[source : slashfilm]

Came across this poster and another one over at Slashfilm today, and I was surprised how excited it made me. I didn’t like True Blood Season 2. It started off good, flamed out in the middle, and shit itself at the end. If I had to endure one more obvious bullshit turn by Maryann, I was going to slit myself. However, I loved the beginning of it, as well as Season 1. So, these posters get me stoked like woah, and I’m always willing to give a new season of a show I previously loved another shot. There’s a chance for self-correcting, and please god, perhaps Sookie taking a 2×4 to the skullplate.

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A couple of days ago I found out that season three of Mad Men was coming to the ole digital video disc this week. I was naturally stoked, since I hadn’t checked that shit out yet and was wondering when I’d get to stare at Joanie for another amazing thirteen episodes again. Oh, and uh, take in an incisive look at mid-century America or whatever. I sent away for it on Netflix and received news that I’d be getting it in mail sometime today.

I was stoked. And then I had the weirdest god damn dream.

I had this odd dream where my better half confessed that she didn’t actually like Mad Men. I was shocked, for she has been my wingman in all of my Mad Men viewings. The murky waters of my dream shifted, I was appaulled. I mean, I don’t handle dreams where she wises up and leaves me well. But this was like three-thousand times worse.

After she told me that she was never really into it, I sat there in my dream, confusion, distraught. And I looked her dead in the eyes, and I remember saying so completely serious:

This is going to be a problem.

There are certain dealbreakers for me in relationships, I just never realized this was one. I mean, I’m not demanding. I just can’t date chicks who can’t respect The Trilogy, who smoke, or worship zombies and other cults. But apparently Don Draper is up there for me too. I never knew. I decided to share this with Lady Caffeine.

Ian: I had a dream you secretly didn’t like Mad Men, and you told me, and I seriously went, “This is going to be a problem.”
Ian’s Better Half: hahahaha
Ian’s Better Half: it probably would be a problem

Well then. I’d hate to see what would happen in a dream then, if someone was like, “Yo, Ian, I love you, but like, Billy Adama is lame.”

It seems that everyone knows my insane, unquenchable dicklust for Richard Alpert. Make no allusions when I state I’m madly in love with him. I know people are aware of this, because I’ve had several friends ask me

DUDE, ARE YOU STOKED FOR RICHARD TOMORROW?

To which I respond, fuck to the yeah.

Tomorrow night is an episode dedicated to Dicky “The Fucking Immortal” Alpert. We’re not worthy, but let us enjoy it anyways.

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A friend of mine asked in the comments for yesterday’s LOST recap if I had seen the book Sawyer had in his room or some shit. And while I had seen the book, I didn’t know what the title was. There was a point in the show when I would have hunted that title down, desirous to know what the inference was they were throwing our way.

Now? Now I just don’t care.

This season there’s been something like nineteen book references per episode. Yes, an exaggeration. But it feels like every episode there’s some totally amazing reference they’re throwing at you through a book on someone’s bookshelf, or whatever. It used to be cool because of the sparsity of these references, but they’re just overdone.

When I was thinking about my apathy towards the reference today, I began to think maybe all the references are tongue-in-cheek. The writers from LOST have always been self-aware of how their episodes are analyzed by the fans. The meticulous nature with which we comb every frame of every single installment.

Maybe they’re fucking with us.

I mean yeah sure, the books could be references to themes and devices, no doubt. But maybe the density of the references this season is a wink. Some sort of meta-joke that they’re playing on us and hoping we will all play along. I hope this is the case with not just the books, but also the overt and sledgehammer subtlety references to destiny and fate, and all that sort of bullshit. Either that, or they’re laying it on thick. Thick and hard. Whatever the case, they’re so abundant and so overwhelming, I can’t help but not care and roll my eyes at them now.

(Until I crack because I have to know, and I’m just another complaining fanboy.)

Yo, cheer up Sawyer! I’m sorry, you let me down, but I still love you, okay?

I’ve had a week to stew about the steaming pile of shit that was last week’s episode of LOST. It may have not been the worst one ever; there were no golf courses made or anything of that banality. But I mean, a typical “Nothing Happens in LOST” episode in the middle of the final season? An episode centered around the Freckled Whore? Jesus. Forty-plus minutes of her trying to get into Sawyer’s pants after his would-be fiance died, and giving birthing tips to that Australian chick. Youch!

I’m over it though, I’m over it. I’m excited to see you again. I’m not going to lie, I thought about you all week. So, tell you what, let’s just put this shit down as Water Under the Bridge, and try and enjoy ourselves tomorrow night, okay?

One of the things I find interesting about delving into LA X is that Jack and Locke both seem to posses a measure of the other’s Island-bound thematics. Locke waxes spiritual about the physical and ethereal location of Christian, before declaring with an empirical stamp that he is forever paralyzed. Jack comments on the physicality of his father, and then declares with an unusual amount of faith, “Nothing is irreversible.” This intersection of the two themes intrigues me, and no, I can’t stop thinking about LOST.

[ picture courtesy of slashfilm ]