Flight 815 crashes on the shore of a mysterious tropical island with a random assortment of survivors. The Island suffers from a vaguely supernatural menace which has ominous undertones of technology gone awry. Numbers are strange threads in a weird story, especially those in the series 4-8-15-16-23-42. Lost is a Sci-fi version of Gilligan's Island set in the Twilight Zone.

The show starts with 48 survivors but focuses on about 14 of them. We follow their Island adventures mixed in with flashbacks about all of their lives prior to the crash. Perhaps because of lazy writing the "random" star survivors are most memorable as their cliche archetypes.
• Jack the doctor, saves a bunch of people, becomes the unofficial leader of the castaways and falls for...
• Kate, the hot brunette with a checkered past. Though she seems to care for Jack, she keeps getting into situations with...
• Sawyer the bad boy, a typical hunky tough guy with a soft heart.
• Sayid the arab, provides inevitable terrorist sensationalism, but his military experience makes him one of the most useful survivors.
• Locke the weird old man, regains the use of his legs and feels a particularly strong spiritual connection to the Island. Locke is one of the first to confront the Island's dangers and remains in the forefront of the investigations into their nature.
• Michael the black guy, perhaps one of the least interesting characters - I hate to use the word "token" but that about sums him up.
• Walt the black kid, Michael's son. He has powers which, like those of the Island, are as yet undefined. He also has a dog named Vincent.
• Hugo the fat guy, currently my favorite character, won millions by inadvertently using the "Lost numbers" to win the lottery and is convinced he's been cursed ever since.
• Claire the milf, the most attractive castaway, but a bit worthless outside the context of her whole, having-a-kid-on-the-island thing.
• Charlie the junky, overcomes his heroine addiction and dotes on the Milf. Not sure how he'll do with the discovery of all that Heroine towards the end of the season.
• Jin the korean guy is isolated by the language barrier and overprotective of his wife.
• Sun the korean woman who loves and resents her husband. Not a big surprise to learn she knows english, she makes herself useful with a knowledge of plants.
• Shannon the bratty rich girl, is useless and annoying, especially when she whines about being useless.
• Boone the rich boy, is Shannon's step brother, brave but not too smart. He forms a bond with the weird old man that ultimately gets him killed.

There's also some Bad Guys, and these fall into two broad categories:
• The Island itself harbors the aforementioned vaguely supernatural and almost certainly part technological menace that threatens to, let us say "consume" anyone who wanders in the jungle.
• "The Others" are supposedly other people on the Island who've been there longer.

Why are there polar bears on the island? Who knows, but there was also a polar bear in a comic book read by Hugo and Walt. This is typical of the show's style, introducing one inexplicable event after another without offering any pretense of resolution to these mysteries. What you do get, if you're watching closely, are slender threads which keep each mystery alive by teasing you with little reminders that somehow, its all connected.
Fans of science fiction will enjoy, as I have, the flavor of these mysteries and the sort of hypothesis they encourage. One is nonetheless left with the sinking feeling that the shows creator and all the writers, don't have any idea where all this is going.
One glaring examples of Lost's failings is the title animation, as it fades in from a blur at the start of each episode, has slight render flaws which were never corrected in post production. This error is sloppy and crude and sadly, it foreshadows a lack of precision in the writing and acting.
The first season of Lost definitely has me on the hook for more, and happily so. However, the show is not without failings and I'm hoping season two will be better, because if it gets worse I'll probably keep watching, but only so I can make fun of it.

Now we can all sit on our asses and stare at screens and overeat because we're bored and go home and sit back down to stare at more screens and let the craven corporate media brainwash us into blind support of plutocracy and ceaseless consumption of the best mass-produced products we can afford. All at the bidding of our depraved cash masters who profit on the toil of third world slavery silencing anyone daring enough to stand up for true freedom and equality. Sigh, is it Friday yet? I need to dance.

