What?

That was my reaction to the Lost series finale. After 6 seasons of a riddle wrapped in an enigma surrounded by mystery, I was looking forward to some answers. Who in the heck is that Japanese guy that "tested" Sayid by drowning him and torturing him? How did he get to the island, and what did he have to do with Jacob and the Man in Black? What was Walt's deal? Remember back when he kept showing up with water dripping from his mouth, muttering something creepy? And the whole thing about Juliet saying, "It worked" after she set off the nuclear bomb?

I was expecting at least a few of those questions to get answered by the end of the series. And THEY DIDN'T. AT ALL. Argh. I admit, I did enjoy seeing the alternate lives of the survivors. I liked seeing them find each other. I bawled my eyes out when Charlie and Claire were reunited, and again when Sawyer and Juliet found each other. I did enjoy all of that, and it was fun to see Boone again (not that I haven't seen him on Vampire Diaries) and Shannon and Juliet. But I really don't understand why they chose to spend an entire season, especially the final season, on one simple concept--how they find each other to get to heaven. They spent the other 5 seasons throwing one question after another at the audience, only to leave them hanging there, unanswered. Not cool. It doesn't change the fact that I absolutely love the show, and think the creators were completely genius. They just didn't deliver when it came to wrapping up the show. Imagine the Harry Potter series ending without knowing what happened to half the characters. That's how I felt. What did you think?

15 years older

On May 25, 1995, my friends and I graduated from high school in a class of over 700 seniors.  So, happy 15 years!  I found my stack of dance pictures from back in the day, scanned them in, and was looking through them this morning.  I thought I'd share a few highlights from the olden days (I know this post is totally dating me, especially once you see the clothes).  I need to add here that I have loads of incriminating pictures from band tour, some of which involve underwear on friends' heads in the middle of the night, as well as sneak pics of BTRs and snoozing band geeks.  I thought using dance pictures would be nicer, because we're all dressed up fancy.  Including myself. 

My first date:

The Best Part: Getting to borrow my sister's shirt, which I had had my eye on for months.
The Worst Part:  The belching contest at the table.  I had no idea boys were that gross.  At that point my only brother was 8.

Junior Prom, Spring, 1994:

The Best Part: It was the Big Dance.  Cool place, fun group.  Plus, look at that maroon velvet with the huge lace collar.  Fancy!
The Worst Part:  That moment when my heel caught on the fountain hose and caused a huge rupture that brought the dance to a screeching halt while they got the fountain turned off and the huge pool in the middle of the rotunda mopped up.  Oops.  Not a proud moment.

A Group Date, literally.  All the girls asked all the boys.

The Best Part:  12 tight friends, all having fun together without the pressure of impressing your date.  And who doesn't love a Hawaiian theme?
The Worst Part:  There was a fountain there, and with my history, at least 200 people had to point out the fountain to make sure I wouldn't ruin this dance, too.  At least this time they had the hose secured.

The Death Group:

I'm starting with The Worst Part first: A certain driver missed a turn in the canyon and parked her station wagon in a tree.  No one was hurt, but it was quite the shock. 
The Good Part:  My date was one of my best friends instead of some guy I'd only talked to twice, which meant we could deal with it without embarrassment.  Also, he had a 15-passenger van and saved the day.  Plus, everyone in that group kind of bonded over what could have been a tragedy.

Prom, Senior year:

The Best Part:  Everything.  It was a blast.  Fun date, fun group, no fountain mishaps. 
The Worst Part:  It was one of our last high school hoohahs. 

Since then, some of us have lost touch.  We've scattered across the country.  Some of us have dated each other, some of us have married each other.  There have been lots of babies, lots of college, illness, and the inevitable entrance into our thirties (Oy).  I know I'm waxing a bit sentimental, but high school was full of good times and excellent friends.  I'm looking forward to the next chance we have to reunite and catch up.  Cheers, class of '95. 

Reality TV Wasteland

I think it has finally happened.  I’m bored with reality TV.  I turn on Dancing With the Stars as background while I get stuff done, and I hardly ever really notice who’s dancing or what the judges are saying.  I think Bruno has done me in.  I just don’t care that much anymore.  And I forward through everything but the weigh-ins on The Biggest Loser now, and even the weigh-ins barely keep my attention.  I’m not interested in the weeping, the screaming, the back-biting and the challenges anymore.  The other day, when I was blogging about my current shows, I couldn’t for the life of me remember a single contestant name from America’s Next Top Model.  I could barely remember what the photo shoot was, which is really my favorite part.  (It really is amazing how a bunch of gawky 19-year-olds can turn beautiful with a lot of makeup and a fancy dress.)   

Here’s why I think this has happened:

1)  Netflix streaming.  I have a gazillion things waiting in my instant queue.  Why waste my time watching other people scream at each other?  Although not many movies are available for streaming, lots of TV shows are, and that gives me hours of shows that don’t involve real people and their personal lives being displayed for the world. 

2)  The bad weather.  My patience is very thin these days.  It’s May, and IT’S SNOWING.  So watching a bunch of people yelling at each other and hearing countless bleeps while Jillian screams and cusses at people while they sweat themselves to death really isn’t that fun to me.  Maybe if I sat down after spending the afternoon out in the yard, smelling the new grass and feeling the sun on my back, I would be able to tolerate it.  But I get to hear my boys screeching at incredibly high decibel levels and hear myself snapping back at them all day.  It’s enough yelling and noise. 

3)  There’s just a lot of TV going on right now.  It’s easy to pare down to the good stuff, and most reality TV doesn’t fit in. 

We will soon be entering into rerun desolation, and at that point, I may reassess my feelings on reality TV.  But I still have 3 seasons of Bones to watch on Netflix.  I doubt I’ll give in.  Maybe.  Except for “So You Think You Can Dance.”  That’s a good show.