Lost: Season 2

To the Ocean
Originally uploaded by Ed Hoover

Whew! I have now completed my re-watch of the second season of “Lost.” That one was a bit tough, because the show tended to drag a bit that year, at least for me. I didn’t care much for the tail section group, particularly Ana Lucia. That’s not quite true — I did like their story and I did like the device the producers used to introduce them and bring them together with the protagonists we began with. But it got a bit tedious there for a bit.

(I suppose that the third season got a bit tedious, too. That was the “Kate and Sawyer spend eight episodes in zoo cages” thing, but I do remember loving the season premiere and the mind-blowing “we’re on a different island!” thing.)

In the last episode, “Live Together, Die Alone,” we get to see Charles Widmore and Penny Widmore for the first time. Little do we know what’s going to happen with them — that Charles was on the island in the ’50s, that he has been spending money and time to try to return, that he will help John Locke after Locke turns the frozen donkey wheel and ends up in Tunisia.

Or that Penny and Desmond — who heretofore had been in only about three or four episodes — would have one of the most compelling moments in the entire series when they have their phone conversation in “The Constant.”

(Speaking of Desmond, this picture is from my trip to Oahu last year. It’s the place where Desmond followed Kelvin to, when Desmond discovered Kelvin had been fixing up Desmond’s boat to escape.)

We also didn’t know, although there were hints, that the Others weren’t exactly what they seemed. We didn’t know that they lived in a nice, civilised village with kitchens and book clubs and a rec room.

Some observations:

• Although Michael is missing for most of Season Two, fear not, for we do not lack an annoying character. Ana Lucia fits that bill perfectly. I want to slap her in virtually every scene she’s in. Her smug pouts, her obstinacy, her terrible leadership skills.
• The show is immediately improved by the presence of Michael Emerson as “Henry Gale,” a.k.a. Ben Linus. It was good before, but it bumps up to excellent when he enters the scene. Emerson takes this show to 11. It’s hard to think he was originally supposed to be in only three or four episodes.
• By the way, if you want a laugh, here’s a video of Michael Emerson in a Federal Bureau of Prisons training video from what must be the early ’90s. It’s hilarious — production values, seeing shades of Ben in his character. But best is his hair, which must have served as the model for his hairdo in the flashbacks on “Dead Is Dead.”
• Back to “Lost.” At one stage, Hurley and Sayid are on the beach trying to get a signal on the radio Bernard gave to Hurley. They come across a radio broadcast of some Glen Miller music, and Sayid explains that radio waves at that frequency can travel thousands of miles, so the source of the broadcast could be “anywhere.” Hurley says, “Or any time ... just kidding, dude.” That line raised eyebrows at the time, but we had no idea how right he was. (Apparently the producers have confirmed that this radio broadcast was indeed due to time travel.)
• The episode “Dave,” which is all about Hurley’s imaginary friend, is still a mindfuck. The story sets us up to think that perhaps this entire thing is just a figment of Hurley’s imagination, that he’s lying in a bed in Santa Rosa Mental Hospital dreaming the entire series up. Then Libby convinces Hurley (and us) otherwise (“I’m real. This is real”). But then she gets a dastardly look on her face as they walk away from the cliff, and then in flashbacks we see her as a patient in Santa Rosa. Hm.
• Speaking of Libby, we still don’t know her full background. We know she was in Santa Rosa, although we don’t know why she was there. We know she owned a boat, Elizabeth, which her husband had owned and named after her before he died. We know she met Desmond by chance (or fate) in a coffee shop when she bought him a drink because he didn’t have any American money. We know she was once married. But that’s it.
• Why did Sayid completely forget about Nadia while he was on the island? He was told by the CIA that Nadia was safe and alive and living in Los Angeles, and he was on his way there to see her when Flight 815 crashed. But on the island, he easily falls in love with Shannon. Seems strange.

Here are some questions I have, too.

• What was the Dharma Initiative really doing? Specifically, what was up with having two people sit in a station entering numbers, and then having other people observe them (in the Pearl) and record their observations, then putting their findings in pneumatic tubes that end up in a pile in the middle of a field?
• Why does Gerald DeGroot look just like Peter Jackson?

