literals – We have established that we should let the computers do the driving.
Glitterpants – Clearly a man born to lead.
Pickles – I would follow him anywhere.
Glitterpants – And where is that exactly?

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Here is here, and there is there.  Try to get from here to there but you never can because there becomes here the moment you would have arrived there.

Now get lost.

This blog is indeed worthless.  It exists yet has no meaning, no purpose.  Take the last post I tossed up here.  Pointless, boring, and of no interest to anyone but me.  Seems this post is heading in the same direction, but what can be done about it?  I need to turn this place into something, as I seem to have a strangely powerful need to keep it going despite it being such a persistent failure of less than epic proportions.  It’s not even a colossal failure, or a memorable flop, just a dull and altogether forgettable experience.  If it weren’t for a handful of people hot-linking to some of the images in my gallery this site would be completely invisible to everyone on the Internet.  I suppose invisibility is some sort of an achievement, though in this particular context not exactly what one strives for.

I’ve tried to make short flash movies and cannot seem to stay with any of them long enough to complete something of substance, something of value, or something more than 60 seconds long.  I posted one such failed attempt to the site here.  I tried to make an online comic, made it about 4 pages in and gave up.  I’ve tried to make this place a gallery for my artwork but the simple reality is that no one is very much impressed with my artwork.  I don’t blame them, it’s just good enough not to be considered totally lame and yet no less forgettable for that.  I’m just good enough at a few things to be not quite able to deliver anything worthwhile.

Yet, I’m quite determined to fail, fail again and fail some more.  I’m a particularly persistent loser I am.

Well, I have some made up characters in this game I’m making (yes, back to that again) that I suppose I could use to make some occasional bits of forgettable content and write it off as providing background for the game’s story, which is pretty lightweight and predictable and not in need of back story, but what the hell.

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Pickles: “If existence has no meaning then how can anything that exists have any meaning within its existence?”

Glittershorts: “To exist just means something is there, something is real, or something is on.  Like the snack machine in the break room, it exists, but its existence is not what, by itself, gives it meaning or purpose.  My cravings for tapioca covered popcorn balls on a stick give it meaning.”

Pickles: “So it has meaning the moment it begins to exist, or only after your inexplicable tastes give you a reason to make use of it?  And does anything that does not serve some useful purpose to someone else, or something else, truly exist?”

Glittershorts: “Not sure I follow.  For the first part it has some meaning from the beginning, just not to me.  Actually it may even have meaning then, such as to make me feel sad and unsatisfied with the poor selection of snack options on this ship.  But even if I had no need of a snack machine at all – a simple impossibility granted, but for the sake of conversation – it would certainly still exist, just not have meaning for me.”

Pickles: “Though I suppose it would have meaning to some one, or would have potential meaning.  Sort of like, it has active meaning to you when your stomach is growling loud enough to be heard over the Commander’s snoring, but passive meaning to me since I’m on a strict booze and Vitaminiacal Powder diet.”

Glittershorts: “Makes as much sense as any of our conversations ever do.  So we agree that the snack machine does not spontaneously unexist whenever I’m full?”

Pickles: “I will tentatively accept your hypothesis for now but will continue to observe this phenomenon for more concrete evidence of its persistence to stay existed.  For example, as an experiment, let’s quadruple all of the prices and see if ceases to exists in the minds and appetites of the crew.”

Glittershorts: “It will always exist in my mind, even after I realize I can’t afford anything in it and break into it in a fit of sugar withdrawal induced fury.”

Pickles: “Did I somehow just successfully argue that the snack machine has more potential than I do?”

Glittershorts: “I’m pretty sure that was already a given.”

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And we’re off!  (Center, the Mark, or simply Off)

In the previous post I mentioned a post from an older blog of mine that had attempted to cover the same topic, or at least begin to approach it.  As misfortune would have it the post was not lost after all, and so now here it is to be puzzled over and frowned at:

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Where am I?  I am on top of a chair, adjacent to a desk, underneath the sky and thankfully a long way from the Sun.  This last detail does not necessarily imply that it is not hot where I am, but rather it is not as hot as it could be and that I am thankful for this fact.

Do you know where I am?  No?  I am within the borders of a country, I am not over the ocean or a lake, but I am above the Earth’s surface.

Eight details as to my position and yet you could be sitting right next to me and have absolutely no idea where I am.

This bit of pointless thinking led me down a new dark alley that apparently I had, until recently, been wise enough to ignore.  Where is my mind?  I know where my brain is of course, and will probably always have a fair idea of where to find that spongy clump of synapses.  But the question is, where is my mind?  And where is your mind?  And can our minds get together for imaginary coffee on the corner of Contemplation Avenue and Philosophical Boulevard?

My mind is to the right of anarchy and to the left of “The Dark One Whose Name We All Forgot Because We All Kept Telling Each Other To Never Say His Name”.  It is above breaking wind in an elevator and beneath picking my nose in public.  It is against censorship and for well edited blogs.  Do you know where my mind is?

Had I the ability to suspend this unfortunate habit of growing old then perhaps I could sit here, in this physical position, and map out quite clearly my mental coordinates.  Or could I?  The issue remains that I must make statements that define how the position of my mind relates to an idea or thought or color, which themselves are defined by how they relate to other thoughts and colorful ideas.  And should I be successful in determining without any doubt precisely how my mind relates to one idea, it may not be an idea your mind relates to at all and thus is of no help in determining how our minds relate to each other.

Where am I?  Can you relate?

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How deep does this putrid pit of profound ponderings go?  There is no telling, but aren’t we all so glad the Internet was invented so people like me could share such nonsense with all you sensible surfers?  And the best news is, I’ve found several more posts from that old blog that are just as insightful and worthy of your time and I will be sharing them soon.