Grip's charismatic, and despite his brother's death, benign nature,
brings him to his feet as the angry rhino-dwarf menaces Rafael.
Grip stands with a scroll in one hand. Then he shakes a bit more gore
from from his other hand after using it to roll up the parchment.
"Mighty John Beef!
Your rage is as awesome as your reputation. Many are the tales of your
fury and strength. This armored form makes your enemies tremble.
Behold yon weakling as he quakes and cowers at your fierce approach.
But John Beef, there are as many stories of your battlerage as of your
sage wisdom and cunning. Heard you not the words of this room's
spirit? Great treasure waits above! Perhaps this larking fool of a
bard, who rhymes like a retard... may better serve your just wrath
through fealty and servitude? I have heard Mighty John Beef is a
barbarian, surely our revelry after these combats would be better had
we this churl for our rough amusement while partaking of holy dwarven
brews! Bid him apologize for his error and swear a loyal oath until
such time as your blades have had their full..." Grip's speech is
building in bawdy enthusiasm and when he slaps his chest congealing
bits of his brother's corpse splat away, "Yar! THE FOOL'S SONGS
EMPOWERING OUR BLOODY FRENZY!! LETS ON TO ADVENTURE!!!"

Out of character note to dungeon master:
If Beef's first impulse is to deny this entreaty, perhaps a
diplomacy check with my +6? Otherwise, should he seem to renew his
violent intentions, I have read the first part of my charm person
scroll while rising and need only speak the arcane trigger word to
complete its casting (this scroll is called "The Hedged Bet" and
allows one to make an effort at charm without magic, letting the
caster insert his own monologue before uttering a final arcane trigger
word).

Among my Gen-X contemporaries, if you weren’t involved in sports or similar activity, there was often TV time after school, and most of us had TV time before bed. There is a bond among those with prolonged experience to the same media. We speak the same cultural vernacular. Cheers to my X-Generation fraternity, to lost innocence of Tom and Jerry, Star Wars, and GI-Joe, naming but few.



Note Castle Greyskull and the Droid Factory in the above photo from 1984.

The humble and lovable accountant dotes over his beautiful wife. This morning, like most, he holds in his gas until he gets to the street outside their apartment. Its a monday morning and perhaps he vocalizes over exuberantly when he finally gets to the office bathroom, because he prefers not to poo in the porcelain bowl his darling wife keeps clean.

That night his need to fart is worse than it's ever been. The hapless accountant finally resolves to get up, leave the room and head for the bathroom. There he'll lift a butt cheek so the gas hisses away silently. Halfway out of bed as his foot touches the floor PFBBRRT! Not fast enough, he freezes, mortified...

"Did you step on a spider?" his charming little wife inquires. They laugh, all is well.

It was only 2:15 and already my favorite salad bar was out of chicken and romaine lettuce. I could tell something was amiss as I got closer to the array of steel buckets, shielded under their insubstantial sneeze guard. Little bubbles of hate began to form in the simmering water of my mood. When I drew close enough to confirm there was indeed no chicken, no f-cking chicken! I had become, once more, a seething cauldron of hate. If not for the friendly rapport I have with my local salad slingers, I might have done more than take a deep breath and walk out of the store. Stomping away I Glared at the sidewalk, at the cars, at the sexy european nanny pushing a stroller, at anything foolish enough to cross my path. My day was ruined.

When I step away from my life and look at it, I observe that little upsets can make me disproportionately angry. They do not always, but sometimes, like when I get these fat ghetto f-cks inching down the middle of the sidewalk, oblivious to any motivation but their own. I want to beat them within an inch of their lives and string them up on a traffic light as a warning to others: If you're too self-absorbed to share the goddamned sidewalk, you will pay with blood. Of course, all I ever do is clear my throat, jangle Lulu's leash, or maybe just say excuse me, before passing.

The the most painful part is awareness that I'm being irrationally un-zen and need to chill out before I die of high blood pressure. Oh well, I've had an ice cream cone since lunch, and I feel just fine now, thank you.