I’m working on a longer list of questions I want answered by the end of Season Six. That is, some I want answered but won’t necessarily be heartbroken if they’re not answered, as well as three or four deal-breaker questions that I must have answers to when everything is said and done.

I’m not sure when I’ll post that. Perhaps it’ll be after I’m finished with the re-watching and before next seasons starts.

An open letter to the Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Authority

Dear Metro,

We need to talk.

I know, every day you probably get a thousand e-mails and calls and in-person complaints from people who are angry, upset and frustrated at your service. Hell, even I’ve fired off an angry e-mail or two while stuck on a train. I sent you six tweets last night.* But I have to add my voice to the mix in a more reasoned environment.

Look, I love Metro. It’s an invaluable service to the citizens and visitors of our fair city. It’s clean, mostly efficient and still quite safe despite recent events. It’s one of the best systems in the country. I’m an avid cheerleader for public transit — I think we should double Metro’s reach and do more to convert drivers to transit users. Congress should give you piles of cash.

And I realise that cash flow is at the root of a lot of your problems. I recognise that you have severe budget shortfalls, and that your entire funding mechanism is a screwy, multi-jurisdictional fustercluck that results in decreased service, an inability to keep up with an aging and growing system, and pretty much any other problem you can point to.

I appreciate that you have to deal with asshats on Capitol Hill, dickwads like Oklahoma Senator Tom Coburn (Republican, naturally), whose constituents wouldn’t know a subway train if it ran over them. I know that Coburn has placed holds on legislation that would alleviate many of these problems for unfathomable reasons — perhaps he wants a subway in Enid? Whatever. He’s a typical Republican hack who hates it when money goes to communist gay stuff like public transit. I get that.

But here’s the thing, Metro: You can’t blame everything on a lack of funding or on douchenozzles like Tom Coburn. There are some things you can fix without a single additional penny in funding.

I’m talking about communicating with your riders.

Last night, I was heading home from Georgetown to Silver Spring. That’s a long trek, particularly when you consider the trains don’t go to Georgetown. But I was making good time; the bus came straight away, breezed to Farragut North and the transfer was seamless. Too good to be true.

At Takoma, we stopped. And sat. And sat with the doors open for five minutes without anyone telling us what was going on. All we got was a vague “Customers, we’ll be moving momentarily” from the conductor. A few minutes passed. It was 10:45 p.m. on a Thursday. I just wanted to go home and go to bed. Work in the morning, you know.

More minutes passed. Nothing. No announcements. We’re still sitting there, doors open, the cold night air rushing in. Finally, after at least five minutes, we’re told that the train will be taken out of service. Wait, what? So we all disembark and stand on the chilly platform. Nobody tells us when another train might be coming.

Nothing.

Here’s where I’m going to give you some free PR advice, Metro. You don’t have to take it from me. It’s not like I do this for a living or anything.

Oh wait. I do.

The train that was behind us ended up coming within four minutes. But we didn’t know that. It came on the opposite platform, because our train still hadn’t budged. We didn’t know that, either. For all we knew, we were going to have to be standing there, out in the cold, for 30 minutes or so.

You see, this frustrates us and makes us angry. When we don’t have the information.

Oh, sure, I got a tweet from your Red Line feed* that said there was a sick passenger at Takoma, but that was after I was on the new train and underway. And I only got that because I have an iPhone and I use Twitter and I’ve signed up for that service, which is geared mostly for the people who are about to get on the train somewhere else.

But what about all those poor saps actually on the affected train? Those hundreds of people standing on the Takoma platform in 39-degree weather? Who’s talking to them?

You see, when we don’t have information, we passengers get testy. There’s science on this. And the solution is simple: Just pick up the microphone and tell us what’s happening.

It’s like when you’re at a restaurant and your waiter is busy. He hasn’t come by to take your drink orders yet. But he does say, “I’ll be with you in one moment” and you feel better. You know he knows you’re there. Your blood pressure goes down and you don’t hate his guts so much. Those seven words diffuse the situation.

So just tell us what’s going on, Metro. We can handle it; we’re big people. We understand that things happen.

