My wife Alison and my daughter Robin and I watched the season finale of Lost last night, and, along with every other viewer, were left with more questions than answers. I think this show, for all it’s other faults, has done a very good job of stringing us all along. There is only one other show this just-ended season that was a don’t-miss for me, and that was 24.
As another testament to the weight of the tension created by the end of Lost, Robin was left banging her fist on the arm of the sofa and, I’m a little ashamed to say, making rude hand gestures at the TV. It really is unfair to leave us all hanging on the edge of so large a cliff for the entire off-season, left to fill endless blog-pages with speculation about what is under the hatch and when we’ll see Walt again (they wouldn’t kill of a kid, would they?) but you know darn well what premier we’ll all be looking for in September.
Nothing to do with multiple sclerosis, but sometimes MS needs to be moved away from the center of our universes.