Why has the U.S. been at war, consistently, since the end of WWII?
Do we fight for freedom? Only insomuch as freedom = free markets = we want our companies to make money in your country = economic colonialism = military imperialism, which is to say the reason we fight is a depressingly typical one: follow the money.

At the end of his second term, towards the end of WWII, in his farewell address President Eisenhower said the following about our new military-industrial complex (a phrase he coined) :

"This conjunction of an immense military establishment and a large arms industry is new in the American experience. The total influence -- economic, political, even spiritual -- is felt in every city, every Statehouse, every office of the Federal government. We recognize the imperative need for this development. Yet, we must not fail to comprehend its grave implications. In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military-industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist. We must never let the weight of this combination endanger our liberties or democratic processes. We should take nothing for granted. Only an alert and knowledgeable citizenry can compel the proper meshing of the huge industrial and military machinery of defense with our peaceful methods and goals, so that security and liberty may prosper together."

The refreshingly unbiased documentary, Why We Fight
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Why_We_Fight_%282005_film%29
presents strong and verifiable evidence that we have failed to observe Eisenhower's edict. Our government has been dominated by forces seeking fuel for the military-economic machinery at the expense of all else. The essential message is this: when war becomes profitable, we're going to see more of it. Huge companies compete for government contracts. War is BIG business with a strongly vested corporate interest. There is a revolving door between public office and private enterprise, with people on both sides using connections to allocate government contracts. The most glaring example of this is vice president Dick Cheney using the war in Iraq to gain profitable contracts for Haliburton, a company he was CEO of for 5 years. I mustn't be distracted by the urge to rail against Cheney, though he surely is the vilest public official of my lifetime. For further reading: http://www.tvnewslies.org/html/cheney_s_secrets.html

The lesson of vietnam was, control the media, control what the public knows and control public opinion. At this point in history, a journalist can not make a career by questioning defense policy. As a result, there is very little public discussion about why we are in Iraq. Not to liberate the iraqi people (90,000 killed so far), not because of 9/11 (no link between Saddam and al-Qaeda), not for weapons of mass destruction (none found). We have spent over $500 billion in order to be there, so there must be a good reason... $500 billion worth of spending seems like a fairly compelling reason... Imagine what your business would do for a million dollar account? Human nature being what it is, is anyone surprised by corruption?

These subjects can be discoursed endlessly. I'm going beyond the scope of my humble, generally non-political blog. One more interesting link before I wrap it up, a web tool which calculates how the cost of various defense department expenditures might have been spent.
http://www.nationalpriorities.org/tradeoffs?location_type=1&state=36&program=551&tradeoff_item_item=365&submit_tradeoffs=Get+Trade+Off

I recently spent over 70 hours of my life in a fantasy world generated by my PS3 and rendered in high definition on my 42" TV (with 5.1 surround sound, waiting only for furniture to be moved before I add the rear channel and evolve to 7.1). In this other life I am the arch-mage and champion of Cyrodiil. The game is called Oblivion, a first person fantasy RPG. The usual D&D type stuff, chose your starting race, attributes, and specialties, then complete ever more difficult quests as your skill increases. Fighters slash and smash the trolls and skeletons, mages use spells to get things done, a thief or assassin sneaks around people and murders in the dark.

Although I was very handy with my sword, I undertook the wizard's quest line first. Some nerds represent themselves in fantasy gaming as they would like to be, for example, a frail skinny bookworm might play a hulking half-orc warrior who bifurcates you first and reads books never. I fall into another category, nerds who represent themselves as they think they would actually be if they existed in the fantasy realm. I would be a sword carrying wizard, I AM a sword carrying wizard, bitches.

I was an inexperienced apprentice mage when my predecessor, arch-mage Traven, banned necromancy, and made himself many enemies in Cyrodiil. I traveled around the kingdom during the course of my ascension through guild ranks. When time came to confront Mannimarco the leader of the necromancers, Traven sacrificed himself to protect me. I defeated Mannimarco and carry his Staff of Worms as the new arch-mage of Cyrodiil.