You’ve had a shitty year, Metro. I know. I feel for you, particularly for your PR team, who must wake up every morning and think, “Please, God, don’t let there be another catastrophic failure on the trains today. I don’t have the will to face an angry public and media today.” (Give Lisa Farbstein a raise while you’re at it. And maybe a vacation to the Bahamas.)

And we’ve stuck with you, by and large. But you’ve got to help us out. Because when you come to us, hat in hand, and ask for a fare increase, we’re going to be a hell of a lot more likely to go along with it if we don’t hate your guts. And it’s hard to hate someone’s guts when they talk to you and tell you what’s going on.

Hugs and kisses,
Ed

__________
* And I’ve since learned that that Twitter feed isn’t even an official WMATA thing. Some blessed soul started it on his own. Hey, Metro, using Twitter is free. It’s another way you can communicate with customers. (And sorry for the barrage of nasty tweets, Jeff.)

Hm

It’s Thursday. Last night, I went to see the Bullets Wizards fail miserably at basketball. They made it competitive for a period or two, but then sunk back to their usual suckiness.

• Speaking of basketball, the college season is starting up. Your Aggies have an “exhibition game” against Texas A&M-Commerce tonight. I’m guessing that’s not televised.
• Apparently, some athletic club from the Bronx won a baseballing contest last night, which makes them champions of a world that includes only the United States and one city in Canada.
• Poor Malia Obama, whose dad went on the teevee yesterday and told everyone about that one time when she got a C on a science test. She needs to get some geeks from NASA to help her exact revenge.
• This man is a genius. The French sure don’t screw around when there’s wine to be drunk. My kind of people.
• I haven’t seen “V” yet. Has anyone? I missed its premiere, and will be precluded from watching it live because I have chorus rehearsals every Tuesday night. Is it good? It’s got the yummy Elizabeth Mitchell, so I’ll tune in just for that if I have to.
• Three-quarters of Americans who are eligible for military service are too fat, too sick and too dumb to serve. Huzzah.
• God bless Lisa Farbstein, a spokeswoman for Metro. I hope she hasn’t developed a bad drinking habit, because her job has got to suck.

I want a breakfast taco.

Already?

I just went for a midmorning coffee run over at Firehook, and as I was paying the stereo system in the shop played “Greensleeves.”

Now, I know that this piece wasn’t originally a Christmas piece — it didn’t get its “What Child Is This” lyrics until 300 years after the tune was written — but it’s got Christmas connotations now. And I don’t think Firehook is going 16th century English on us.

So yeah, it’s starting. I saw a Christmas tree and a Menorah outside the Barnes & Noble in Bethesda the other day. A coworker has spotted Walmart Christmas ads on television.

Why do we have to skip over Thanksgiving? That’s my favourite holiday. You get a four-day weekend and you get to spend your entire Thursday eating, drinking and watching football. What’s not to love?

One year back

On year ago today I landed back in these United States after a two-year stint of living in Sydney, Australia. It’s hard to believe it’s been a year since I’ve returned. But at this time last year I was trading early spring for early winter, Daylight Saving Time for Standard Time, left-side driving for right-side driving — and got back just in time to see Barack Obama elected president.

That was worth the trip.

That day last year I went from the comfort and quiet of the upper-deck business class Qantas flight — all 14 hours of it, with its lie-flat bed and its hot flight attendant referring to me as “Mr. Hoover” and its free booze and its free food — to the uncomfortable indignity of American Airlines coach class from Los Angeles to Washington. Which is a bit like going from a night in the Ritz Carlton to a night in a Motel 6.

When I landed at Dulles, at 5 p.m., it was already dark. And I had forgotten how far away that airport is from downtown Washington.

What’s weirdest to me is how I remember my time in Australia. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before — it’s possible I did a few months after returning — but my two years Down Under at once feel like 10 years and two weeks. When I think back on it, I think, “My god, did I really live there for two years? No way was it that long.” But at the same time, it feels like that time flew by.

I’m already feeling like I need to get back down there, if only for the fact that it’s now spring there and it’s starting to get cold (and dark) here. I may still try to get down there for Christmas. That would be nice.

