“It’s a movie about feminine women who run around the city screaming like girly girls.”
Here is one of my aches.
It took three years for Jack to grow a fake mustache.
Someone finally used the “m” word.
Locke cannot identify an anthurium.
The Dharma Initiative had elevator problems, too.
Ben will speak to anyone as if they’re six years old.
VHS tapes are not a stable storage medium.
Sawyer saved one of his best insults for last.
Ben can also respond like a six year-old: “So?”
Jeremy Davies is the Olivier of Being Worried.
The entire plot of that terrible “Zohan” movie (no, I haven’t seen it) was stolen from this one plot point: Sayiid is more comfortable killing people after he’s had a good blowout.
However successful “Lost” has been, the show still has no budget for Convincing Images Of Boats Blowing Up.
Sawyer is an excellent swimmer with very sturdy pants.
(“I Survived A Japanese Game Show” is going to have to hold us for a while.)
(The A&E TV commercial was a commercial for TV.)
The Big Island-Moving Knob (Frozen Donkey Wheel, fine) looks like a Japanese game show challenge.
That one shot of Jack in the raft had back-projection out of a Hitchcock movie. WHAT YEAR IS IT? WHERE DID THE MONEY GO, ABRAMS?
Claire looks like a cross between Reese Witherspoon and Natasha Bedingfield.
The Desmond/Penny reunion is “Titanic” in reverse.
“I have a tracking station” is a totally decent pick-up line.
I am not going to watch “Good Morning, America,” no matter what you promise me, Mr. TV Set.
“Brother” is forever Desmond’s word.
Why does Future Jack only listen to old Pixies and Nirvana?
Ben leaves the island to join Alien Sex Fiend.
Jack STILL hasn’t grown an actual mustache. Is Matthew Fox follicle-challenged?
So—two seasons to get everyone back to the island?
But go, Simon—on the cover of Billboard! You made it, dog.
“The Greeks had only one form of (mechanical) reproduction: minting coins.” — Walter Benjamin, “Theory of Distraction,” from “The Work Of Art In The Age of Its Technological Reproducibility and Other Writings On Media" (Belknap/Harvard, 2008).
Hoorah. Niji, of Shi Ra Nui, wrote back to me. (Thank you to Eric McCready for connecting us.) More soon, but this should hold you. It held me for several hours.
“I want you write long long dangerous challenging text. I’m tired of short reviews of no surprise.”
I was listening to that thing by Snoop Dogg with a million songs on it, including the good one. I noticed that the good one has the same problem as Jay-Z’s “Can I Get A...”: the fig leaf (“what what”) is better than the flesh (“fuck you”). (Unrelated: Amil? That beat? Chris Penn*? And Jay-Z so young? Nineties!)
“Sensual Seduction” is funny because it is redundant and stupid. “Sexual Eruption” is a euphemism for something I don’t need to know about Mr. Dogg and his day. I want funny rap. And so while the hours are being whiled away and I am not having funny rap, I wonder, in the hopes of remaining awake: “Why do people make these endless things that nobody buys?” I asked this of my friend who is paid by the one remaining major record label. (I asked her that question, I mean.) And she said: “Packaging shoots.” This was a good answer before it detached and became a potent, awesomely disturbing phrase all by itself.
No Age tonight!
* Joshua on the correctional 1 and 2s.