Lost and...still lost

As most of the world knows, the first episode of the final season of Lost aired last night. And I'm proud to be the one...billionth blogger to write about it. I have anticipated the final season fairly feverishly myself, but I was strangely out of it while I was watching. I think it's because I'm worn down at this point in my Lost career. Lost fans have been treated like abused dogs this entire time, loving our master because he provides such juicy treats, and then taking it like a sucker time and again when our master kicks us in the genitals and makes us sleep outside. High five for anyone who noticed "sucker" and "genitals" in the same sentence.

Think about it. After five seasons, through which we've salivated for any scrap they'd throw at us, they haven't revealed much that's substantial. Now to be fair, the ride's been wild, and they've unveiled major surprises. But none of that has really touched on the big questions. In fact, most of the info they've "revealed" has been new material that's expanded rather than shrunk the amount we don't know. This is of course the whole fun of the show, but I'm just sayin'...

So by now, this dog is fed-up and just wants to be adopted by a nice family who'll spoil him a little--feed him scraps from the table and answer all his questions about Jack and John Locke and the Island. So what's it gonna' be, Lost--Michael Vick or ASPCA?