"Hello," and we do the whole pause-listen-talk-good-bye routine two more times.
So, because of the pausing during LOST I did not have to watch any commercials. And because Phil had the remote, I did not get to watch the commercials that looked interesting. Zip, right through them all. All the upcoming movie trailers--didn't see those. The brand new commercials that looked halfway decent--didn't see those.
But...because we had also pushed the magic button. The little red magic "record" button I can go back and watch it all. And look for hidden meanings and clues and try to figure out what is going to happen in seven weeks, when the writer's strike is still on and we are left hanging...again.
I wonder how many babies have played the part of Claire's baby? And how many will? And are expectant parents in the LA area hoping for bald headed twins with blue eyes?
I wonder if it's in Hurley's contract that he can't diet until the series is over?
I wonder if this addiction is better or worse than a being addicted to chocolate.
And hey! What the heck ever happened to that plane-shaking, pilot-snatching, smoky monster? How many plot lines are possible in one series? This one looks like an eighteen-legged octopus. And if we remember all the people who have died--that had an interesting semi-plot going--it looks like a whole aquarium full of octopi, and a handful of worms thrown in, just for good measure.