A lot of my intellectual friends (the sort of people who, with a dignified cough, announce that they do not “indulge in mass media entertainment,” and other, less extreme types) repeatedly ask me why on earth is it that I watch “Lost.”

They talk to me like one would talk to an otherwise normal girl who, for some unfathomable reason, decided to date the biggest loser in one’s zipcode - complete with police record, regular stint in mom’s basement, and the miasma of unwashed socks.

“Why, Natalia? Why do you put yourself through that?” *deep sigh* “If you need help you know where to find me.”

I’m not one of those people who’ll threaten to chain you to the couch, tape your eyes open, and force you to watch every single episode while humming “Shambala” and cackling maniacally. If you don’t like “Lost,” you’re free to tell me that you think it sucks (or, as one esteemed blogger put it, that it’s better to “take a large amount of peyote and watch Gilligan’s Island” instead).

I’m all for television democracy, because, let’s face it, I never liked “Seinfeld,” I don’t watch “The Wire,” and “The Sopranos” just succeeded in making me feel that the world is a horrible place (perhaps rightfully so).

However, I do feel compelled to explain why is it that I love “Lost.” Now that the fourth season is upon us, the doubters have come out like zombies after dark:

“Three more seasons of that crap?” “It doesn’t even make sense!”

Well, you’re right, it doesn’t. But that’s not the point. Read More »