As arch-mage, I have the authority to command apprentice mages to follow me around. Sadly, this boon was useless in combat. By that time I had become so powerful, a mere apprentice was no match for my fierce opponents. However, the game' s mechanic: fight, get stronger, fight stronger monsters... gets a bit redundant. To make things interesting I found a very attractive young apprentice mage and made her my girlfriend. She followed me around, and when I knew I was going someplace very dangerous, I would have her wait for me where it was safe.

The Arch-Mage of Cyrodiil Seduces his Apprentice...


I went through most of the main quest line with my lovely young apprentice at my side. However, when the time came for the final confrontation with demonic forces, I left her in Cloud Ruler Temple to wait until I had defeated Mankar Cameron and relit the Dragonfires with Martin Septimus, heir to the throne of Cyrodiil. When I came back victorious, there was a guard sitting at a table with my apprentice. They were talking when I walked in, but he got up and walked to the side as I approached. My apprentice rose to great me, the interloper stood nearby, listening. In my mind's fantasy within the fantasy, there was no doubt she had betrayed me, and was now in love with another man. Of course the game was not programmed with potential for your beloved to cheat on you. Neither was the game programmed for apprentice mages to be girlfriends (though one does have to wonder). Randomly generated code or not, in the wake of the final victory, my heart was broken. You can fight to save the world, but what good if there's nobody to share it with?

Blogging has always seemed a bit vain and egotistical to me. Who among us dares presume internet strangers give a cold hard shit about our mundane lives?

However, yesterday I found myself copying and pasting parts of the same bit of news into emails to different people. It occured to me that far more efficient, would be simply posting this news on my blog. Doubtless there is something less intimate about hearing about my new cavity on this blog vs in a privately composed email, but really, who among us has time to write and send unique updates to all our adoring fans? Not this rocks star, not in this life...

Now finishing the fun half of seventy
And I’m most of the man that I wanna be
A productive slacker of means
loosening grip on young dreams
Blurring who's you and where's me

All the love that I’ve lost
is a priceless cost
but experience is good stuff
and mistakes make us tough
even when wasting time sauced

With knowing look in our eye
We’ll always get by
Am I here to have fun?
I fantasize about one
Hoping and it makes me try

If beaten revive
Demand to Survive
Maybe kiss goodnight
Just fight the good fight
Keep hope alive

My friends have shown me how cool it is to post one's comics on live journal.
I want to be cool also, I hope this helps.

1962:
George Lucas is 18 years old.
Chevy releases a new high performance small-block engine to replace the 283 called the 327. A 327 Chevy was the customizable muscle car of choice for the next 10 years.

1973:
American Graffiti is released, Paul Le Mat's character drives a 327 Chevy.

1977:
Star Wars, A New Hope hits screens and melts the collective nerdcore. Towards the middle of the movie, the Millenium Falcon is pulled into the Death Star, specifically into hanger bay 327.

1978:
The Star Wars Holiday Special comes to CBS. The special airs near Thanksgiving and celebrates a holiday in the Star Wars Universe called Life Day. Life Day is similar to Earth Christmas.

1980:
In The Empire trikes Back, when the Millenium Falcon arrives at Cloud City it is granted permission to land on platform 327.

1983:
The first line of The Return Of The Jedi is "Command Station, this is ST 321." The actor playing this shuttle commander flubbed his line, the original script had a seven where he said one. Most scripts in circulation today are derived from the film as it appears. George Lucas never considered the mistake worth reshooting.

1999:
Queen Amidala's ship in The Phantom Menace is a 327 Nubian.

2000 to the present day:
As astute fans picked up on 327 references, the number became a kind of three digit 42. Fanboys have inserted the number into other projects:
The season two finale of Star Trek Voyager begins on star date ...3.27
On Futerama, Bender's twin Flexo has a serial number starting with 327.
Bart Simpsons lottery number in the future where Lisa is president was 327
While copies of The Star Wars Holiday Special became more widely distributed through conventions and then the internet, science fiction cliques began celebrating "Life Day" on 3/27.
Happy Life Day everyone, may the force be with you.

