Thursday, September 29, 2005
"Tonight . . . Nothing will be revealed . . ."
This show LOST - and its devotion among fans like Our Woman in LA - is getting waaaaay out of hand. Last night, the damn show almost caused a marital crisis in the Wieland family home.
Picture this. I get home from a late meeting, grab a bite of dinner and do some writing on the new script. Nine o'clock begins to roll around, and the wife is perched on the easy chair, shaking with anticipation. She's been waiting all week for this, she tells me. Haven't I heard the ads? This week, the fate of everyone on the island will be revealed . . .
Now, my feelings on this show are well known to readers of this blog. LOST, as far as I'm concerned, has two more episodes now. After the season finale, where we learned that the big deal hatch in the ground led down . . . with a ladder and everything, I'm just about as fed up as I can be. So the four-episode rule is in full effect.
But last night was one of the four. And right about 8:45, three channels on our cable system went out . . . NBC, ABC, and FOX. Which means no LOST. And the wife goes ballistic.
Keep in mind, we could have watched virtually anything else at 9. Like the all Good Will Hunting all the time network known as BRAVO. Or one of those kind of ooky sex shows on HBO (seriously, guys, don't the people on Real Sex skeeze you out?). Or whatever.
But no.
So I'm tearing apart the TIVO, calling friends to see if they can tape it, while she's giving me the evil eye (as if I did this on purpose). EVERYTHING WILL BE REVEALED, DAMMIT. A call to my friend Rick reveals that in fact this problem is not limited to the Wieland household, but instead to the entire Adelphia cable networks.
Repeated calls to Adelphia resulted in me being hung up on more times than I can count. The wife is getting angrier. We're pulling a second TV out of the closet, frantically seeing if we can rouse Channel 7 to check on those 44 stranded castaways on Gilligan's other isle or whatever. No dice.
Finally a call to Julie Granata, who now only lives a five minute drive away, hooked us up. Frantically, the wife and I shake off the jammies and put on clothes. Race downstairs to the Wielandmobile. Tear through the streets like the cops chasing someone more dangerous than OJ.
So Steph missed the first 20 minutes, but caught the end. Rick's bringing over a tape of it this weekend when we watch football, so we'll get to see the epic first 20.
And guess what? Absolutely nothing - NOTHING - about anything was revealed. It might even go down as one of the most uneventful and dull hours of TV in history. The television equivalent of stalling. Even Our Woman in LA was outraged, and she's not the one who has to put the TIVO back together again.
I'm warning you, LOST. You're on the clock. Two more episodes. After that, I might be looking for a way to disable Channel 7 on Wednesday nights at 9.
Picture this. I get home from a late meeting, grab a bite of dinner and do some writing on the new script. Nine o'clock begins to roll around, and the wife is perched on the easy chair, shaking with anticipation. She's been waiting all week for this, she tells me. Haven't I heard the ads? This week, the fate of everyone on the island will be revealed . . .
Now, my feelings on this show are well known to readers of this blog. LOST, as far as I'm concerned, has two more episodes now. After the season finale, where we learned that the big deal hatch in the ground led down . . . with a ladder and everything, I'm just about as fed up as I can be. So the four-episode rule is in full effect.
But last night was one of the four. And right about 8:45, three channels on our cable system went out . . . NBC, ABC, and FOX. Which means no LOST. And the wife goes ballistic.
Keep in mind, we could have watched virtually anything else at 9. Like the all Good Will Hunting all the time network known as BRAVO. Or one of those kind of ooky sex shows on HBO (seriously, guys, don't the people on Real Sex skeeze you out?). Or whatever.
But no.
So I'm tearing apart the TIVO, calling friends to see if they can tape it, while she's giving me the evil eye (as if I did this on purpose). EVERYTHING WILL BE REVEALED, DAMMIT. A call to my friend Rick reveals that in fact this problem is not limited to the Wieland household, but instead to the entire Adelphia cable networks.
Repeated calls to Adelphia resulted in me being hung up on more times than I can count. The wife is getting angrier. We're pulling a second TV out of the closet, frantically seeing if we can rouse Channel 7 to check on those 44 stranded castaways on Gilligan's other isle or whatever. No dice.
Finally a call to Julie Granata, who now only lives a five minute drive away, hooked us up. Frantically, the wife and I shake off the jammies and put on clothes. Race downstairs to the Wielandmobile. Tear through the streets like the cops chasing someone more dangerous than OJ.
So Steph missed the first 20 minutes, but caught the end. Rick's bringing over a tape of it this weekend when we watch football, so we'll get to see the epic first 20.
And guess what? Absolutely nothing - NOTHING - about anything was revealed. It might even go down as one of the most uneventful and dull hours of TV in history. The television equivalent of stalling. Even Our Woman in LA was outraged, and she's not the one who has to put the TIVO back together again.
I'm warning you, LOST. You're on the clock. Two more episodes. After that, I might be looking for a way to disable Channel 7 on Wednesday nights at 9.
