1. During season 3, Viewing Public complains that show is going nowhere, stops watching in droves.
2. To appease Viewing Public, Producers commit to set timetable for resolution of show, up pace.
3. In order to facilitate (2) above, Producers start resolving the most thematically important subplots, more or less abandon the rest.
4. Show ends. Viewing Public complains about subplots not being resolved.
***
Years later, the Dessert-Eating Public becomes enraged at their inability to both have and eat cake. A global spate of bakery-directed arson ensues. Cuse and Lindelof appear to call for sanity. JJ Abrams appears to fling the idea for Super Clovereightfield II at someone and collect a fat paycheck. Colm eats a Mr Freeze, maintains that it is both “delicious” and “refreshing”. Paul Daniels is pronounced World President, resolves to crack down on pastry vandalism. Everyone is confused. It was all a dream. Or was it? No. But you could be forgiven for thinking so.
Lost is back on tonight, which is good times for all concerned, and with any luck I’ll be seeing Iron Man on Wednesday. Nordiebuddies will be around come week’s end and there’s a bank holiday to look forward to. And to occupy every other waking hour, there is Grand Theft Auto IV.
I don’t know if it’ll slow down the blogging – after all, eight hours in work don’t fill themselves – but there’s a significant chance it will take over the output. I’ll try to avoid it, sure, I’ll try to be interesting, but I can’t guarantee it. I don’t know… somewhere in the code of a GTA game there’s a sequence of numbers that sinks into your brain, takes over your neural pathways and leaves you unable to talk or think about anything else until you’ve slogged your way through*.
This is not necessarily a bad thing. The release of the last GTA game heralded a month-long era of universal brotherhood, where you could approach practically any stranger on the street and, with a simple enquiry (“So, what mission are you on?”), form a lifelong bond. It was rather beautiful.
This is me out for the moment, then. I’m off home to freeze myself until I can come back into town and buy the game. Gentlemen: see you on the other side.
*The affliction seems to have some tie to the Y chromosome, which is fortunate since it leaves roughly half the population functioning well enough to keep things ticking over.
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