so long & thanks for all the polar bears

The series finale of LOST is on tonight, which you probably already knew unless you live on a deserted island without a television.

The awesome posters that were going around the interwebs way back at the beginning of the season are going to be available on abc.com. I kind of want the bunny one.

It’s weird to have something that’s been part of my life for so long come to an end. Six years is a long time. I watched the pilot episode in a teeny apartment in Boston on an equally teeny television what seems like half a lifetime ago. Since then I’ve gotten married, moved away, written a novel, painted a tarot deck. Tessa wasn’t even around for the premiere, that’s how long ago and far away it was.

The boy & I spent part of the cocktail hour at our wedding flailing about the greatest use of the Red Sox on television, ever, from the episode that had aired that week, back in Season 3.

And yes, I picked the polar bear photo for this past Friday’s flax-golden tale on purpose.

I doubt I’ll ever have this again. I don’t watch that much television. I certainly don’t watch that much television that keeps me theorizing and hypothesizing and occasionally flailing around like a fangirl. Like, I don’t buy tv stuff, yet I have Dharma shot glasses & I’m wearing a shirt with the numbers on it right now, even though I’m rather annoyed that the numbers themselves haven’t gotten a satisfying resolution yet. I suppose they have a couple more hours to explain.

I’m excited and nervous even though I’ve been kind of nonplussed about the last few episodes and I’m still mad about Frank. I’m making frozen pina coladas later. Soon there will be Hawaiian pizza.

I likely won’t be posting thoughts on the finale, because I know there are people who won’t be able to watch it tonight, or haven’t even watched the show at all and if you’re one of them you really should, I think it actually works better watched on DVD instead of week-to-week.

So goodbye, LOST. You’ve meant a lot to me even when I wanted to throw things at the TV. You had mystery and cleverness and bunnies. You are responsible for my massive crush on Michael Emerson. You made me laugh. You made me cry. (The latter I blame mostly on Michael Giacchino.) You always kept me guessing.

You’ve been a special kind of awesome. The kind that dares you to look death in the face and say, “Whatever, man.”

Thank you. I’ll miss you.