Back to the Island: Looking at Lost

I denied it for a long time, but now admit it here, publicly, for the first time: I am a Lostie.

The ABC television show about a group of survivors stranded on an unknown island somewhere in the world (or beyond it) aired its final episode last March. But it still generates a great deal of debate, discussion, speculation and dispute among those who faithfully slogged through the jungle of mysteries, action, time travel, and relationship intrigue with the castaways for six fulfilling years. Books, websites, and Internet forums still thrive with its topics: Who exactly are the Others and what is their mission and reason for existence?' When were the temple and the statue built, and are they related to the fertility issues on the island?; Who was taking potshots at the time travelers from the other outrigger?; Was anyone able to sneak off into the bush to relieve themselves without Kate tracking them down and bringing them back?

And what about the ending?

Maybe I'm not Lostie enough to have gotten really upset about the ending, unlike the guy who (I kid you not) wrote and published his own book about his unhappiness with it. And I won't give it away for the one or two of you out there who will eventually take up the task of watching the entire series on DVD. I didn't dislike it or think it was bad - in fact, I found it endearing. It was 'sweet,' in a way. No matter how popular or engrossing, Lost was, after all, just a television show.

For my two cents: the conclusion was satisfying emotionally, but somewhat unrelated to the stuff that was at the heart of the show. Not totally unrelated, but largely unrelated.

Look, if the writers and producers of Lost were making any claims at all about life on Island Earth though their use of back-story and non-linear time, it was that we live in a web of amazing, intricate interconnections that escape our notice. We participate daily in sublime mysteries of spirit and existence we mistakenly think of as mundane. The things we do, the decisions we make, the courses of action we take are all knitted together in ways that matter, and matter a great deal, extending even into what we might call 'eternity.'

Next time you get snowed in, warm up the DVD player and check it out for yourself.

Lingo

The American public went through a brief period of fascination with citizen band radios in the mid-seventies inspired by a rash of trucker movies and popular music. Many of you had radios in your cars and pickup trucks that have long since been gathering dust on a garage shelf somewhere. The terms and phrases like "good buddy" and "that's a big 10-4" found their way into our everyday speech. Today one would have to spend a long time monitoring channel 19 to hear anyone use this language any more, but the CB community and truckers still use a lingo that is largely unfamiliar to most.

I won't supply a lexicon, but I do have a favorite term: drive-by ass whoopin'. I don't think the Urban Dictionary has picked this one up yet. It refers to the practice among many drivers to use provocative, incendiary and derogatory language to stir up someone else on the road, only to then decline an offer to pull over at the next pickle park or truck stop and discuss matters in a more proximate manner. Many a driver has exhibited unprecedented bravery and panache behind a keyed-down microphone only to disappear when the threat of real confrontation emerges and the bluff is called.

I braced myself and listened to couple of hours of right wing talk radio this morning in the aftermath of the Tuscon massacre that left six dead, many injured, and one of the most promising and exciting young legislators in American politics critically wounded. The megalomania of people like Glen Beck and Andrew Wilkow as well as the whole crop of Limbaughs and Hannitys and Ingrahams is staggering - these guys make rappers look like Benedictine monks. Their intelligence cover a wide bandwidth, ranging from engaging and amusing to pathetic and embarrassing.

But the lack of courage they exhibited in taking any responsibility whatsoever for profiting handsomely from fanning the flames of violent political rhetoric that borders on hate speech ... well, I was amazed. Not surprised as much as astonished. Drive-by ass whoopin' on a global scale.

Interestingly, Beck defended himself in shockingly pious tones while simultaneously claiming innocence, apparently not noticing the self-contradiction. I was put in mind of a high school classmate who, when questioned by police about an act of vandalism in his neighborhood, excitedly responded, "Officer, I have two things to say. First, I didn't do it. And, second, I wasn't the only one!"

I am writing this today in Vero Beach, Florida, a thousand miles away from many of you who sit in sub-freezing weather back in Arkansas looking at snow- and ice-packed covered streets outside your home. When a big area of warm moisture runs headlong into a big area of arctic air, disastrous things happen - things that bring normal life grinding to a halt. When a mass of constitutionally protected discourse of violence collides with the chaotic energy of the growing proliferation of what I call the Three Ss - the Sick, the Scared, the Stupid - bad things happen. Really bad things.

For my part? I know I am given to hyperbole and exaggeration and dramatic language. But, today, I believe I will start being a lot more careful about what I say, how I say it, and to whom I say it.

Please join me in praying for the victims of the Tuscon shooting.