I just got back from putting clothes into the dryer downstairs. Ford has been more insistent about being allowed to explore the hallway lately. He’s seen the elevator doors open and he backs up, but does not run away. I wondered if Ford would fancy a trip down with me. I took him in my arm along with the coins for the dryer and our keys, then carried him over to the elevator. Curiously he sniffed about as the elevator doors opened, stepping into the elevator we could detect a drop in temperature and I became worried that Ford might be overwhelmed by our approach to the ground floor and incumbent outdoor winter. Can cat senses detect decreasing altitude? When magic elevator doors re-open, we are no longer on the fourth floor. Ford’s claws dig a little deeper into my shoulder. Considering it from his point of view, we had been utterly transported into a big cold room with a glass wall revealing more midnight mystery than any agoraphobic little kitty should have to bear. As we walked out of the elevator I held him tighter and spoke comforting words. We turned the corner and Ford let out a mournful wail of such unanticipated volume, I became both alarmed and embarrassed. Like a piece of star weighs so unbelievably much for its size, so the second cry of woe to escape Ford’s tiny cat mouth was so disproportionately loud I turned and ran him back to the elevator. His continued cries were an organic car alarm, reverberating along the acoustics enhancing hallways of my apartment building.
All the way up in the elevator, a scream for every floor.
He jumps away when the elevator opens back on four.
Fluffy tailed with alarm he runs over to our door.
How long till Ford, wants to go out once more?

Everyone can think and hear thoughts.
Most don’t listen, but some can think loud enough to be heard.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Web_2.0
I'm told it's all about the network. Making it happen through exposure and slow creep of reputation. Time to clear my head, time to catch up on forgotten work.
How is anyone supposed to get their novel published, let alone made into a movie, without getting the word on the street? If the street happens to be an information superhighway littered with similar leaflets and flyers, notices and alerts, we can't let that stop us.
Time to join the chorus.

When I told my blood father about trying to utilize super powers, he reminded me that he can turn invisible. He also bade me remember how each of my grandfather's have faced death. With pedigree thus established, the experiments continue.

What of villains? If some of us our destined to be heroes, may we assume others are likewise evolving, but with less benevolent intentions? The last time I named my enemies they struck me down. We must be cautious...

I've read many comics and watched many movies about people who can touch things with their mind, heal their bodies, fly, or have any number of special gifts. These types of stories, Star Wars, X-Men, Dune, have always resonated with me, and with my peers. Perhaps many harbor a quiet wish to lead epic lives of adventure and renown. We can experience this vicariously through fiction. Or, is there more too it?

Lying in bed last night after watching the first five episodes of HEROES, I meditated on the nature of super powers. Now I endeavor to formalize my theories. It's not the first time I've seriously considered the mystery of unlocked potential. Nor do I presume these talents, if real, are unique to me. There have always been stories of incredible human accomplishment, a shame they are so seldom verified.

The first time I was certain I had "used the force" I was 15. After swatting a fly from the air using a small comb, with my eyes closed. I had closed my eyes and focused on the buzzing, when I felt the comb hit, and heard the fly bounce against the wall I'd batted it into and then drop to the floor, I was astounded. Astounded and yet, I had the foolish notion more than mere chance had guided my hand. I would be willing to dismiss this, but for other moments of uncanny intuition, and nearly unconscious  physical reflex. Enough that, I feel not merely justified, but compelled, to delve deeper into the nature of these epiphanies.

The goal of this exploration is to unlock the triggers which bring about enhanced moments. There are many theories of meditation and physical training which are reputed to elevate the practitioner to a higher state of being. Conventionally, these approaches involve centering oneself, balancing your mind on the point of awareness, giving it an keener edge for shaping events, and by extension, reality. For me personally (I suspect there are different  triggers for different people, along with variations in the level of enhancement which can manifest), there needs to be an almost nervous physical energy, like being wound up, but not too anxious or tense. With the body thus charged and alert, if the mind can be  focused on its tipping point... I don't know... yet.