So how about some observations about America after one year back? I haven’t really thought about this, so here’s a scattershot approach:

• Every now and then, I still look the wrong way when crossing the street. I’m not sure how “traffic comes from the right” got so ingrained after only two years (compared to 31 years of the opposite), but somehow it stuck.
• Habit I picked up in Australia that I continue: drinking lattes as opposed to brewed coffee.
• Habit I picked up in Australia that I do not continue: drinking beer every night. (That’s probably a good thing.)
• American politics has really started to bug the shit out of me. OK, it’s Republicans who bug the shit out of me. See, when I left, they were obstinate douchebags, but now they obstinate douchebags who are interested in nothing more than trying to make President Obama fail. They have no ideas of their own, they don’t particularly care about the country or how to make it better. They just want to see him fail. It’s hard to play a game when one team refuses to take to the field.
• It’s nice to have real bars. Sydney’s bars suck, as most Australians know (for real bars, go to Melbourne), so it’s nice to have the real deal. I do miss the pubs, though.
• Speaking of which, I miss the following things: a good, inexpensive pub steak, a steak sandwich, and Cooper’s beer. (Oh, wait, I can get that cheaper here than I could in Australia. Ha!)

That’s about all I can think of at the moment. I’m sure I’ll come up with some others. But happy move-back-to-Americaversary to me!

NY weekend

Over the weekend I stole away from Washington and headed north to New York for a little two-day getaway. It was fun. I have a ton of pictures from the Big Apple, which I’ll sort through tonight. I hope I got some good stuff.

Let me say that the trees are in full effect here in the Northeast. All the way up on the train Saturday morning we got to see some of the most colourful foliage passing by outside our windows. It made up for the crappy weather.

The trees in the city didn’t disappoint, either. Central Park was full of colour — reds and yellows and greens and oranges. Everyone was out yesterday enjoying the scene, since the weather shaped up to sunny and warm.

Which is nice, since apparently it rained here all weekend. Ha!

Saturday night I went to a DVD release party for Sufjan Stevens’ “The BQE,” which is a film and orchestral composition celebrating the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. It was at 92Y Tribeca, a new performance space/art gallery/café that was surprisingly intimate. I got a front-row seat to the festivities, which featured fellow Asthmatic Kitty artists DM Stith (fantastic) and Osso, who are a string quartet that played versions of songs from Stevens’ album “Enjoy Your Rabbit.”

Stevens emceed the event, but sadly did not perform as I expected he would. We did get to see the “BQE” film, though, and that was good.

Coming back to life

Yeah, so I didn’t blog this week. I have an excuse: I had SARS.*

Or something. I have no idea what it was, because I never went to the doctor. Mind you, I tried, but I was foiled. Not by our shitty U.S. health care system, as you might think, but by AT&T.

I got ill last Friday. I felt pretty achy at work, but it was toward the end of the day and I toughed it out. But I went home that night and did nothing. And proceeded to do nothing all weekend. Really, I picked the right weekend to do that, because it was raining and in the lower 40s on Saturday and Sunday. Really crappy weather.

By Sunday, I was well enough to head to the movies (I saw “Where the Wild Things Are,” which, while good, didn’t excite me as much as I wanted or expected it to) and then to meet some friends for dinner. Nothing tasted good, as was the case all weekend. Everything was bland. I ate one-third of everything I prepared or bought all weekend.

On Monday, I felt well enough to go into the office, although I probably should have stayed home. I called to get a doctor’s appointment, and they said they’d call me back. They never did.

Or so I thought. I called back on Wednesday, because by then I had felt good but then took a turn for the worse. Apparently the doctor’s office had left me a voice mail on Monday, telling me to take some over-the-counter stuff and to come in on Wednesday if I wasn’t feeling any better. Uh, I never got that message. When I hung up with them, I tried calling my cell phone, the number the doctor had used, and it took me four attempts before my phone actually made noises and pictures like it was getting an incoming call.

Bloody AT&T.

Anyway, I’m feeling much better now, thank you very much, although I have a lingering cough. But it’s not slowing me down anymore. I finally feel human again.


* I know: You were expecting a swine flu joke here. No, see, that’s too obvious. Besides, I’m like the Midwest of diseases: 10 years behind the latest fad.