whoisjobe

Friday, April 27, 2007

don't you love her madly....

I wanted to write Wednesday's installment of Lost off as sci-fi soap opera filler too blasé to devote my precious time towards pontificating upon. After all, I'm on a mission to save our environment from sediment and flooding and here I sit on the 10th floor of the Prudential Building, staring at a screen saver of a Hawaiian sunset, mind wandering to the implications of a few tidbits of Lostian revelation. What a thrill for People's Sexiest Blank Shooting Asian male to be Sun's baby daddy, too bad the miracle will be at the expense of Sun's life. But this is a show about doubt, deception, hope, faith, and miracles. Whether or not Juliette is evil is still up for grabs, I'm willing to bet she's good and once she and the good doctor skyrocket in flight, Goodwin will disappear from her conscience like a wisp of smoke. In the titillating One of Us, the buxom blonde with a flawless complexion tied a double cross knot; something tells me she's bound to serve Benjamin a taste of his old medicine. But first she must collect pregnancy samples from the horny, copulating femmes fatales of Lostaway camp while informing them of the islands magical super powers on male sperm.

Five times the normal count any red blooded male is bound to benefit from by merely stepping foot on the enchanted land. Post menopausal or not Rose better watch out for Bernard's mix tape smooth talk under a banner of twinkling twilight purple sky majesty. All this talk of sperm got me thinking. Why would an island that was hell bent on destroying new life from being born within its boundaries simultaneously equip male inhabitants with super duper man milk capable of fertilizing Eve's womb? Even better, how could anybody be fornicating if, as Naomi the sexy Aussie multilingual parachutist's claim is true?

Yes, the parachutist's name is Naomi, I've spoiled you. On a biblical aside, Naomi's story can be read in the short and bittersweet novella, the book of Ruth. Naomi, meaning my gracious, pleasant one, lost her husband and sons after he stubborn husband moves to a wicked, Godless land. In defiance of the misfortune God allowed into her life, she changed her name to Mara, bitter one. As life tends to make sense after the fact, it is through this terrible series of events that she comes to return with her daughter in law Ruth to Bethlehem. Ruth takes a leap of faith, leaving her homeland, as Godless and wicked as it may be, with the utterance of the famous line, "for wherever you go I will go, wherever you lodge I will lodge, your people shall be my people, and your God my God." She will not forsake Naomi, and upon that testament in a God she does not yet know, Ruth sets in motion the lineage that will lead to the birth of Jesus Christ.

That little aside out of the way, Naomi the parachutist speaks in many different languages as blood fills her lungs. The strongest theory I've read so far is that she was testing the Lostaway's knowledge of foreign language all so she could utter the words, Eu não estou só, or "I am not alone." Judging by the speed at which a resurrected Patchy ran towards Hurley's oops, Naomi was sent to deliver goods to someone. In true lost fashion, we'll have to wait and see which side she's working for or whether a third, more mysterious faction of rebels led by a one eyed former KGB agent is involved in this murky plot as well. What we do know is that she believes Oceanic Flight 815 was found with no survivors. I'm placing all my chips on the crash of flight 815 being covered up by some truly powerful cats in whose best interest the island's secrecy remain.

But you never know with a show like Lost. Anything could happen. With episode titles like The Man Behind the Curtain and Behind the Looking Glass set to round out the season, all bets are off. Maybe they're stuck in a parallel dimension (lame), or part of a social experiment (lame), or maybe, just maybe, they've stumbled upon the fountain of youth, the ring of power, where the sick can come to be healed and the lame to walk, but which no man may set his rock upon and build his church. Why then they'd be no different than the Pharisees, wicked and covetous of a message or a place where sickness and death can be overcome as long as the patients accept that Eden may be nice, but truly there's no place like home.

jobe.

for the sake of time and a bitter boss, this piece has not been edited. please forgive any and all rambling. mahalo.

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